The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 338

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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 (338)
It was a windless night.
The sky above Grashkhal hung low and heavy, and thick darkness blanketed the earth as even moonlight failed to penetrate properly.
At its center.
In that place which could be called the heart of the Kar Tribe, beings who rarely gathered in one location now sat assembled.
Seven Great Warriors in total.
Upon the left shoulder of each, the same pattern had been inscribed.
Seven Feather Tattoos—a mark granted to only nine individuals across the entirety of the Kar Tribe.
All save two of them—the dead Barg and Morganteron—had gathered in this place.
“All have assembled, Taman.”
Halkansor’s low voice resonated through the Barracks.
At those words, Brakthor Tamantiacum, seated at the center, slowly lifted his gaze.
His eyes swept across each figure, one by one.
Beings for whom words were unnecessary.
Each was a monster capable of shaking an entire Battlefield.
But then it happened.
One of the seven Great Warriors seated there opened his mouth.
“Taman, what is your purpose in summoning us to one place?”
Long flowing hair and a balanced physique.
The pale skin characteristic of the Kar Tribe and the contrasting black eyes that marked him were striking.
It was Rakjen of the Cruziel Tribe.
Among the Warriors bearing seven Feather Tattoos, Rakjen ranked in the lower tier of Combat Power.
Yet no one disregarded him or looked down upon him.
On the Battlefield, he possessed a remarkable ability to crush enemies through ghostly Tactics and movements.
At Rakjen’s question, Brakthor turned his gaze toward the Barracks entrance.
Thud, thud.
Light footsteps.
Within that heavy space, the sound rang out with unusual clarity.
And as the leather door of the Barracks swung open, a man entered.
With his arrival, the eyes of all those present turned toward him.
Receiving the gaze of the Great Warriors, he spoke.
“It is my first time meeting you, Great Warriors. I am Berkal, a Military Strategist.”
With Berkal’s measured voice, those assembled displayed varied reactions.
“…A Military Strategist?”
“What is a Military Strategist?”
“…Stop spouting ignorance and shut your mouth.”
In an instant, the Barracks stirred with tension.
Low growling voices mixed in, and the atmosphere grew rough and turbulent.
The reason was simple.
The one who had suddenly appeared as a Military Strategist was far younger than they had anticipated.
Everyone seated in this place had proven themselves on the Battlefield.
Yet the presence of someone appearing so fragile in this gathering felt profoundly out of place.
But that was the moment.
“From this point forward, the Military Strategist will explain the reason I have gathered you all. Consider his words as my own, and listen with full attention.”
“….”
The atmosphere instantly grew tense.
―Consider his words as my own.
These words from Brakjor’s lips carried far greater weight than anyone could have imagined.
From this moment onward, whatever this young man said would be equivalent to the words of Taman himself—was that not what it meant?
‘Who could he possibly be.’
‘What ability has he demonstrated that Taman places such extraordinary trust in him…?’
Questions arose, yet all held their breath, their eyes fixed upon him.
Berkal then moved toward the wall where a large Map of the Northern Region hung.
“From this moment forward… I shall present to you the plan for the Recapture of the Northern territories lost to the Empire….”
At those words, the eyes of all present grew cold and sharp.
* * *
The air within the Barracks hung heavy and oppressive.
A space where the scent of rough Hide, the Smell of Blood, and the warmth of ancient embers intermingled.
From its center, Berkal’s every word cleaved through everything.
The Northern territories seized by the Empire.
In all the long history of the Kar Tribe, such a thing had never occurred.
They had always been the invaders, the plunderers.
Never once had they lost what they held in their grasp, yet in their generation, for the first time, this impossible calamity had come to pass.
A shocking event that no one could accept.
Because of this, they must reclaim what was theirs.
Yet it was no simple task.
The Empire already gripped the Northern Region, and they had not merely stopped at defense… they had begun to develop and dominate through their own strength.
Everyone understood the situation.
Then, breaking the Silence, someone muttered softly.
“…Insane.”
“…Ah, hold your tongue.”
At Draktun Brakar’s remark, Erka beside him furrowed his brow and spoke.
Yet Draktun seemed unbothered, his massive frame trembling slightly as his lips slowly curved upward.
“Krkrkrkrkrkrkrkrk….”
Suppressed laughter grew steadily louder.
Soon Draktun tilted his head slightly, his gaze turning toward Brakjor seated at the center.
“Taman. Do you truly intend to execute this plan as he proposes…?”
At that single question, all eyes in the Barracks shifted in unison.
Berkal’s Operation was certainly unconventional.
No—it was far more than that.
A plan that stood upon the borderline between ‘madness’ and ‘genius’.
However, it was something that could not even begin without Taman’s permission.
Brakthor’s gaze moved slowly.
The light in Brakthor’s eyes as he regarded Berkal had settled into a calm composure.
“….”
I had already heard the general outline beforehand through Berkal.
But when he began to speak in earnest about the operation, the weight and gravity of it transformed entirely.
‘So… audacious.’
A brief silence followed.
The gaze Brakthor fixed upon Berkal deepened further.
If this plan were to be executed as conceived.
‘Perhaps….’
Two years.
Three years at most.
Within that span, all the lost territories could be reclaimed.
No, perhaps even more than that.
Could we not advance into lands of the Empire that we had never possessed before?
But Brakthor understood.
The price would be equally steep.
“Military Strategist.”
“Yes, Taman.”
Berkal answered in a measured voice at Brakthor’s summons.
The mere meeting of their gazes made his body tremble as if shaken.
Berkal clenched his fists tightly, striving to maintain an outward calm.
Brakthor spoke, regarding Berkal.
“Are you considering that should the operation you propose fail… the worst circumstances could arise?”
It was a question posed in a voice neither high nor low, but measured.
Yet its weight pressed down upon the Barracks with crushing force.
All eyes turned once more toward Berkal.
The space where even breathing had diminished.
Within it, Berkal’s eyes gleamed.
‘It has come.’
This moment.
The moment Berkal had been waiting for.
The precise timing where retreat was impossible, and retreat must not occur.
Berkal opened his mouth.
“Taman.”
His voice was steady.
“If time continues in this present state, then within the next ten years… no, at most fifteen to twenty years.”
At those words, several of the great warriors furrowed their brows.
I could predict to some extent what he was about to say.
Yet there existed a difference between anticipating words and actually hearing them—one that defied all description.
Berkal continued without hesitation.
“The Kar Tribe will… perish in this Northern Region, consumed by cold and hunger.”
In that instant, a freezing chill descended upon the Barracks as if the very air had crystallized.
Even the Great Hall warriors who had anticipated this answer contorted their expressions in shock.
“…What did you just say?”
“Madness.”
“How dare you… speak such drivel without fear before Taman.”
The warriors seated throughout the hall openly displayed their displeasure.
Had this not been before Brakjor, there were those who would have seized Berkal’s neck and snapped it.
To speak such words before the Great Taman himself was an act undertaken only with death accepted.
Yet Berkal did not retreat a single step.
“If we cannot reclaim more than what was taken from us…!”
Berkal clenched his fists with tremendous force.
The Aura they emanated was itself a weapon.
My body trembled violently, and my breath came in jagged gasps.
Yet Berkal spoke through gritted teeth.
“The tragedy I speak of will come to pass.”
And then, briefly.
His gaze fell downward before rising once more.
“The aged warriors… perhaps they matter little. But…”
His eyes grew progressively sharper.
“What of the young warriors still growing, the children born, the women? What becomes of them?”
Silence.
No one could refute him.
All knew the truth.
They simply had not spoken it.
They had merely avoided it.
Yet this was already a change set in motion.
The harsh environment of the Northern Region.
And the dwindling foundation of survival.
At this rate, we could only slowly perish in this cold, just as Berkal said.
Berkal continued.
“We face no worst-case scenario. The question is whether we accept the risk or refuse it…”
Berkal paused and looked at those assembled.
The crushing pressure that had gripped my chest at first was gone.
No—Berkal’s heart now surged with such intensity that such pressure had become meaningless.
“Such a choice… does not exist for us.”
Berkal’s gaze turned cold and resolute.
With the tribe’s support, I spent over a decade on the Continent learning and refining my craft.
Though I had already grown accustomed to a way of life far removed from the Kar Tribe’s traditions.
“Taman.”
Berkal’s gaze extended toward Brakjor.
Berkal spoke.
“My heart remains in this Northern Region still, and I will stand alongside the Kar Tribe’s resurgence going forward.”
Berkal’s words came with unwavering resolve in his eyes.
“Now we shall advance beyond the Empire’s Northern Region and reach the Central Government itself, and the first thing we must accomplish is….”
Tap.
Berkal pointed with the rod he held to a specific location.
“Reclaiming this place.”
The place Berkal indicated.
The Western Sector of the Northern Region.
Belikezel.
* * *
The air within the office gradually cooled.
Before the lingering echoes of conversation could fade, Belkain rose quietly from his seat.
“This decision was not made merely from anger at losing Claw.”
His voice was low, yet resolute.
Words born not of emotion, but of judgment.
He moved slowly toward the map hanging on the wall surface.
Tap.
The elongated rod touched the map.
“I have confirmed that a distinct ‘change’ has occurred within the Kar Tribe during this war.”
Sedrian said nothing.
Instead, his eyes narrowed as his gaze followed the tip of Belkain’s hand.
“This is a compilation of reports recently received from commanders in other sectors of the Northern Region.”
Upon the map.
Marks scattered across the entire Northern Region.
Traces of battle.
Troop movements.
And empty spaces.
“Though their movements have indeed diverged from the past, commanders in each sector believed this change to be merely a difference in pattern.”
Belkain drew a long line across the front of the Northern Region held by the Empire.
Sedrian and Arteon’s gazes followed that line.
Belkain continued.
“By this point in time, they would have charged at us multiple times. The Kar Tribe’s way is to engage in battle regardless of cost, even accepting casualties.”
Until now, their methods had been straightforward.
But….
“Now it is different.”
The Rod moved slowly across the Map.
“They are gathering Troops. No—it is not merely a gathering of Troops, but rather a cunning concealment of their numbers while observing the direction our Allied Forces move.”
In that instant, Sedrian’s gaze froze.
It was as though he had heard this somewhere before—a familiar sensation washing over him.
Sedrian’s pupils trembled slightly.
“…Commander.”
A single word, spoken low.
Belkain nodded.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Their gazes met.
And they arrived at the same conclusion.
“These bastards.”
Sedrian’s lips parted slowly.
“…They are moving by our methods.”
Belkain’s answer was brief.
“Indeed.”
There was not a moment’s hesitation.
“The Kar Tribe is no longer the Kar Tribe of old.”
His gaze lifted from the Map, turning toward empty space.
As though he were gazing upon a Battlefield yet unseen.
“The Kar Tribe has already mastered our Tactics… No.”
A brief silence fell.
Then Belkain spoke, his eyes burning with certainty and resolve.
“It has been confirmed that the Kar Tribe has completely mastered the Tactics of the Continent.”
At those words, Sedrian’s pupils began to tremble violently.

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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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