The Forgotten Field - Chapter 107

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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 107
Barcas, who had been tracking her movements through the glass window, slipped out of the corridor and descended the stairs. As he exited through the rear entrance, dense tangles of shrubs obscured his view.
Hurrying through the thicket, Barcas came to an abrupt halt upon discovering Talia seated beneath a crimson barberry tree.
The moment he caught sight of her sitting on the bare ground in nothing but a thin gown, his throat tightened as though he had swallowed shards of glass.
He swallowed the sharp words rising within him and strode forward to face her.
“What are you doing in a place like this?”
The woman, who had been gazing quietly at the flower bed, lifted her head. Her unfocused eyes groped at empty air. Barcas’s expression twisted.
“Did you perhaps burn a sleeping draught?”
“…No, I didn’t. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
Talia replied in a languid voice, her gaze falling back to the flower bed.
Following her line of sight, Barcas discovered a bird drooping among the overgrown grass and his face hardened.
Its belly torn open, likely by a feral cat, revealed writhing ants and maggots among its exposed entrails.
She was a woman who once convulsed at the mere sight of insects. A woman who despised filth with an almost obsessive cleanliness, who loved beauty so much she drew criticism for her extravagance—yet somewhere along the way, she had begun to gaze upon grotesque things. This subtle transformation unsettled him.
He lifted her to her feet with rather rough hands.
“If you’re tired, you should rest in your chamber. Why are you out here?”
“…I felt suffocated, so I came out for a bit of air. The room felt strangely hot.”
Talia murmured as though making excuses.
Barcas, his brow furrowed, brought the back of his hand to her forehead.
He felt no fever. Her skin was cool, likely from the chill air in her thin clothing.
Barcas exhaled softly and draped his coat around her shoulders.
“Let us return inside. Your body is cold.”
“Listen….”
As he wrapped one arm around her and began moving toward the rear entrance, her tightly constrained voice held him fast.
He lowered his gaze again. Shadowed blue eyes filled his vision. The woman, her lips worrying as though wrestling with hesitation, forced her words forward.
“Back then….”
“So you were here!”
In that instant, a resonant voice cut off her unfinished words.
Barcas turned toward the sound. Daren Dru Sierkan, accompanied by half a dozen subordinates, was crossing the garden, trampling the wildflowers along the narrow path.
“I have urgent news to report. I met with informants from the Capital at an inn—the Imperial Palace’s movements are most unusual. It seems the Empress is beginning a full-scale expansion of her power….”
The man, who had been spilling words hastily, fell silent upon belatedly noticing Talia.
Barcas observed Talia’s complexion. Her face, which had appeared defenseless as a lost child, had frozen cold.
She stepped back and murmured in a low, subdued voice.
“I’m going back to my chamber. You attend to your business.”
“I shall escort you to your bedroom.”
“I can go alone.”
“Have I not repeatedly told you that you must not move about without an escort?”
At his reproachful words, a faint shadow of displeasure crossed her elegant face.
She surveyed the knights standing behind Daren, then pointed to the smallest man among them.
“Then assign that one as my escort.”
The designated soldier shrank his shoulders in bewilderment.
Ever since my wife had rushed at Lucas, threatening to rip out his tongue, the household warriors had treated her as a person of concern. The man in question also seemed reluctant, fidgeting nervously and watching only for my reaction.
Barcas spoke coldly.
“What are you standing there for? Escort her at once.”
At his command, the Soldier came rushing over.
Barcas reluctantly released the arm wrapped around her. Talia moved away from him without hesitation.
Watching her retreating figure for a moment, Barcas turned his head back toward Darian. As if he had been waiting, Darian produced a bundle of parchment from his breast and offered it.
“These are documents recording the events that have transpired in the Capital since Your Excellency departed the Imperial Palace.”
He read through the documents carefully. The report contained information that cracks were forming among the Conservative Faction and that the Empress had begun openly gathering supporters for the Second Prince.
Barcas furrowed the corners of his eyes.
‘That woman is not acting like herself.’
The Emperor remained robust. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, Virus Roem Guerta’s reign would continue for at least another decade. Yet why did the Empress not wait until the Second Prince came of age?
This incomprehensible course of action stirred strong vigilance. Just as she had provoked Gareth by using her own daughter, was she now attempting to incite discord by putting forward her young son? If that woman was indeed inducing Gareth’s rampage, then far greater danger might be lurking beneath the surface of this marriage proposal.
As Barcas read through the contents regarding the formal discussion of the betrothal between the heir of the Heimdal Family and the First Princess, he irritably crumpled the parchment.
Strengthening relations with the Northern Region itself was not inherently bad. However, entrusting Aila’s safety to them was a hasty judgment.
The Northerners possessed an unusual obsession with their bloodline. Were they not the very people who had not hesitated to commit incest across generations to preserve the platinum hair and crimson eyes characteristic of the ancient giant race? There was no way they would readily accept a dark-haired Princess as their mistress. They surely harbored different intentions.
With a contemplative expression, Barcas ran his fingers along his lips and soon left the Garden.
Guided by the Steward into the Office, a young Elderly Attendant brought writing implements. He sat before the desk and drafted several documents—orders to thoroughly investigate the scale of the military forces assembled by the Heimdal Family and the flow of funds.
After sealing it and handing it to a messenger, he composed two additional dispatches to be sent to the Capital. One was for Marquis Orisstein, and the other for Gareth.
Barcas wrote sentences warning of the dangers posed by the Northern Region in the most diplomatic tone possible, then signed the document and affixed his seal.
Darian, who had been observing from beside him, asked in an awkward tone.
“Are you planning to halt the First Princess’s marriage?”
Barcas regarded him with a puzzled gaze.
“Is there some problem?”
“Well… wouldn’t it look rather odd if Your Excellency were to dissuade them?”
Darian scratched the back of his head.
“People in society might believe that Grand Duke Sierkan harbors lingering affection for the First Princess.”
Barcas let out a dry laugh.
“You worry about the most foolish things.”
The gossip that the court busybodies chattered about had little influence in the Eastern Territories. I had already firmly established the new Grand Duchess in the eyes of my retainers. At present, it was more dangerous to give the Conservative Faction the impression that my relationship with the Crown Prince had completely fractured.
He rolled up the parchment and sealed it with wax.
“Choose the fastest messenger and send him to the Capital.”
The man, wearing a peculiar expression for a moment, took the parchment and left.
Barcas leaned back against his chair and turned his gaze toward the window.
By now, the sky was pouring down thin threads of rain.
Suddenly, the lingering image of Talia standing idly in the Garden flashed through his mind. What had she been trying to say at that moment?
As the memory of those desolate eyes gazing at the dead bird surfaced, an uncomfortable sensation stirred in his chest. Seized by inexplicable unease, Barcas drummed his fingers on the desk before promptly leaving the Office.
The Hall was in complete disarray, as if preparations for a grand reception were underway. He passed the bowing servants and ascended the stairs.
Upon opening the Bedroom door, a small figure curled up on the expansive bed came into view.
He approached the bedside. A faint flush bloomed across her elegant, snow-white cheeks. She had been drooping like a sickly chick all day, and it appeared she had finally fallen ill.
Barcas exhaled a long breath and reached for a clean cloth on the shelf. Just as he was about to wipe her face with it, a peculiar scent brushed against his nostrils.
He froze. A dark crimson stain smeared the corner of her mouth. He stared at it for a long moment, then gently shook her prone form. Her neck, damp with cold sweat, lolled limply to the side.
Only then did the red marks on the pillow catch his eye. Barcas, whose eyelids had been blinking slowly, carefully cradled her head in his hands.
The sharp metallic stench of blood assailed his nostrils. The crimson liquid pooling at her lips traced down her pallid throat in a thin rivulet.

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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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