The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 336

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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 (336)
Black smoke still drifted faintly into the air.
The Gracekal Mine and its surroundings reeked not of victory’s cry, but of charred timber and the metallic stench of blood.
Collapsed wooden palisades.
Mangled corpses scattered about.
And between them, Imperial Army soldiers moving methodically through the aftermath.
The battle had ended, but the grim work of the battlefield remained unfinished.
Whoooosh!
Rain rarely fell in the Northern Region, yet twice it had come within days.
Yet I considered even this a blessing.
The late-arriving rain washed away the blood stains, carrying them downstream.
The earth, stained crimson, slowly darkened as it settled.
Standing upon it, Belkain opened his mouth quietly.
“There appears to be much work ahead of us.”
Brief words, yet their weight was far from trivial.
Arteon stepped beside him and asked.
“How long will it take?”
Belkain surveyed the surroundings for a moment.
Collapsed walls, hastily constructed fortifications, and soldiers exhausted from the aftermath of battle.
Belkain spoke quietly.
“At minimum… we’ll need half a year.”
The sheer volume of supplies that would need to be sent here would be staggering.
“First, we must rebuild the defensive fortifications.”
Belkain’s gaze sharpened.
“We’ve achieved total annihilation of the Kar Tribe here, but we cannot know when they will strike again.”
Had the Gracekal Mine not revealed the Kar Tribe’s evolution?
One must now accept that the Kar Tribe of old—those who mindlessly hurled themselves at us—no longer existed.
They had become far more methodical than before.
‘They’ve begun to mimic the Empire, to some degree.’
More precisely, they had learned the ways of the Continent.
Therefore, we now faced the necessity of preparing for that reality.
Yet….
“….”
Arteon grasped the true meaning beneath Belkain’s words.
Arteon spoke carefully.
“Then… you mean this place could fall into their hands once more?”
“…That is correct.”
More precisely, it was not only this place.
“Nowhere in the Northern Region can be considered safe any longer.”
For those learning the tactics of the Continent were now unpredictable in their movements.
Moreover….
A soft sound.
The problem was not limited to the Kar Tribe alone.
Belkain turned his gaze from the mine toward the Western Sector.
In the time it had taken to reach this place, I had conquered vast stretches of the Northern Region’s territory.
Back then, the Imperial Army had been sharp as a blade, clawing desperately for survival by any means.
But what of now?
The situation had grown increasingly prosperous with the minerals extracted from the Northern Region’s lands.
“Currently, the Imperial Army is… in a state of complacency unlike before.”
At those words, Arteon’s gaze dimmed ever so slightly.
He too understood it.
Successive victories.
The achievement of pushing back the Kar Tribe.
All of it, bit by bit, almost imperceptibly.
Was eroding the soldiers’ vigilance.
“We must restore military discipline first.”
“Indeed.”
Belkain’s response came without hesitation.
“And to prevent this place from falling, we must fortify the mine.”
“…Understood.”
Arteon answered briefly.
Then, a figure approached from behind.
“Supreme Commander.”
It was Zeulrons.
Water droplets streamed down his rain-soaked armor, yet his eyes remained unwavering.
“I have relayed all your orders. And… I will remain here to defend this place.”
Belkain’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You?”
“How could the Supreme Commander possibly remain in such a place? That would be improper.”
His tone was resolute, and his words held truth.
Fortifying a conquered battlefield was the task at hand.
There was no reason for Belkain to remain here.
Confident in the basis of his argument, Zeulrons stepped closer.
“I will take charge of this place. You, Supreme Commander, should return to Wolfheim with Marquis Arteon.”
Moreover, had not reports already reached the Imperial Palace?
There was a strong possibility that the Empire would issue orders for Belkain, as Supreme Commander, to return regarding this matter.
Either way, it was proper for Belkain to depart from this place.
A faint smile formed at the corners of Zeulrons’s mouth.
“I am more than capable of handling this place.”
His words carried not mere loyalty, but responsibility.
Belkain remained silent for a long time.
Only the sound of falling rain filled the surroundings.
Patter… pitter-patter…
And then…
“…I understand.”
He nodded quietly.
“Then… I’m counting on you.”
Zeulrons bowed his head deeply.
“Have no concerns, sir.”
His response was brief.
Yet within those words lay the trust they had built through countless battlefields endured together.
“We shall meet again before long.”
Belkain said nothing more.
He simply nodded curtly and turned his body.
Then he shifted his gaze to Arteon beside him and spoke.
“Then… would it be acceptable if I imposed upon your hospitality for a time?”
A rare hint of apology crossed his expression.
But Arteon immediately shook his head.
“Hospitality? Such words are far too modest.”
And he added briefly.
“If the Commander is to visit… you are welcome at any time.”
A faint smile crossed Belkain’s lips at those words.
Then Arteon turned his body.
“Allow me to escort you.”
A brief utterance.
And at that same moment.
“We return to Wolfheim. All Silent Spear Unit Members, prepare yourselves!”
The Silent Spear Unit Members moved in unison.
The sound of mounting horses.
The metallic clang of armor colliding.
And Belkain too mounted his horse and prepared to depart for Wolfheim.
Once preparations were complete, they departed for Wolfheim without delay.
Though the journey was not long, something heavy settled upon the shoulders of those who rode back.
Under normal circumstances, they would have exchanged much conversation.
“…”
But now they simply rode toward Wolfheim in silence, remembering the cherished comrade who had departed first.
* * *
Grashkhal lay shrouded in deep darkness.
A place of merciless wind and harsh blizzards.
At the heart of that place where only the elite selected from among the Kar Tribe gathered.
A heavy atmosphere settled over the place.
For an ordinary Kar Tribe member, even catching a glimpse of this figure would be difficult.
Yet despite having arrived here not long ago, I was already facing a second summons.
“….”
Silence without a single word.
But that silence itself was the greatest pressure of all.
Cold sweat trickled down Berkal’s spine.
Then he lifted his head to look at the figure before him.
Brakthor Tamantiacum.
The Grand Taman of the entire Kar Tribe.
Merely meeting his gaze—laden with sheer will—was enough to feel a crushing weight pressing down upon my entire body.
And yet….
“….”
Berkal did not avert his gaze.
Soon after, Brakthor’s lips parted slowly.
“You were defeated.”
His voice was low and heavy.
With those words, the air in the barracks grew even more stifled.
Berkal bowed his head and answered in a calm voice.
“Yes, that is correct.”
And….
“Morganteron Hayakkuntal has fallen in battle.”
Whoosh!
In that instant, the flames of the torches flickered.
As if a sudden gust of wind had swept through.
“….”
At Berkal’s words, Brakthor said nothing.
Yet that silence was heavier than any anger could be.
Days ago.
The Military Strategist who had come to Grashkhal—Berkal.
He had already spoken of it.
That Morganteron would die.
And those words had become reality.
Brakthor’s eyes slowly darkened.
Morganteron Hayakkuntal was a warrior of middling strength among those who bore seven Feather Tattoos—formidable in his own right.
Above all, he possessed swift tactical judgment and exceptional Mana Control.
He possessed not only raw destructive power, but the ability to wield that power with remarkable flexibility.
The memory of crossing blades with him had been quite vivid, allowing me to recall him with perfect clarity.
And yet such a Morganteron….
Brakthor’s gaze turned glacial and cold.
“Is he truly that formidable?”
“If we’re speaking in terms of evaluation….”
Berkal let his words trail off slightly.
He couldn’t afford to misspeak even a fraction before Brakjor.
Moreover, there was the concern that such words might displease him.
But soon enough.
Berkal seemed to reach a decision, his lips moving as he spoke.
“According to reports, he stands at a level comparable to Duke Carbain’s prime—the mightiest warrior of the strongest empire on this continent.”
“Duke Carbain of the Empire, you say….”
A faint glimmer crossed Brakjor’s face.
Brakjor knew all too well about the Empire’s Duke Carbain.
He had long considered him the only rival on this entire continent capable of standing as his equal.
Yet this Arteon was comparable to Duke Carbain in his prime.
But Berkal’s words did not end there.
“The problem is….”
His voice dropped lower.
“This Arteon has not yet finished growing.”
The air inside the barracks grew heavy once more.
Already threatening with the power he currently possessed.
“He will grow stronger… is that what you’re saying?”
Brakjor’s eyes gleamed.
Berkal nodded in response.
“Yes.”
And he continued.
“He grows stronger the more he fights formidable opponents. Even… in the very moment of battle itself.”
An incomprehensible tale.
An absurd rumor.
And yet….
“If one examines the battlefields he has walked across thus far… it is entirely plausible.”
His words carried absolute conviction.
This was no mere speculation, but a conclusion drawn after meticulously gathering and analyzing every scrap of intelligence about him.
Berkal’s eyes narrowed.
“In the future… he will become a threat greater than any other to us.”
A brief silence descended.
The great Taman of the Kar Tribe.
To speak such words before Brakjor itself demonstrated remarkable courage.
Berkal watched him while struggling to conceal his trembling heart.
If he had somehow displeased him.
‘A single gesture… and my neck could be snapped.’
Such was the realm of the 8th Star.
Berkal simply waited for Brakjor’s response in silence.
After a brief pause, Brakjor opened his mouth.
“Military Strategist.”
“Yes, Taman.”
“Is there a way to deal with him?”
It was a remarkably direct question.
As if there were no need for roundabout words, Brakjor asked Berkal plainly.
Berkal pressed his lips together, seeming to contemplate for a moment.
Then, after a brief pause.
“If you grant me time.”
Had I not already envisioned dozens, hundreds of scenarios involving him?
Berkal spoke with conviction.
“When the day comes that I face him… I will deliver his head.”
“Explain yourself more specifically.”
Brakjor’s eyes deepened.
Beside him.
Halkansor, the supreme commander who oversaw Grashkhal, was also watching Berkal intently.
To that….
Berkal rose from his seat under the weight of both their gazes.
His footsteps echoed across the barracks floor.
The sound reverberated with each step.
He came to a halt before the enormous map hanging on the wall.
It depicted the entire Northern Region.
Berkal picked up the long rod placed beside him.
With a sharp tap.
He pointed to a specific location on the map.
His eyes transformed completely.
“Then. From this moment forward… as a military strategist of the Kar Tribe, I shall explain our war against the Empire.”
The torchlight flickered more intensely.
The air within the barracks grew taut with tension.
As Berkal moved the rod.
A line was drawn along the Northern Region’s mountain range.
“First of all….”
And the words that followed.
With each phrase, Brakjor’s and Halkansor’s pupils grew progressively deeper.
Soon….
“Krkrkrkrkrkrkrkrkk.”
Brakjor burst into laughter.
“Kekekekekekekeke.”
Brakjor burst into laughter.
‘This young Military Strategist who cannot even properly wield a sword….’
I felt the thought that he might become the most threatening enemy to the Empire’s greatest warrior.
And so….
“Continue speaking.”
Brakjor listened to Berkal’s words while beginning to mentally map out every battlefield across the Northern Region.

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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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