The Forgotten Field - Chapter 142

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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 142
Barcas responded in a measured tone, slowly straightening his posture.
Eyes that seemed fevered and unfocused followed him vacantly. After studying those eyes for a long moment, just as he turned to leave, slender fingers clung to his sleeve.
“You need to come back soon.”
“….”
“Without you attending to me, everything becomes so inconvenient.”
He bit down on the inside of his cheek with his molars.
Only after wetting his parched throat with blood and saliva could he manage to speak.
“…I’ll return shortly. Please rest or take a nap.”
He gently brushed back the slightly disheveled hair and quietly left the chamber.
As he inhaled the cold air pooling in the corridor, the burning sensation in his chest subsided slightly, as though he’d downed strong liquor.
He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and issued orders to the Elderly Attendant waiting in the corridor.
“Prepare a bath in the Sauna Room. Have fresh clothes ready as well.”
He took a long stride forward, then felt his trousers tighten uncomfortably and exhaled an irritated sigh.
“No need for heat. Prepare it with ice-cold water instead.”
* * *
Rowell Draven moistened his lips with the fine wine the servants had provided, surveying the full vista of Laedgo Castle through the window.
Befitting the headquarters of a powerful house whose influence extended across the Eastern Territories and into the Northern and Southern Regions alike, there was not a single weak point to be found.
Within the massive fortress surrounded by double City Walls stood orderly rows of functionally elegant stone buildings, connected between them by aqueducts flowing with clear water like a spider’s web.
The front of the castle housed enormous barracks and training grounds that appeared to accommodate over a thousand soldiers. If one included the Security Force of Kalmor, this region alone likely maintained a standing force of roughly five thousand troops.
When combined with the garrison forces across the Eastern Territories and the border defense units, the total military strength of the Grand Duchy of Sierkan numbered approximately fifty-eight to sixty thousand. This rivaled the scale of the Imperial Family’s direct forces.
Moreover, since most of the Khan People received mounted training from childhood, if additional troops were recruited, it would be possible to assemble an even larger army.
Rowell examined the castle’s internal structure, running various calculations through his mind. Then, suddenly sensing a chill, he turned his head sharply.
A man stood in the wide-open entrance of the Reception Room, wearing a black velvet tunic beneath a cloak trimmed with ash-grey fur.
He hastily placed one hand over his chest and offered a proper bow.
“Though late, I offer my greetings, Grand Duke. I am Rowell Draven, serving as Guild Master of the Northern Merchant Guild. I am grateful for the invitation to your castle.”
“Sit.”
The man gave a light nod and took his seat at the end of the long table.
Rowell pulled out a chair beside him and studied the young lord of the Eastern Territories with a cautious gaze.
The man possessed a refined beauty reminiscent of marble sculpture. With delicate features, perfectly sculpted bone structure, and eyes of a rare hue, his appearance was such that he would have been better suited to the profession of a wandering bard or stage actor.
Had he not witnessed firsthand the tremendous strength this man possessed, he would have dismissed him as merely a well-groomed nobleman.
“Are you finished with your inspection?”
Rowell snapped back to attention at the dry voice that rang out softly, breaking the awkward silence with an uncomfortable laugh.
“Your Grace’s refined appearance caused me to lose myself for a moment. I beg your forgiveness for my rudeness.”
The man’s lips curled upward—a smile so smooth it was unsettling.
“You certainly have a way with words.”
“Ha, a merchant’s tongue is his livelihood, is it not? Having occasion to meet many distinguished persons, I’ve naturally developed a gift for conversation.”
“Indeed, it seems that three-inch tongue of yours has been spreading rumors far and wide.”
The man accepted a goblet from a young boy who appeared to be an attendant and spoke gently.
Rowell forced a smile onto his face, which threatened to stiffen.
“What do you mean by that…?”
“I already know you’ve been selling information about the Eastern Territories’ military strongholds to the Northern Region. Let’s spare ourselves the tedious bickering, shall we?”
The man twirling his glass spoke in a flat tone.
Rowell swallowed hard. For a moment, the thought of playing innocent flashed through his mind, but he sensed it would only provoke this young lord’s wrath.
He decided to take the direct approach and opened his mouth with a composed expression.
“I am a man of the Northern Region, Your Grace. Obeying my lord’s commands is my duty.”
“So you merely followed the orders of Bjorn Blodar Heimdal, is that it?”
Rowell bit his lip.
The current Duke of Heimdal was named Kailus. Yet the man before him seemed already aware that true power in the North had shifted to his son.
Feeling cold sweat dampen his spine, he pressed on urgently.
“What I provided hardly qualifies as military secrets. Any reasonably perceptive person could easily discover such information—road conditions, market logistics, troop sizes, and the like. Surely these are matters any merchant worth his salt should know? I understand Your Grace also gathers detailed intelligence about the Northern Region through merchants.”
“True. It’s hardly unusual to use merchants’ information networks to observe neighboring territories….”
The man drew out his words deliberately.
Rowell watched intently, his eyes tense, as the man’s cool lips curved into an elegant line.
After several seconds of silence that burned through Rowell’s composure, the young lord finally ignited the powder keg.
“But aiding a traitor is an entirely different matter, wouldn’t you say?”
Rowell’s shoulders shrank as if struck by lightning.
He shot to his feet, his face flushed with panic.
“T-Treason? That’s a vicious slander! How could you speak such ominous words…!”
“The circulation of silver coins in the Northern Region has increased dramatically since last spring, I hear. Quite peculiar, really…. Yet the scale of trade hasn’t changed significantly compared to last year.”
Rowell, who had been feigning agitation, went rigid.
Grand Duke Sierkan took a sip of wine and continued slowly.
“The state of affairs in the North was so remarkable that I conducted an investigation. And I acquired something quite fascinating—some audacious metalsmith managed to counterfeit the Imperial minting plates with impressive skill. I wonder which faction that craftsman belonged to?”
Rowell’s legs gave way and he collapsed into his seat.
He had anticipated some reproach and pressure upon being brought here, but he had never imagined the man would have unraveled his schemes so thoroughly. He looked up at the young Grand Duke with eyes clouded by fear.
The man set down his empty glass with a sharp sound and released a regretful sigh.
“Violating the Imperial minting authority alone is a capital crime warranting the extermination of three generations of your family. And to have filled the pockets of traitors with those counterfeit coins…. I doubt you’ll be buried in one piece. Allow me to offer my condolences in advance.”
Rowell immediately dropped to his knees before the man.
This was no time to weigh the cards his opponent held. There had to be another purpose for summoning him to Laedgo Castle instead of turning him over to the Imperial Court. He cast aside all pride and began to plead.
“I-I never intended to participate in treason! I had no choice but to cooperate only with the coin minting because I didn’t know what would happen to my business and family if I refused. Please, I beg your mercy!”
“Are you truly asking me to overlook your crimes, knowing full well that doing so would constitute treason on my part? What possible benefit could I gain to take such a risk?”
The man tilted his head toward him. His expressionless, beautiful face resembled an angel of retribution.
Rowell barely managed to push out his next words through trembling lips.
“If you spare my life this once, I swear I will never mention Your Grace’s name, no matter what happens in the future. Furthermore, I will become your instrument and shrink from no dirty work. From this moment on, I am your servant.”
Rowell instinctively understood that this man had invited him here precisely hoping to hear those words.
The young lord’s lips twisted ever so slightly as he studied his face. It was a smile as sharp as a freshly honed blade.
“Let me put faith in that silver tongue of yours.”
* * *
I had been reading in bed when I apparently drifted off to sleep at some point.
With my eyelids lowered, breathing in shallow gasps, I felt something cool touch my lips and unconsciously parted them. Moments later, something small and granular slipped into my mouth.
I bit into it lightly, and the sweet-tart juice burst across my tongue. After swallowing the slightly softened fruit, I rubbed my gritty eyes with the back of my hand, and as my vision gradually cleared, Barcas came into focus.
She furrowed her brow slightly. He sat with his elbows propped on his knees, carefully working at something in his hands.
“What is that?”
“A pomegranate. The guests brought it as a gift. Open your mouth, please.”
He carefully extracted the crimson seeds from the halved pomegranate and brought them to her lips.
Talia stared at it blankly for a moment before slowly opening her mouth. He placed the pomegranate seeds inside and immediately began extracting more.

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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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