The Forgotten Field - Chapter 100

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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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Chapter 100
Lucas immediately spun on his heel and bolted.
Darian, who had witnessed the spectacle from nearby, clicked his tongue with a worried expression.
“Wasn’t that a bit excessive? If he develops resentment toward you, what will you do then?”
“Lucas is currently the Grand Ducal House’s sole heir. Should anything happen to me, that boy must carry on the family line.”
Barcas spoke with utter indifference.
“Rather, I’d like to know why you let him deteriorate to such a state in the first place.”
“You’re so young and vigorous, sir. Why would there be any need to prepare your second son as an heir?”
Darian shrugged with a casual air.
“Besides, now that you’re married, won’t you soon have a direct heir of your own?”
Barcas made no reply, simply opening the waterskin at his waist and moistening his lips.
Between the bustling soldiers, fourteen supply wagons and a large four-wheeled carriage designed for travel came into view.
A Quarter Dwarf carrying an enormous basin approached ahead of it, seemingly intent on attending to his wife’s needs.
Suddenly, a bitter, metallic taste spread across his tongue—as if he’d bitten into corroded iron.
Since injuring her leg, Talia had become acutely sensitive about exposing her body. She wouldn’t allow anyone but that woman and the Healer his mother had provided to touch her leg.
Remembering how she would convulse whenever he tried to examine the wound himself, the metallic taste intensified into something bloodier.
He let another gulp of strong spirits trickle down his sand-rough throat, then deliberately redirected the conversation.
“Was there anything unusual within Dorcaen Castle?”
“Nothing particularly suspicious was found. It seems they simply invited us to establish ties with the Grand Ducal House.”
Darian, stroking his beard, continued in measured tones.
“While you were in private audience with the Castle Lord, I even inspected the Training Grounds. It appears the rumors about insufficient troop numbers are indeed true.”
“Is there a particular reason for the reduced forces?”
“Financial hardship, I suspect.”
Darian exhaled a deep sigh.
“The Castle Lord of Dorcaen seems to lack talent for territorial management. Unable to pay proper wages, numerous warriors have abandoned Dorcaen, and with bandits running rampant, the military has suffered severe losses. I doubt he would dare rebel against the Grand Ducal House.”
Barcas gazed at the grass-covered fields bathed in sunset’s glow, lost in thought.
His judgment differed little from Darian’s. While his father lay ill, the regional nobles had each expanded their forces and accumulated power.
For a Castle Lord without proper military strength, the increasingly powerful neighboring lords must have posed a genuine threat.
For his own security, supporting the new Grand Duke would have seemed the wiser choice.
The question was whether this man would prove useful to me.
“Are you considering supporting Darken to check the other vassals?”
As I mentally calculated the possibilities, Darian posed the question.
Barcas slowly shook his head.
“Let me meet with the remaining nobles first before deciding.”
“A wise decision, sir.”
Having concluded his conversation with Darian, Barcas moved toward the center of the Campsite.
The soldiers had already gathered near the campfire and were eating. He surveyed the Campsite before turning his steps toward his Tent.
As he stepped into the dim interior, the sharp scent of rose oil and a cloying sweetness assaulted his nostrils.
Standing at the entrance, Barcas turned his gaze toward the candlelit bed. He could see a woman draped loosely in a blue linen nightgown, sprawled limply atop the blankets.
In that moment, cold air seeped between his ribs.
He approached the bedside with measured steps, placing the back of his hand against her cheek. A thin layer of cool perspiration beaded across her skin, smooth as glazed porcelain.
Was she suffering from pain again, even in sleep?
Barcas furrowed his brow and rose to rummage through the display cabinet. If she was tormented by discomfort while sleeping, burning medicinal herbs seemed the better course.
He inserted a tightly bundled cluster of dried herbs into the small incense burner the Healer had prepared in advance.
Just as he reached to ignite it, a thin voice emerged from nearby.
“…Barcas.”
Turning his head, I saw her eyes—still hazed with drowsiness, unfocused and distant.
The dazed expression unsettled me, and I narrowed my eyes.
Had I already burned the sleeping draught?
I leaned toward her and brought my nose to her collar, but detected no trace of smoke. Instead, an overwhelmingly sweet fragrance—her scent—flooded my senses so intensely that my throat tightened.
The excessive stimulus momentarily clouded my mind. It felt as though long-dormant sensations were awakening all at once.
Struggling to shake off that strange sensation, I carefully lifted my head, only to notice her shoulders drawn inward, as though uncomfortable with our proximity. Pretending not to notice, I spoke with deliberate composure.
“Do you have a fever, perhaps?”
She pulled the blanket up to her chest and replied curtly.
“I’m fine. I just fell asleep suddenly.”
“Have you eaten properly?”
“I ate a while ago.”
She gestured with her chin toward the tray beside the bed.
I gazed down at the bowls brimming with food, my brow tightening.
There was scarcely any evidence of consumption. At most, she’d taken a few sips of mead and nibbled on a handful of fruit.
Feeling the peculiar sensation that had unsettled me transform abruptly into irritation, I ran my hand roughly through my hair.
Talia watched my expression carefully. My restless demeanor only sharpened her anxiety. It seemed best that I remain outside until she fell asleep again.
I turned toward the tent entrance.
“Rest now.”
“B…Barcas!”
Then, an urgent hand reached out from behind me.
I turned in surprise. Talia gripped the cuff of my coat tightly, her eyes wide and rolling, her voice fractured as she spoke.
“I…my legs hurt.”
When I offered no response, Talia swallowed hard and continued with difficulty.
“Give me medicine.”
I stared blankly before my gaze descended to her lips. The swollen red flesh resembled crushed pomegranate seeds.
The sensation of drawing them into my mouth, of sucking gently, returned vividly. The soft, moist texture that had wrapped delicately around my tongue came alive once more.
Suddenly, a burning thirst ignited deep within my throat. I walked slowly toward the shelf and retrieved a small glass vial. Holding it in my hand, I sat on the edge of the bed, and a deep unease washed over her face.
I held out the medicine bottle as though testing her.
“This?”
A rosy blush spread across her skin, so translucent it seemed to glow from within.
The woman, her ears and neck flushed crimson, rolled her eyes uncertainly before nodding slightly.
I immediately uncorked the bottle and held the viscous liquid in my mouth.
Cradling her fragile neck—so delicate it seemed it might snap—I felt her pulse: rapid and forceful.
The memory surfaced of holding a small bird in my palm, feeling its heart throb powerfully beneath soft, tender skin. That same anxious urgency flooded through me now.
He cradled her sculpted jaw with reverent care, drawing his lips to the plump softness of her mouth as though it were carved from crimson itself.
As his tongue slipped through the delicate parting, a mewling whimper—like a cat in distress—trembled from her throat.

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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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