The Forgotten Field - Chapter 112

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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 112
Talia instinctively studied Barcas’s expression.
A cold wind swept across his austere face, where not a trace of emotion could be found.
Barcas, who had been gazing upward at the sun shrouded behind thin clouds as if measuring time, cast a composed glance toward his adjutant.
“Tell the Wolfram Cavalry to prepare for immediate departure.”
“Understood.”
As Darian withdrew, Barcas turned without hesitation.
Talia moistened her lips, uncertain what to say.
Should she comfort him?
Yet Barcas appeared utterly unmoved. Perhaps it was a natural reaction. He had been sent to the Capital at merely five years old. He could harbor no affection for his father.
“It appears we must depart today unavoidably. How is your condition?”
Barcas, stepping into the Hall, posed the question abruptly.
Talia answered with a tense tone.
“I’ve rested well these past days. I’m perfectly fine now.”
“You haven’t fully recovered yet.”
His voice suddenly hardened.
“Traveling a long distance with an ailing body will be a considerable burden. If your condition worsens, tell me immediately.”
Talia, studying his demeanor for a moment, nodded weakly.
He ascended the stairs with a pace neither hurried nor slow. Beyond the window opening onto the Corridor, a clouded sky was visible. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps rain would fall during the funeral.
* * *
The return journey proceeded smoothly.
After traveling diligently along the open Field, they arrived at Laedgo Castle two days ahead of schedule.
The gatekeeper, confirming their approach from a distance, sounded the trumpet loudly, and the drawbridge descended. The Wolfram Cavalry passed through the Castle Gate without delay.
“Welcome!”
As they entered the courtyard, the servants waiting there surrounded Barcas in unison.
Talia, observing the scene through the window, adjusted her attire and stepped outside.
The Handmaidens lined at the Hall entrance descended the stairs to greet her.
“You must be weary from your long journey.”
The Head Handmaiden offered her greeting on behalf of the others. Talia answered with a single nod and approached Barcas’s side.
Barcas, receiving a report from the Steward, examined her carefully from head to toe.
“It seems we must see Father at once. Will you accompany me?”
Talia hesitated briefly. In her honest heart, she had no desire to face that cantankerous old man again. Yet she could not bear to leave Barcas alone. Even knowing he felt no sorrow, she could not.
“…I’ll come with you.”
As if surprised by her unexpected answer, Barcas regarded her in silence for a moment, then nodded toward his younger brother standing at a distance.
“You come as well.”
Lucas, standing with a dark expression, mechanically obeyed his brother’s command. Talia deliberately ignored Lucas and followed Barcas.
Moving her stiff legs, she barely entered the Main Castle when the scents of myrrh, frankincense, and sandalwood assailed her nostrils—all fragrances burned for patients in their final moments.
“Lucas!”
As they had just begun ascending the stairs, a slender girl burst forth from the Grand Duke’s Chamber.
“Why are you only just arriving now! How much longer was I supposed to…!”
I dashed across the Corridor in a single breath and threw myself into Lucas’s arms. The boy, who had been rigid with tension, wrapped his arms around his sister’s shoulders, his eyes glistening with tears.
Talia, watching the scene with an uncomfortable expression, glanced away and surveyed the Chamber shrouded in deep darkness.
The room, filled with acrid smoke, was lined with the High Priest and his attendants. Barcas strode into the space and directed a question toward the priest.
“How is his condition?”
“…I fear, regrettably, he will not survive the night.”
The Elder Priest, his face gaunt as though he had not slept in days, spoke in a somber voice.
“Prepare your hearts accordingly.”
At the Elder Priest’s words, the girl’s sobs grew louder. Talia, standing awkwardly and shifting her gaze, quietly pressed herself against Barcas’s side.
As I cast a careful glance toward the curtained bed, the withered form of an elderly man came into view. It was impossible to believe this was the same person who had wielded such a vicious tongue—he had deteriorated so completely.
How long had I been staring down at this man, reduced to such a pitiful state in barely a month? Someone seized my coat roughly and pulled it.
“Why is this woman here!”
Raina Laedgo Sierkan’s eyes, streaked with tears, blazed with venomous light.
“You cursed our father to fall into hell, didn’t you? How dare you stand in this place! Get out! Leave at once!”
The raging girl dragged her toward the doorway with brutal force.
Barcas firmly separated his sister and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. At the sight, the girl’s face grew even more fierce.
“Even you, brother! Bewitched by that witch…!”
“Enough, Raina!”
Lucas hastily pulled his sister to his chest and covered her mouth.
Raina Laedgo Sierkan, her face sorrowful and trembling, soon buried her face in her brother’s embrace and began to wail with abandon.
At that moment, a voice like scraping metal echoed through the chamber.
“What is this commotion?”
I turned my head with a start.
The man, lifting his wrinkled eyelids, glared at them with eyes clouded as though covered in frost. The girl, who had been sobbing, rushed frantically toward the bed.
“Father! Are you awake?”
The elderly man gazed at his daughter’s face for a moment, then rolled his eyes and slowly scanned the room. Then, spotting Talia standing in one corner, he narrowed his eyes.
I stepped back behind Barcas. I thought the old man would not wish for me to be present in this place.
Yet the old man remained surprisingly silent. The man, who had been staring at me with dark eyes for some time, eventually turned his gaze toward his eldest son. A strange light flickered across his ashen, darkened face.
“…I have been waiting for you to come, Barcas.”
A fit of coughing cut off his words.
The elderly man, breathing heavily, raised a hand as thin as a twig. In response to this silent plea, Barcas leaned down over the bed.
The old man’s clouded eyes met Barcas’s cool gaze.
In that moment, the old man—who had not lost his stubbornness even at death’s threshold—crumbled.
“You… must resent me.”
It was less a question than a statement.
Barcas neither agreed nor denied, simply gazing down at his father in silence. Turbulent waves stirred across the old man’s eyes. He grasped Barcas’s garment with his skeletal fingers, pulling with brutal force.
“Answer me just one thing. What do you see… in your eyes?”
At this sudden question, everyone in the room held their breath.
He continued desperately.
“Surely you see something… different in your eyes, don’t you? Tell me. You must know. What lies beyond death….”
From his phlegm-filled throat, it seemed blood might spill forth at any moment.
The faces of those gathered around the bed drained of all color. The terror of an old man standing at death’s threshold seemed to overwhelm the entire chamber.
He clutched at Barcas desperately, his voice emerging as a metallic rasp.
“Speak! What in the world lies beyond this….”
Only then did Barcas’s firmly sealed lips part.
“Nothing.”
The Grand Duke, along with everyone else frozen in place watching the confrontation between the two men, held their breath. Talia too stared at him with bewilderment etched across her features.
Barcas gazed down quietly at his father’s ashen face and spoke with gentle firmness.
“I see nothing with my eyes. So please, find peace.”
A tremor rippled across the old man’s lips.
The High Priest, belatedly regaining his composure, hurried to the bedside to soothe the Grand Duke.
“Your Excellency, you must cast off your fear. The messenger of God will surely guide you to the realm of eternal rest.”
The old man, who had been glaring persistently at his successor, suddenly lost all strength and collapsed back against the pillows.
Barcas, regarding him with serene eyes, rose to his feet.
Talia carefully grasped the edge of his sleeve. Somehow, it felt necessary to do so.
He looked down at her with eyes like crystalline blue glass, then turned his gaze back to the bed.
The High Priest soon began reciting prayers in a reverent voice. Yet the fear lingering in the old man’s eyes showed no sign of fading.
The man, uttering occasional delirious words and breathing in ragged gasps, finally found peace as the sun began to set.

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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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