The Forgotten Field - Chapter 138

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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 138
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A blade-sharp wind swept across the frost-covered earth.
Tyron furrowed his brow as he felt tiny ice particles suspended in the air scrape his cheeks with stinging precision.
As the white-rippling atmosphere settled, the vista of the Argand Forest filled his vision once more.
Gripping the reins tightly, I surveyed the narrow path shrouded in ashen shadow beneath my deeply pulled hood with a piercing gaze.
At the entrance of the quiet forest path where silence flowed, fine frost particles drifted slowly, cradling faint light.
I could not discern what in this seemingly peaceful landscape had drawn my attention. With narrowed eyes, I scanned my surroundings before turning my gaze over my shoulder.
Rowell, the guild master of a vast merchant coalition wielding influence across both the Eastern Territories and Northern Region, followed slowly in formation with his subordinates.
Scrutinizing their pallid faces, which appeared somewhat worn from the lengthy journey, I confirmed two supply carriages at the rear of the procession and eight of my own men positioned around them.
Finally satisfied that nothing was amiss, I urged my horse forward along the path once more.
Then a rustling sound echoed from ahead.
Instinctively recognizing it was not the wind, I immediately drew my sword. In that same instant, arrows flew from between the trees.
“Ambush!”
As I deflected the arrows with barely a moment to spare and shouted the warning, my warriors drew their blades in unison. But the attackers moved faster. Dozens of assailants burst from the ground where fallen leaves lay thick, and they had already set snares around the legs of our horses.
The startled horses reared violently, unleashing loud neighs.
I tensed my thighs to keep from tumbling from the saddle and instinctively swung my longsword.
With a sharp tearing sound, hot blood sprayed across my face. Beyond my chaotic vision, I glimpsed an assailant cradling a blood-soaked forearm as he retreated. The man wore a helmet fashioned from a beast’s skull.
‘Zrami.’
My face twisted into a fierce scowl as I spurred my horse after the retreating man.
But this time a long spear thrust came from my left. I barely prevented the shaft from piercing my horse’s body, yanking the reins with brutal force.
My agitated warhorse, Elak, snapped the rope binding his ankles and reared his front legs high. The skull of the man who had attacked me shattered like soft pumpkin beneath the heavy hooves of the massive beast.
Seeing this, the enemies faltered and retreated. Seizing the moment, I turned my horse’s head to survey the rear.
The Northern merchants had somehow managed to draw their blades while clinging to their saddles, fighting back against the attackers. But those untrained in warfare could hardly respond properly to an ambush.
Soon one merchant tumbled from his horse at the hands of a Zrami warrior. Recognizing him as the guild master of the White Silver Alliance, I immediately spurred my horse forward and swept my long blade in a diagonal arc.
My longsword, spreading like an eagle’s wings, severed the head of the enemy approaching my charge in a single motion.
I trampled the bleeding corpse beneath my horse’s hooves and turned to face the next attacker. But the enemies had already widened their distance, concealing themselves among the trees.
As the brigands vanished in an instant, I ground my teeth and shouted to my men.
“Do not pursue! Regroup the formation and establish a defensive perimeter around the carriages!”
My subordinates immediately surrounded the carriages.
But the enemies showed no sign of launching a second assault. Surveying the forest, silent as death, I dismounted and helped the man sprawled on the ground to his feet. Fortunately, he seemed unharmed, groaning as he unsteadily rose.
“Damn it, what kind of disaster is this?”
“Gather yourself and mount quickly! We must escape this forest at once.”
The man, possessing the dark brown hair unusual for a Balto native, muttered complaints as he climbed into the saddle.
Confirming he could ride, I approached Elak once more. Just as I was about to mount, something erupted from the ground nearby.
I rolled instinctively. Thanks to this, I barely evaded the blade aimed at my ribs, but I had no defense against the attack that followed.
Before I could regain my stance, a kick to my abdomen sent me gasping to the ground.
Before me, a man with golden eyes, draped in beast hide, approached like wind and raised a crescent-shaped blade. Sensing death, I went rigid.
In that moment, a long spear point erupted through the assailant’s chest.
“Ugh!”
The man with golden eyes spat blood and turned to look behind him.
Following his gaze reflexively, Tyron spotted a pale, golden-haired man sitting atop a grey warhorse and his eyes widened in shock.
The man, whose face was so cold it seemed impossible he could be alive, lifted the shaft of his spear with one hand. In an instant, the assailant’s body—pierced through the abdomen like a fish impaled on a harpoon—rose into the air and traced a massive arc through the sky.
The axe blade of the halberd, swung at terrifying speed, severed three Zrami members positioned around him at the waist. It was a display of monstrous strength that defied belief no matter how many times one witnessed it.
“Why are you standing there dazed? Take a defensive stance at once.”
The man mercilessly hurled the corpse dangling from his spear point to the ground, his tone utterly devoid of emotion as he issued the command.
Only then did Tyron snap to attention and hastily scramble to his feet. But the enemies were already retreating rapidly, their will to fight seemingly broken.
Barcas nodded toward the warriors who had followed him.
“Pursue them at once.”
Before his order had even finished, dozens of Knights bolted through the trees.
The ruler of the Eastern Territories, his face expressionless, turned his gaze back down toward Tyron.
Tyron, barely having regained his composure, hastily offered a bow.
“I owe my life to you, Your Excellency.”
“You were fortunate, Darian. Had we not been conducting a search after receiving reports of a band of marauders encamped in the Argand Forest, you would have met a terrible fate.”
The response came not from the Duke of the Eastern Territories himself, but from Daren Dru Sierkan, who served as his Young Aide.
He led his horse out from between the trees and surveyed the corpses scattered across the ground.
“I never expected the Zrami to be operating this far into the vicinity of Kalmor.”
The man clicked his tongue and turned his head toward the ruler of the Eastern Territories, posing a question.
“Would it not be wise to launch a subjugation campaign before the harsh winter arrives?”
“…The timing is not favorable. For now, we shall expand our reconnaissance network and limit ourselves to controlling the roads.”
The man handed his blood-soaked halberd to an attendant and turned his gaze toward the frozen merchants from the Northern Region. They all bore expressions as though they had just encountered ghosts.
The ruler of the Eastern Territories approached them on horseback and offered a greeting in a tone of dignity that seemed incongruous with the situation.
“Welcome to Kalmor. I regret that you should experience such an unfortunate incident on your first day.”
“No, no, Your Grace! When one leads a merchant company, such occurrences are inevitable.”
The merchant bowed respectfully. As the leader of a massive guild, he had quickly discerned Barcas’s identity.
The man flattered him with practiced eloquence.
“Your skill is truly remarkable. The reputation of the continent’s mightiest spear knight is no exaggeration whatsoever. Had I not witnessed it with my own eyes, I would never have believed in Your Excellency’s prowess. How such tremendous power could emanate from so slender a frame…!”
“Save the pleasantries for later. Our priority now is to exit the forest.”
A flat, emotionless voice cut through the merchant’s flattery like a blade.
The northerner showed no sign of embarrassment and immediately bowed his head.
“Of course! I shall follow quietly in Your Excellency’s wake.”
As the northerner gestured to his subordinates, the men promptly reformed their ranks.
Barcas, observing the scene with a keen gaze, eventually turned his horse’s head. Tyron rode to his left, carefully scanning their surroundings for any unexpected ambush. Fortunately, they reached the forest’s edge without incident.
He had barely begun to exhale in relief when Barcas, maintaining his upright posture, suddenly drew his bow.
Had enemies appeared?
Tyron immediately drew his sword.
Barcas, quietly observing the shadowed depths of the forest, drew his bowstring taut. A moment later, a rustling sound erupted, followed by a sharp cry.
Tyron, unable to comprehend the situation, stared at Barcas in bewilderment. Then, a hunting dog that had been following silently appeared, darting forward like the wind before returning with something in its jaws.
“…A pheasant?”
Tyron blinked blankly.
A large hunting dog proudly presented an arrow-pierced bird to its master.
Barcas leaped from his horse, pried open the dog’s jaws to claim the pheasant, and bound its legs with leather cord before securing it to his saddle.
Only then did he notice several brown quails dangling from the vicinity of the horse’s haunches.
Darian offered an awkward explanation at the bewildered expression crossing his face.
“The Duchess enjoys pheasant. It seems the milder flavor makes it easier for her to stomach.”

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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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