The customs of the foreign tribes were far wilder than those of the Empire, but even they didn't place idiots in positions of leadership. Standing before his tent with folded arms, the tribal chieftain wore an expression of bitter disbelief. When the messenger reported that their rear supply base had been buried under an avalanche, his first reaction was outright denial.
According to their elders, the so-called Sacred Tree possessed terrifying defensive capabilities. There hadn't been direct proof of its invincibility, but since its fruits sprouted overnight—a fact already proven—its resilience shouldn't have been a lie either.
Yet now, that hardly mattered. The damage was done, leaving him with only two choices.
One: Break through the northern fortress. Word from the elders indicated trouble brewing in the Empire's southern territories. If they could just seize this northern stronghold, they might be able to establish a permanent foothold here.
Two: Significantly reduce their tribe's numbers.
Naturally, he preferred the first option. But seeing how their relentless attacks had barely scratched the fortress's defenses, despair crept into his heart.
Is that fortress even breakable?
A commotion broke out behind him just as that thought crossed his mind.
"What's happening?" he demanded.
"Chief! We've been attacked from the rear!"
"…How many attackers?"
He managed to keep his composure. Diverting enemy troops with flanking attacks was common enough, but the next words widened his eyes.
"Just one…"
"What?!"
"Only one person! It's the Bloodstained Executioner!"
"So, it's him?!"
He'd long wondered about the figure highlighted in their reports. Originally, he assumed the man was holed up inside the fortress, unwilling to fight on the northern snowfields. Who could have expected he'd rush out alone, charging straight into their formation?
"Hah! Arrogant bastard. Since he's here, we won't let him escape! Send the reserves to surround him!"
"Yes, sir!"
Before he finished giving orders, trouble erupted at the front as well—the siege forces had plunged into chaos.
...
When Lancer thrust his spear forward, skewering yet another enemy, the siege officially ended. But the real headache had only just begun.
"I object! We've already won! Killing these prisoners is meaningless!" Najenda protested furiously.
"Meaningless? No, it has plenty of meaning!" Lancer snapped back. "Why do you think the western fortress hasn't been attacked this time around?"
Najenda was a powerful figure with charisma to match; her popularity among the troops was proof of that. Yet she was even more naïve—no, perhaps more idealistic—than Lancer himself.
"Why can't we educate these people? Plenty of foreign tribes have integrated into the Empire before, haven't they? Why wouldn't it work now?"
"Because we don't have time!" Lancer growled in frustration.
No one understood Honest's true threat better than him. As long as that fat bastard lived, Lancer would never feel safe. Previously, as a mere bodyguard, he'd barely survived Honest's machinations. What would happen if Honest truly conquered the south and marched north? Could the Empire withstand that?
The simplest solution was to strike first—hit them hard, before they could gain their footing. Crush Honest completely, leaving him no room to recover!
Najenda was left speechless. Had Lancer tried to argue that the tribes were barbaric savages, she could have countered easily. But against this cold logic—this lack of time—she had no rebuttal.
Several generals and mid-level commanders sat quietly around the table. None dared interrupt the argument unfolding before them; these two opposing titans left no space for outsiders to interject.
Eventually, Najenda surrendered, slumping into her chair as if drained of all strength. She was idealistic, yes, but hardly stupid. Her authority stemmed solely from the Emperor's appointment; without her own loyalists, she had no choice but to step back.
Leaving the meeting room, Lancer gave the same ruthless order he'd issued at the western fortress:
"Offer them a choice: death or slavery!"
Did he not desire reconciliation?
Of course, he did.
But it simply wasn't feasible. Honest loomed over the south like a hungry beast. Without removing that threat, Lancer couldn't rest.
...
Unlike previous campaigns, Lancer lacked the luxury of time to impose his authority gradually. Instead, he chose a brutal shortcut.
Countless wooden spears lined the fields outside the northern fortress, impaling the bodies of those who had resisted to the death.
The foreign tribes had sent over ten thousand warriors on this expedition. Less than a third managed to escape, nearly half were killed in battle, and among the two thousand captured, more than half preferred death over surrender. Those stubborn few now hung grotesquely from makeshift pikes, a grisly warning to others.
Several attempts were made by the tribes to reclaim the bodies. All ended in failure, serving only to add more bloody stakes to the grim forest outside the fortress gates.
The Empire's official news heavily promoted Lancer's daring raid on the tribes' supply base, but this story of heroism was swiftly eclipsed by a more chilling tale: thousands of prisoners executed without mercy, their corpses left to rot in the frozen wastes. Rumor had it the oppressive stench of blood and death frightened even the scavengers away.
Lancer considered justifying himself—after all, hadn't he guaranteed peace along the eastern frontier for years, maybe even decades? But eventually, he abandoned the idea. It was pointless.
He clearly remembered the way Najenda and the fortress soldiers had looked at him when he left with the Imperial Guard. Their eyes held no admiration or gratitude. Instead, they stared as if beholding a monster.
What meaning did killing hold for Lancer? Those trivial points awarded by the [System]?
Rumors were merciless, and he was certain someone was actively fanning the flames against him. Defending himself was futile. Right now, all he wanted was to hurry home—to a place where, no matter what he'd done, a gentle voice would always welcome him back…
But as he rushed the Imperial Guard back to the Capital, he found it under strict lockdown.
An ominous dread surged in his chest.
When the Imperial Guards and Imperial Police at the checkpoints gave him strange, wary looks, his unease only deepened.
Just what the hell happened here?!
---
T/N: GULP OH BOY, hmm he'd definitely fit beserker class not just lancer specially with the stories about him now lmao also i like how they didnt drag out the fight, it was obvious Lancer would demolish them, and instead of just focusing on battle it focused on the repercussions of his actions
btw i just imagine him as like a black haired cu
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