The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 322

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Mad Spearman of the Northern Front (322)
“Aaaaaaaargh!”
“Hold him! Hold him!”
“Press harder! Harder! He’s slipping! Keep it tight!”
The Medical Room had descended into chaos.
The mingled stench of blood, sweat, and charred flesh made each breath a torment.
The floor was already slick with crimson, and hastily laid cloths hung limp, saturated with blood.
Six warriors converged to restrain Piolak as he screamed in agony.
Each time his muscles convulsed and heaved, the soldiers holding him down were thrown back with equal force.
It was no different from subduing a wild beast.
Beside him, the Medical Officer’s brow furrowed deeply.
Cold sweat already beaded his forehead, and his eyes had become razor-sharp with focus.
“…Damn these bastards.”
Severing the arm and cauterizing it was one thing, but the infection that had set in was catastrophic.
The tissue surrounding the wound had blackened, and portions of necrotic flesh were already sloughing away in putrid clumps.
At this rate, sepsis would consume him from within, and he would be dead within days.
“First, I’ll excise the infected tissue. After we bind him, you must hold him down with absolute force—he cannot move.”
“Yes, yes!”
“Rope—no, bring chains! Bring iron chains!”
Piolak had transcended humanity itself; mere rope would never suffice to restrain him.
Each time he twisted his body, the floor trembled with the force he exerted, and the warriors holding him clenched their teeth involuntarily.
Two medics rushed off frantically, while the warriors pressed down on Piolak, drenched in sweat, keeping him immobilized.
Blood glistened each time their palms slipped, and some had to grit their teeth and drive their hands deeper to maintain their grip.
Soon the soldiers returned with a metallic clatter, dragging iron chains.
“Bind him tightly. Crushing muscle means nothing to him.”
“Avoid the wound site. Bind his neck as well—make it so he cannot move at all.”
Cold iron chains scraped across his skin as they wrapped around him.
The sound of metal biting into flesh rang out harshly.
They bound his neck, chest, lower abdomen, and both legs with chains.
As the chains pulled taut, Piolak’s body was pinned to the bed, unable to rise further.
Four warriors pressed down upon him—two on his legs, one on his torso, one on his forehead—barely managing to contain him.
Their arm muscles bulged with strain, and their breathing came in ragged gasps.
The Medical Officer honed the blade to razor sharpness, cauterized it in flame, then sterilized it with potent alcohol.
The blade glowed red-hot above the flames, distorting the very air around it.
Alcohol cascaded down the blade and ignited, spreading the acrid smell of burning liquid.
“Multiple passes would only prolong General Piolak’s suffering. I’ll do this in one stroke. Hold fast.”
“…Understood.”
At the Medical Officer’s words, the warriors nodded and braced themselves with renewed force.
Some clenched their teeth; others squeezed their eyes shut.
Without Mana, even sedation was impossible in this situation.
Pinned beneath me, Piolak thrashed and writhed, but bound as he was in chains, there was nothing he could do.
His breathing came in ragged gasps, and bestial moans leaked from his throat.
And the moment the Medical Officer’s blade carved away the infected flesh—
“Gaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!”
A raw scream tore from Piolak’s mouth.
The sound ripped through the Medical Room’s tent and caused even the soldiers outside to stiffen in shock.
The severed flesh fell to the ground with a wet thud, and crimson blood erupted anew from between the blackened tissue.
The Medical Officer’s hand never ceased its methodical work.
Inside the tent, the air hung suffocating and silent, with no one daring to speak first—only exchanging wary glances.
The faint screams drifting from outside only deepened that silence further.
Those anguished cries carried on the wind created the illusion that blood itself was seeping into this very space.
One of the Officers spoke, his voice trembling at the distant sound of Piolak’s screams.
“I never imagined… General Piolak would fall to such a fate.”
His voice was low, yet the shock within it could not be concealed.
“Seven Feather Tattoos… how could such a warrior exist in a place like this mine?”
They too understood well what the Feather Tattoos meant to the Kar Tribe.
They were no mere decoration—they were proof itself, earned through blood and battle.
“If he bears seven Feather Tattoos… I’ve heard he ranks among the top ten of the entire Kar Tribe.”
“Was the warrior that Marquis Arteon faced previously not also one bearing seven Feather Tattoos?”
Belkain recalled the Kar Tribe Warrior with seven Feather Tattoos he had encountered in Preldior.
That monstrous being they had faced atop the snow-covered Mountain Range.
How many soldiers had died because of that single warrior?
The blood-soaked Snowy Plains blazed vividly in my mind.
Even Arteon had brushed against death multiple times in his battle against that creature.
‘At minimum… 7-Star tier.’
Since I was not a Warrior, I could not perfectly comprehend the realm to which Warriors belonged.
Yet, from long experience, there was one thing I understood—
“Even among those called 7-Star, the levels of strength vary enormously.”
As those words fell, the air in the Conference Room grew heavier still.
Someone unconsciously clenched their fists; another let their gaze fall to the floor.
Everything had changed.
If a 7-Star Warrior existed in the Kar Tribe Camp, there was nothing they could do.
Not with their current terrain advantage, nor with their Warriors’ strength.
They were losing on every front.
To launch an attack in such circumstances would mean sacrificing all ten thousand soldiers.
Each scream drifting from outside only made the weight of that choice clearer.
The mine?
It was indeed a vast repository of resources for the Empire.
‘But not worth the lives of these soldiers.’
What mattered now was thinking ahead to what came next.
The Kar Tribe had already resumed their southward invasion.
Moreover, they were exploiting the miners to extract ore and secure resources in the process.
With this place serving as their stronghold, there was no way to predict when they might launch an attack.
Belkain’s expression hardened.
When he opened his eyes after a brief moment of closure, his gaze burned with resolve.
“We must withdraw… now.”
“Sir?”
“Commander, it has only been a single day. How can you speak of retreat?”
“To do so would be to concede defeat to those barbarians.”
The officers protested urgently.
Some leaned forward in their seats, raising their voices, while others clenched their teeth and suppressed their fury.
This was a war begun with sixteen thousand troops under his command.
And now he spoke of ending it after merely a single day?
Yet Belkain shook his head.
The gesture carried absolute conviction.
“I mobilized this vast force precisely to achieve a perfect victory without needless sacrifice.”
The reason Piolak, who had ascended to 6-Star, had joined them was the same.
I believed his presence alone could overturn the flow of battle.
The war in the Northern Region had begun anew.
It was meant to be an overwhelming victory that would utterly crush the Kar Tribe’s momentum.
But…
“The situation has changed. This war… is one we must not fight.”
Belkain, once Supreme Commander of the Northern Region.
He understood the North better than any commander in the Empire, and thus he knew how terrifying the Kar Tribe truly was.
Seven feather tattoos.
They possessed strength that far transcended even the highest levels among the Kar Tribe.
I would stake my life on it.
‘Even if a 7-Star warrior from another kingdom came… they could not defeat them.’
As that thought crossed his mind, the air in the conference room grew even colder.
To face those who ranked among the highest even among 7-Star warriors required thorough preparation.
Confronting them now, without intelligence or countermeasures, was tantamount to suicide.
If we withdrew now, these soldiers could yet be saved.
At those words, all the officers fell silent, their heads bowed.
Not one dared to object.
For to retreat would be to admit the Empire’s defeat against the Northern barbarians.
They desperately wished to prevent that outcome, yet they could not bring themselves to call for another attack.
They were not fools, after all.
The mere existence of a 7-Star warrior among the Kar Tribe meant the balance of power had already shifted decisively.
That reality was felt not in the mind, but in the body itself.
And despite the attack being meant only to buy time, the frontal assault had already exacted a heavy toll.
The groans and screams echoing from outside were a relentless reminder of the price being paid.
They were no longer the Kar Tribe he knew.
Belkain rose from his seat.
The scrape of the chair against the floor rang out sharply through the silent Conference Room.
“The meeting is over. Prepare the soldiers for retreat immediately, and we leave this place. If we move with any haste at all….”
His gaze shifted.
Belkain’s eyes turned toward the Medical Room from which the screams had come.
For a moment, something other than a commander’s resolve flickered in those eyes—the emotion of a man.
I understood what it meant for him to live on, having lost both arms….
“We might yet save General Piolak.”
I could not allow the Empire’s finest warrior to perish so uselessly.
The officers nodded at his words.
Some drew in deep breaths; others closed their eyes slowly.
“Understood.”
“…Yes, Commander.”
And it was at that very moment the Imperial Army began preparing for retreat.
A Kar Tribe Warrior came rushing toward Berkal at the Gracekal Mine with urgent haste.
“Military Strategist! The Imperial Army is preparing to retreat…!”
He had been assessing their movements, but a retreat? Surely not.
Berkal’s expression twisted upon receiving the Warrior’s report.
“…Belkain.”
The Commander of the Northern Region.
And now the Supreme Commander of the Empire—he would withdraw his troops in a single day?
It sent chills down my spine….
‘A capable man indeed.’
Ordinarily, he would have waited at least several more days, or else established a camp here and made other preparations.
‘A retreat, you say.’
Honestly, it was an unforeseen development.
For Belkain, bearing the title of Supreme Commander of the Empire, it should have been difficult to withdraw for the sake of pride alone.
But if the Imperial Army retreated like this, everything I had prepared would become meaningless.
Berkal spoke.
“Send word to Taman. Right now… he must lead the Warriors and attack the Imperial Army.”
Berkal’s gaze grew cold and sharp.
My apologies, Supreme Commander of the Empire.
‘You must dance to my tune a while longer….’
Berkal’s eyes pierced toward the moving Imperial Army encampment with keen intensity.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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