The Forgotten Field - Chapter 104

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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 104
She had no time to react.
Startled, her lips parted just enough for a slick tongue and a honey-thick liquid to flow inside.
Talia, who had braced herself for an intensely bitter taste that would burn her stomach, widened her eyes at the unexpected flavor.
A sweet liquid infused with floral notes wrapped gently around her tongue. As she swallowed what pooled in her mouth, the flesh pressing against her tongue withdrew slowly.
“Yet you claimed you skipped dinner.”
His reproachful voice tickled her swollen lips.
Talia looked up at him with a bewildered expression. Ever since she had begun coaxing him into kisses under the pretense of needing medicine, they had pressed their lips together almost every night, but this was the first time he had initiated the kiss himself.
No, to be precise, this was the second time.
She flushed as she recalled that confusing first night.
Barcas, gazing down at her silently, traced his calloused thumb across her lips.
“Would you like more?”
His whispered words made her heart convulse.
Talia recoiled from him as though burned by fire.
“What… what did you feed me?”
To her stammered question, he gestured with his eyes toward the shelf beside the bed. There sat a small silver pitcher and a bowl filled with various fruits.
“A beverage made from fermented goat’s milk. The people of the Eastern Territories often consume it as a breakfast substitute.”
His monotone explanation only tangled her already confused thoughts further. Yet he wore an unbothered expression, as though feeding someone by mouth was of no consequence.
Perhaps it truly was nothing to him.
Just as he had fed her medicine by mouth when she refused to take it, perhaps he was simply ensuring she ate.
Yes, that must be it.
After all, wasn’t he a man fundamentally broken in some way? Just as he had accommodated Aila’s whims unilaterally, he was now simply adjusting to her demands.
Talia deliberately composed herself and adopted a cool expression.
“Who asked you to feed me dinner?”
At her sharp tone, his clear, open eyes narrowed.
Yet there was no sign of displeasure. Barcas, lost in thought as he stroked his chin, placed a tray before her.
“Then, please eat it yourself.”
With that, he rose and walked toward the window. Talia watched as he filled a basin with water and washed his face and neck, then lowered her gaze to the tray.
Suddenly, she felt the urge to bite her own tongue. If she had continued to refuse, he would have fed her directly. Entertaining such shameful thoughts, she picked up a piece of bread.
It was still warm, freshly baked. As she tore it into small pieces and pushed them into her mouth, blowing away the steam, Barcas, now dressed in fresh clothes, returned to the bed.
“Does the food not suit your palate?”
Seeing the bread she had mangled, Barcas furrowed his brow and asked.
Talia hesitated for a moment before shaking her head.
“It’s fine enough.”
“Then eat properly. Stop acting as though you have a grudge against the food itself.”
At his tone, as though scolding a finicky child, Talia’s eyes flashed.
She had intended to snap at him, asking if he knew what was in this, but when she met his piercing gaze, the barbed words crawled back down her throat. She had no desire to quarrel pointlessly with a man who had returned from a grueling night of battle and immediately seen to her meal.
Talia finally picked up a small piece of bread that appeared to have been fried in oil.
Closing her eyes tightly, she took a large bite, and spiced hot meat filled her mouth.
Suddenly, nausea welled up.
The taste of the fatty meat itself posed no particular problem. Rather, it was the very act of placing food of unknown origin into her mouth that provoked a visceral revulsion.
Surely it couldn’t be lizard, bat, or frog. As her teeth crushed the gelatinous flesh, something crisp crunched between them—it seemed like nuts. Or perhaps… insects. The finely minced meat was a chaotic mixture of ingredients that appeared to have been fried in oil.
The thought that filthy foreign matter might be hidden within it caused her stomach to twist in agonizing spasms.
Talia, whose jaw had been moving mechanically as though chewing mud, could no longer suppress her disgust and simply swallowed what remained in her mouth.
Seeing this, Barcas quickly poured water into a cup and offered it to her.
“Drink.”
Talia accepted the glass with urgency.
As the ice-cold water rushed down her throat, the food lodged in her esophagus descended along with it.
The sensation of having swallowed gravel made her shudder, and from above came a sigh-laden voice.
“That dreadful eating habit of yours simply refuses to improve.”
Talia looked up at him with startled eyes.
She had never imagined he would concern himself with what she ate, so his words caught her somewhat off guard.
“It’s just… I have no appetite today.”
At her excuse, wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. He seemed aware that she consumed even less than the abstinent High Priests.
Barcas sighed softly once more and handed her a beverage made from goat’s milk.
“It would be wise to gradually expand the variety of foods you can eat. You cannot subsist on honey and fruit alone indefinitely.”
Talia stared blankly up at the man dispensing such ill-fitting advice, then reluctantly accepted the cup.
As she forced down the liquid that filled the cup, he pushed the tray aside.
“I shall summon the Handmaiden. Begin preparing to depart.”
While he vacated the space, Talia received assistance from her Nursemaid, washing herself lightly and changing into clean, fresh garments.
Since fresh bandages had been applied the previous evening, there seemed no need to call the Healer.
With a fur-lined coat draped across her shoulders, Talia brushed aside the Nursemaid’s support and stepped outside alone.
The weather was utterly splendid.
As Talia gazed up at the cloudless sky, she lowered her gaze to survey the tranquil landscape of the Village.
Horses freed from their saddles grazed upon the vast Steppe. The cavalry who had returned from their subjugation gathered in an open area, taking their meal.
As Talia passed them and moved toward the Carriage, she noticed a peculiar shadow stretching across the ground before her feet and halted. In the distance, a tall pole stood erected.
Talia raised her head without thought and froze rigid upon encountering the massive severed head suspended from its end.
The sight of the ashen, pallid face—as though every drop of blood had been drained from the body—caused her already tormented stomach to convulse.
Talia covered her mouth with her sleeve. The food she had forced down threatened to surge back up at any moment. Yet, she could not tear her gaze from the face contorted in terror.
Public executions occurred regularly in the Capital, but this was her first time witnessing an actual beheaded corpse.
She found herself seized by a peculiar curiosity, staring intently into the clouded, vacant eyes. The thought occurred to her that perhaps through them she might glimpse Hell itself.
According to doctrine, the unclean are cast into pits of fire. And as one who was unclean, she bore a high probability of descending to Hell.
If she could, she wished to glimpse the world that awaited her after death beforehand. Consumed by such thoughts, she drew closer to the pole when a powerful forearm blocked her view.
Talia turned her head sharply.
Barcas gazed down at her with an indescribable expression.
It was not Barcas alone. All around her, others cast uncomfortable glances, as though unsettled by the sight of her staring, entranced, at the severed corpse.

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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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