The Mad Spearman of the Northern Front - Chapter 341

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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 (341)
Wind swept low across the plains of Wolfheim, carrying its chill.
As winter drew ever closer, a biting cold sliced through the air with vicious intensity.
Beneath it all, the tremor of thirty thousand soldiers marching sent dull reverberations through the earth itself.
Though they merely walked, their sheer numbers meant the vibrations could be felt from great distances away.
A soldier standing watch upon Wolfheim’s castle wall caught sight of the approaching forces and sounded the horn.
Pwooooooooooo!
The long horn blast pierced the sky, its call echoing across the heavens.
As the dark tide of soldiers halted before Wolfheim’s city gate, the massive gate began to open slowly.
Crrrrrrrrrunch!
The gate descended with a grinding sound, revealing the soldiers in full view.
Thirty thousand soldiers in total.
The compression born from such numbers felt entirely different the moment one’s eyes confirmed it.
The soldiers filling the plains stood in perfect formation, their breathing synchronized as if by design, while flags undulated gently in the wind.
And at the very vanguard of those soldiers.
A man dismounted from his horse, removing his helmet as he did.
Silver-trimmed decorations gleamed atop his deep blue military uniform, and a general’s cloak billowed from his shoulders in the wind.
Markelion Barten.
Though not quite the equal of Belkain, he possessed the seasoned expertise of one who had spent over twenty years as a commander defending the Empire’s Eastern Region.
As he descended from his horse, he spoke in a low voice.
“Maintain formation. Hold position here until further orders are given.”
“Understood, sir.”
At the officer’s response, Markelion turned his gaze toward the city gate.
Belkain, who had come to greet him, approached.
Markelion bowed his head first, offering his greeting to Belkain.
“It has been too long, Commander Belkain.”
His manner betrayed not the slightest hesitation.
Clear courtesy was evident in every gesture.
Belkain extended his hand.
“I never expected you to come in person, Markelion. I can feel the Imperial Prince’s unwavering resolve toward the North.”
“It seems this time they intend to see it through to the end.”
A brief exchange accompanied their handshake.
Yet soon, Markelion’s gaze drifted slowly to the side.
The man standing beside Belkain.
It was Arteon.
Markelion offered a respectful greeting upon seeing Arteon.
“I have the honor of meeting the Empire’s God of War. Marquis Arteon Wolfheim.”
God of War.
That title alone was enough to naturally draw the soldiers’ attention.
Arteon was already one of the most renowned figures across the entire continent by name alone.
It was strange to see Arteon up this close.
But Arteon shook his head as if to deflect the praise.
“A god of war? That’s too much credit. It’s merely an excessive title bestowed upon me by Commander Belkain.”
Then, bowing respectfully,
“I am Arteon Wolfheim. This is the first time we’ve had the chance to greet each other properly.”
He offered a concise introduction.
But soon after, Arteon posed a question to Markelion Barten.
“What are the current plans for troop movement?”
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll divide into three units.”
Markelion Barten turned to look at the soldiers as he spoke.
“We’re scheduled to move to three locations: Helikel Gorge, Aikuled, and Elvarfiel Lake.”
“I see.”
The three locations Markelion Barten mentioned were among the most strategically vital points in the Northern Region.
Of course, there were Preldior and other important areas beyond those, but it was crucial to reinforce the troops at these three strategic points and then assess the Kar Tribe’s movements.
Markelion Barten continued.
“The Kar Tribe’s movements are said to be unusual. We’re positioning ourselves to be able to mobilize forces in any direction once a problem emerges.”
“That’s a sound strategy.”
Arteon nodded in agreement.
Right now, rather than launching reckless attacks, it was necessary to first understand the enemy’s intentions and respond accordingly.
Arteon turned his body and gestured toward the interior as he spoke.
“Let us proceed inside first. I’ll show you the way.”
“We appreciate your consideration.”
At Arteon’s words, Markelion Barten and Belkain walked side by side toward the Lord’s Castle.
Once the three had departed, murmurs rippled through the soldiers left behind.
“Man… there’s no end to them.”
“They say it’s thirty thousand. That’s no ordinary force.”
“Isn’t it more than what we saw at Preldior?”
The Silent Spear Unit Members mounted on horseback gazed out at the soldiers filling the plains and clicked their tongues in amazement.
Seeing so many soldiers made the reality of their current situation hit home all over again.
“It means the Imperial Prince is making a firm commitment to support the Northern Region.”
“And… it also means the situation in the North isn’t looking good.”
The atmosphere grew heavy in an instant.
Right now there were only thirty thousand soldiers, but once the personnel arrived to distribute additional supplies, that number would swell tremendously.
But then.
“We just need to do our part faithfully. Everyone stop slacking off and resume training.”
Isaac spoke to the unit members.
Regardless of the atmosphere on the battlefield, work had to be done.
They couldn’t skip training just because the Unit Commander wasn’t here.
But that was the moment.
“Man… it’s been a while, everyone.”
“…?”
A voice suddenly called out from behind.
Isaac turned his head to look back.
“…!”
A man stood there.
Red hair and bronze skin.
He wore a deep navy uniform emblazoned with a flame pattern.
Isaac cried out.
“Kailun!”
“Everyone’s still the same, I see.”
Kailun approached Isaac with a smile, but then he noticed the horses they were riding and asked, “But what’s with all these horses?”
Kailun’s expression grew puzzled as he observed the Silent Spear Unit Members mounted on horseback.
It wasn’t just a few of them—every single unit member was on a horse.
Seeing this, Isaac dismounted with a faint smile.
“There are unavoidable circumstances behind it.”
As Isaac descended from his horse, Bartell beside him spoke up.
“What?! Should I report this to the Unit Commander?”
“Training ends here for today. An important guest has arrived—I can’t leave him alone.”
“Understood! Then the Sub-Commander takes responsibility!”
Bartell turned toward the unit members and shouted.
“Training’s over! Everyone dismount!”
“Yesssss!”
“Finally…!”
Due to Arteon’s orders, for over a month they had spent nearly every waking moment in the saddle.
Some unit members had even fallen asleep on horseback and tumbled to the ground.
But perhaps because of that.
“…What’s with you all?”
Kailun looked slightly astonished as he watched the Silent Spear Unit Members dismount.
Their movements appeared remarkably skilled.
Isaac nudged Kailun’s arm and said, “Come on. Let’s grab a drink and talk. There’s a special beer they brew only here—the taste is extraordinary.”
Then, glancing at his left arm.
“How’s the arm treating you?”
“As you can see. I’ve even been cleared to wield a sword again.”
“That’s a relief. I really thought it was a lost cause, heh.”
Reunited with his old comrade after so long, Isaac laughed and walked with him toward the tavern.
But then.
Wheeeeeee!
A messenger rushed past at speed.
Nooo!
A messenger passing by quickly.
The Messenger cried out loudly.
“Second Division, reform ranks!”
“Begin establishing the Camp!”
Thirty thousand troops surged into motion, and the earth itself trembled beneath their feet.
With the air transforming in an instant, I felt as though something invisible was slowly tightening around us.
And within that immense tide of movement, they sought to savor whatever respite remained.
Thus… another day in Wolfheim was passing.
* * *
The wind howled as it swept across the Mountain Range.
Though night had fallen, the Northern Region’s darkness was far from peaceful.
Thick shadows descended, and within them, countless presences moved in chaotic patterns.
Beneath the pale moonlight, firelight flickered sporadically between the jagged rocks.
The Kar Tribe’s Camp.
The Campfires burned low, their smoke torn and scattered by the wind.
Warriors gathered around those flames.
Their eyes, cold and settled, awaited only a single command.
A heat that seemed ready to detonate at any moment.
And with it, a Warrior stepped inward.
Thud, thud.
With heavy footsteps, the Warrior entered the vast leather Tent and beheld the man within.
Berkal, the Military Strategist of the Kar Tribe.
Before him lay a Map of the entire Northern Region.
Countless scratches and creases marked its surface.
And upon it, numerous markings had been inscribed.
It was a Map bearing the traces of countless deliberations and tactical schemes.
As Berkal lifted his head, the Warrior spoke.
“As you anticipated, the Empire’s forces have entered the Northern Region.”
“How many?”
“Slightly over thirty thousand, by our assessment.”
At the precise figure, Berkal’s lips pressed firmly shut.
More than he had expected.
It revealed much about how the Empire regarded this Northern Region.
As Berkal fell silent, the Warrior’s lips moved slowly as he continued.
“However… regrettably, we have not yet confirmed their exact gathering point.”
We confirmed their entry into the Northern Region, but could not pursue all of them as they dispersed.
Their vigilant Patrols made it dangerous to approach any closer without detection.
Berkal nodded.
“No matter. Those bastards have limited options for movement anyway.”
No matter how many troops the Empire deployed, they could not defend this vast Northern Region simultaneously.
Then their only choice was singular.
I’ll position the troops in locations where they can move fluidly, and we’ll assess the situation from there.
“….”
The corners of Berkal’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“No matter how those guys move… they won’t be able to keep up with us.”
His words carried an unshakeable conviction.
And with those words, the atmosphere in the barracks grew heavy and oppressive.
Whoosh.
Berkal rose slowly from his seat.
Wind rushed in from the entrance of the tent.
“Are the warriors prepared?”
“We can sortie at any moment, Commander. Just give the order.”
The warrior answered immediately to Berkal’s question.
Everyone was already waiting for the command to attack.
They waited with intense fervor and killing intent, ready to unleash everything they had suppressed until now.
At those words, Berkal’s gaze turned toward the map.
Down to the very last detail.
He continued to think, and once more revised the sections he had agonized over.
And….
“…Excellent.”
His gaze fixed on a single point.
Deep within the territory held by the Empire.
The red mark placed there was nothing short of a perfect choice.
‘Your circumstances and ours are completely different. You must defend merely for profit.’
But we stake everything—our very survival—on this war.
“This war is one we cannot help but win.”
A chilling voice flowed from Berkal’s lips.
Could those bloated pigs possibly hope to stop us?
His eyes grew cold and sharp, carrying the frigid bite of the Northern Region.
Berkal then lifted his head and looked at the warrior before him.
“Tell the Great Warriors. Move to the designated location the moment the sun rises. And three days hence, when night falls…”
When darkness descends….
“We strike the Imperial Army’s camp.”
“Yes, understood…!”
As Berkal’s command fell, the warrior bowed deeply and immediately turned to leave.
And in the space where the warrior had been…
“….”
Berkal’s gaze stretched far into the distance, toward the Northern Region where the Imperial Army lay.

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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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