The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 329

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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 (329)
The wind that had been sweeping down the mountain ridge suddenly stilled, as if holding its breath.
The fine powder of snow suspended in the air scattered, then slowly settled as if sensing something ominous.
But what shattered that silence was.
Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! Crash! Boom!
A deafening explosion that seemed to split the very earth asunder.
It was no mere collision.
A sound of overwhelming destruction—as if the mountain itself were screaming in agony.
The snow-covered ground tore open, and golden Aura erupted from the fissures like a living inferno.
Light that spread across the area like a sentient being, consuming everything in its path.
“Gaaaahhhhh!”
“Screeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh!”
The Elite Warriors of the Kar Tribe caught within it were ground to pieces before they could even scream properly.
Those bearing shields, those wielding axes.
None of it mattered.
Their bodies were torn to shreds and scattered into the void.
Some lost everything above the waist; others had no head remaining at all.
In a single strike.
What remained could not be called a battlefield.
Only the traces of a massacre lingered.
Corpses so mangled they were unrecognizable lay strewn across the snow, while the survivors crawled along the ground with twisted limbs, their moans of agony filling the air.
“Ugh… ugh…”
“Screeeeeeeaaaaahhhhh!”
Blood stained the snow.
Red and spreading slowly.
Kakuurakun, the commander of the Kar Tribe Special Forces, felt his breath catch.
‘How… how… how… how… how… how is this possible…’
The sight before him defied comprehension.
This was not battle.
This was calamity.
His gaze trembled and wavered.
All of them—the Elite Warriors he had personally led here.
Yet dozens of them had fallen in a single strike.
‘Barely…’
Could it have been five seconds?
He hadn’t even been preparing a counterattack.
Was it truly possible to unleash such inconceivable destructive power with an Aura drawn up in mere seconds?
Confronted with a horror that defied all explanation, Kakuurakun found himself frozen in place, unable to move.
Six Feather Tattoos etched upon his left shoulder.
He had never imagined that this proud emblem of his strength and the realm of his power could feel so utterly insignificant.
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps echoed across the silence.
Upon the now-quiet Battlefield, a single figure approached.
As the Northern Region’s bitter wind swept away the dust, he emerged into view.
A golden Aura still trembled faintly around him.
As if it continued to overflow from within.
And his golden eye flash gleamed with lethal sharpness.
Kakuurakun’s breath caught in his throat at the sight.
His body refused to move.
Instinctive warnings screamed at him to flee, yet his legs had turned to stone.
He could only stand and face what was coming.
Then, he raised his Spear.
A quiet motion.
A movement devoid of flourish or strain.
Yet in that instant, the Battlefield’s air grew oppressive once more.
“We lack the luxury of prolonging this here.”
His voice fell like ice.
The Empire’s god of war.
Arteon tilted his head slightly as he continued.
“All Squad Members.”
His gaze swept across the surviving Kar Tribe Warriors.
And….
“Eliminate them swiftly.”
The Command fell.
Whoosh!
The Silent Spear Unit moved without a sound.
Not even a breath could be heard.
And in the next moment.
“Kugh!”
“Ugh, uaaaah!”
Short, truncated screams tore through the air.
Blades slashed, Spear tips pierced, each movement flowing without waste.
The Kar Tribe Warriors, their will to fight shattered, could not even resist.
Some fell trying to flee, their hearts pierced from behind; others knelt before their heads were severed.
It was over in an instant.
All that remained upon the snow were crimson stains and cooling Corpses.
And in the center of it all.
Arteon himself drew forth his Aura for one final Strike.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Crash!
A torrent of golden Aura cascaded forth as the entire Mountain cried out once more in a deafening roar.
After Arteon had completely annihilated the Kar Tribe Warriors who had attacked them, he gazed toward the mountain peak.
“We move.”
Just a moment longer… wait, if you would.
Arteon’s gaze stretched forth with unwavering intensity, piercing beyond the veil of darkness itself.
* * *
Inside the tent, damp cold and the smell of blood mingled together in a suffocating haze.
Each time the wind from outside stirred the tent flaps, the suspended oil lamp swayed ever so slightly, deepening the shadows that consumed the space.
At the very center of it all.
Berkal’s expression hardened as he gazed out from before the mine toward the mountain terrain.
“…What did you say?”
His voice dropped to a low murmur.
Yet within it, there was unmistakably a faint tremor.
The Warrior delivering the report stood trembling, his head bowed deeply.
His lips were parched, his breathing ragged.
“Say it again.”
Berkal’s gaze slowly lifted.
His eyes fixed upon the Warrior with the piercing intensity of a blade.
“Kakuurakun’s Special Forces… you’re saying they were completely annihilated?”
“I, I apologize… Military Strategist Berkal.”
The Warrior’s voice cracked.
He bowed his head even deeper.
“After the first strike landed… it was no longer… it could no longer be called a battle….”
His hands trembled faintly.
Cold sweat beaded across the back of his hands.
“I… attempted to remain until the end to deliver this report. But….”
His words trailed off into silence.
As if that scene had materialized before him, the Warrior’s eyes flooded with terror.
“…That was not a human being.”
With those words, the very air around them seemed to freeze solid.
Deep furrows carved themselves across Berkal’s brow.
Total annihilation.
If they had merely been defeated, he could comprehend it.
Battle always carried variables, and even the strong could fall before overwhelming force.
But the report from this Warrior was not mere defeat.
It was one-sided massacre.
“You fled without witnessing the end of the battle?”
“…Yes.”
A brief answer.
For a Kar Tribe Warrior, it was shameful beyond measure.
To turn one’s back without witnessing the conclusion of battle was itself a profound dishonor.
Yet despite knowing this, they still fled.
It meant that battle had been that threatening, that overwhelming.
‘Kakuurakun….’
A warrior bearing six Feather Tattoos, personally selected and dispatched by me.
Kakuurakun was a warrior who had proven all of that.
His presence had merely been overshadowed by standing alongside Morganteron, but by himself alone, he was a warrior possessing combat power that bordered on calamity.
Such a warrior died without ever properly exerting his strength?
“…It makes no sense.”
A low murmur escaped Berkal’s lips.
In that moment.
The warrior’s words echoed back to me.
“The first strike… ended everything.”
…A single strike.
Berkal’s eyes flashed with realization.
Such a thing was only possible with an overwhelming gap in power.
And the only existence capable of creating such a disparity was….
‘Could it be….’
A single name surfaced in my mind.
The Empire’s God of War.
The Empire’s second 8th Star Warrior.
Marquis Arteon Wolfheim.
The moment that name appeared, a chill ran down Berkal’s spine.
‘Why….’
I could not comprehend why they had appeared riding on ‘horses’….
Yet his very appearance was itself a calamity.
I owed Morganteron an apology, but now I simply had to withdraw quietly.
After all, as long as we remained here, they had no justification to attack again.
There was no need to needlessly sacrifice soldiers and continue this war.
‘If worst comes to worst, simply releasing the miners we’ve taken hostage would settle it. The mining work is something we can do anyway….’
Provoking his temperament in an unprepared state would be courting death.
“…Send the retreat signal to Taman immediately.”
The words fell.
His voice was low, yet the resolve contained within it was absolute.
“Right now.”
“…Sir?”
The subordinate’s eyes widened.
It made no sense.
The battle was not yet over, and Morganteron was still in motion.
Yet now a retreat order?
But seeing the hesitant warrior, Berkal shouted.
“What are you doing?!”
Crash!
Berkal’s fist came down hard on the table.
The map rustled, and the inkwell toppled over.
“I told you to send a retreat signal to Taman immediately!”
An urgent cry.
At those words, his Subordinate’s body flinched.
Berkal’s gaze grew cold.
“Hurry, before Taman does something irreversible.”
“Yes, understood!”
He spun around and bolted from the Tent.
Watching his retreating figure, Berkal’s expression hardened like stone.
If by some infinitesimal chance—if the enemy’s Supreme Commander Belkain were to die.
‘No matter the reason. We must withdraw from this place unconditionally.’
A situation would arise where I’d have to bear the wrath of the god of war.
The Tent fell silent again.
Only the faint sound of wind seeped through.
Berkal exhaled slowly.
“….”
My mind raced rapidly.
But….
“…Damn it.”
Unable to find an answer, Berkal’s expression grew rapidly darker.
The atmosphere of the Battlefield shifted in an instant.
* * *
Thud!
With a dull sound, something pierced deep.
Through flesh, past bone, grazing the heart—that sensation.
“…!”
Claw’s eyes flew wide open.
A foreign sensation that had invaded deep into his chest spread throughout his entire body, paralyzing it.
His breath caught, and no sound emerged.
In the field of vision of his lowered head… something red flowed down.
“Cough!”
The moment his mouth opened, blood poured forth.
His vision wavered, and his consciousness felt as though it were slipping away.
But then.
Thud.
He heard something fall to the Ground.
His gaze barely shifting to that sound, he saw the corpse of Captain Bassel, split in two, collapsed before him.
Right before my eyes… the figure of him fighting to the very end….
‘C, Captain Bassel….’
All the soldiers, including him, had lost their lives.
Claw’s eyes burned crimson as he gazed upon their corpses sprawled across the frigid ground where cold radiated upward.
Then, a measured voice reached his ears.
“Are you Supreme Commander Belkain?”
Claw lifted his head.
A massive frame approaching him.
On the left shoulder of the man, bearing the unmistakable traces of the Battlefield—blood-red and black earth mingled together—seven Feather Tattoos were etched with crystalline clarity.
‘This man….’
His eyes trembled.
Was this the one who had done that to General Piolak?
Claw bowed his head deeply.
‘…Commander, I have failed to keep my promise… I apologize.’
As that thought reached its end, Claw’s shoulders heaved and laughter erupted from him.
“Kuh… kuhkuhkuhk….”
With each laugh, crimson blood streamed from the corners of his mouth, yet Claw lifted his head to look at Morganteron and spoke.
“To die at the hands of a Barbarian… I never imagined….”
His head trembled as it slowly descended.
His breathing grew increasingly ragged.
His vision was blurring, yet despite it all… his voice remained clear.
“I am….”
In his stead….
“…Supreme Commander of the Empire, Belkain Kaeron.”
Silence fell.
A brief moment.
Morganteron’s gaze slowly dimmed.
He slowly raised his Axe, then.
Placed it coldly against the side of Claw’s neck.
The bloodied Blade grazed his skin.
“That will suffice.”
Slice.
There was no hesitation.
Without the slightest tremor, Morganteron’s Axe cleaved across Claw’s neck.
In that instant, all sensation ceased.
Thud.
The severed head fell upon the snow.
As the headless body collapsed to the side, Morganteron gazed down at the corpse for a moment.
A face devoid of any emotion.
Merely the gaze of one confirming a single outcome.
After a moment, he spoke.
“Handle it carefully. This will be the most valuable severed head of the entire war.”
“Yes, sir!”
A subordinate warrior lifted Claw’s head.
Whoooooosh!
A signal flare mixing black and crimson light rose from the direction of the mine.
At that signal flare, Morganteron’s brow furrowed.
‘That signal is….’
Unmistakably the Military Strategist’s ‘retreat’ signal.
But why so suddenly.
Regardless of the reason, though.
Berkal had given strict orders to retreat immediately upon seeing that signal flare.
‘Besides, we’ve already accomplished what we came to do.’
Morganteron spoke to the warriors.
“We return at once. Now… the war is over.”
With the Supreme Commander dead, they would lack the strength to rise again.
It was somewhat regrettable not to have slain the others, but this was sufficient.
As Morganteron turned, the Kar Tribe Warriors retreated into the mine alongside him.
In the place where they had vanished completely.
Within the darkness, corpses scattered across the snow were quietly buried by the falling snow as if nothing had ever occurred.
The cold northern wind blew fiercely with the blizzard.

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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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