The Forgotten Field - Chapter 150

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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 150
The moment those words left her lips, the Handmaidens bolted from the chamber like arrows, their feet barely touching the ground. Maricen and the Nursemaid, who had been frozen as though paralyzed, scrambled frantically to the bedside.
Talia swept her terrified gaze across their ashen faces, then seized the hem of the Eastern Woman’s garment as she stuffed a pillow beneath my hips.
“W-what is happening? What is wrong?”
A flicker of compassion crossed the sun-darkened features of her face.
She grasped my ice-cold hand and responded with measured calm.
“Please, do not worry yourself. For now… I am simply observing the situation.”
It was an answer that evaded detailed explanation.
Talia gasped for breath as though her throat were constricted, gripping the woman’s garment with increasing desperation.
“The baby… nothing is wrong with the baby, is it?”
The woman offered no response.
Talia seized her sleeve with greater force.
“Tell me my baby is safe!”
“You must not move like that!”
The woman swiftly pressed down upon her shoulders. Her deep amber eyes, gleaming with resolute determination, held Talia’s gaze—which was clouded with anxiety and terror—in an unwavering grip.
“Breathe deeply. You must steel yourself, for the sake of your child.”
Talia, her eyes brimming with tears, gazed up at that stern countenance before drawing a deep breath.
She wanted to ask if this would truly make everything right, but the woman had already rushed to the far corner of the chamber, frantically gathering mountains of linen cloth.
As Talia watched with bloodshot eyes, Maricen gripped her pallid hand with fierce intensity.
“I-I shall cast a healing spell for you.”
Her complexion too had turned ashen and wan.
Talia clung to the Healer’s hand, grasping it firmly. Warmth soon flooded through her body.
Yet no miracle occurred to resolve everything through magic. The dull ache that had been pricking her lower abdomen like an ice pick suddenly intensified into a crushing, wrenching spasm.
Talia cried out sharply and curled inward. Seeing this, Tiuran rushed over and laid her body flat once more.
“If more amniotic fluid leaks, it will be catastrophic! Please, you must endure the pain.”
Talia exerted every ounce of her strength to comply with her instructions. Yet the agony was so severe that remaining motionless felt nearly impossible.
She clawed at the bedding, breathing in ragged, labored gasps.
In that moment, the chamber door burst open and a middle-aged woman in black priestly robes rushed inside.
“Move aside.”
The High Priest approached the bedside, pushing Maricen aside, and immediately hitched her skirts up to her thighs.
Her damp undergarments and loosely wrapped bandages on her legs were exposed without concealment, but there was no time for shame. Talia bit her lip as the pain grew ever sharper.
Meanwhile, the High Priest removed her undergarments, spread her knees, and inserted her fingers inside.
Before Talia could even register shock at this startling action, the High Priest turned and cried out.
“The cervix is already beginning to dilate. The baby is coming.”
“It is far too early!”
The Nursemaid’s scream pierced through her eardrums like a needle.
Even in her distress, Talia wrapped her arms protectively around her belly.
The Nursemaid was right. It was far too early. Three months remained until the due date.
Talia shook her head urgently.
“No. Stop it! Do whatever you must to stop this!”
“Now that the amniotic sac has ruptured, there is no turning back. We must deliver the child immediately.”
The Priestess spoke with stern authority, then gestured to the Handmaidens waiting by the chamber door.
“Erect screens around the bed. And you—fetch my medical bag from my Residence. There should be supplies prepared on the shelf.”
At the Priestess’s command, the Handmaidens moved with practiced efficiency.
Talia watched the frantic scene unfold like a nightmare. Then another wave of intense pain crashed over her, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
The pressure mounting in her abdomen grew increasingly unbearable. Now Talia could perceive it with absolute clarity.
The child was coming.
The terror that realization brought was so overwhelming that even the searing pain tearing through her lower back seemed distant. Only one thought consumed her mind.
Could a premature infant survive?
Despite her ignorance of pregnancy and childbirth, Talia knew that the survival rate for premature infants was far from promising.
How much had the baby grown inside her?
With trembling hands, she touched her abdomen—hard as stone—stroking it tentatively.
Just half a day ago, she had worried the baby was growing too large. She had even regretted eating so indiscriminately without restraint.
But now she was consumed with anguish that she hadn’t nourished the child more. She should have eaten with all her strength, again and again. She should have built a robust foundation so the infant could endure any circumstance.
“You must not lose consciousness! Your Highness, you must hold on.”
Someone pressed a cool cloth against her face.
At that refreshing touch, Talia’s eyelids flew open, and only then did she realize she had closed her eyes.
With bloodshot eyes blinking, Talia stared at the dark ceiling where candlelight flickered. Slowly, she lowered her gaze and swept it across those surrounding her.
The Priestess and Tiuran, Maricen and the Nursemaid, and the Head Handmaiden who had taken her place, along with several other Handmaidens—her eyes darted restlessly among them, yet she could not discern what she was searching for.
The moment she opened her mouth to ask something, another horrific contraction seized her. This time, the pain was so intense it froze all thought.
Talia lost all composure in an instant, thrashing her limbs wildly. A sharp cry tore from her gaping mouth.
Then, a sound like a beast’s growl pierced through the wall.
“Move aside.”
“Your Grace, the Grand Duchess is in labor. It is improper to enter the chamber at this time….”
As someone urgently tried to dissuade him, a cry of anguish rang out, the door burst open, and a man in a black military uniform appeared between the screens.
Talia reached toward him as if she were drowning and calling for salvation.
“Barcas….”
Barcas quickly moved to the bedside and leaned toward her.
Talia clung desperately to his neck, damp with sweat and heat. Through tears that blurred her vision, his disheveled face appeared dimly.
“Help me, Barcas…. Please help me…. It hurts so much.”
At her pleading cry, the arms encircling her tensed with fierce strength.
Barcas, holding her in a suffocating embrace, turned sharply to the Priestess.
“What is happening?”
“The birth canal is dilating smoothly. However, the child is not descending….”
As her abdomen contracted powerfully once more, all sound receded into distant silence.
Talia whimpered softly, clawing desperately at the thick, resilient fabric of his garments. It felt as though her lower body was being crushed alive.
“Your Highness, you must push downward now. You must expel the child!”
Talia shook her head frantically.
No. I cannot. I am afraid. It hurts too much. It hurts.
She looked up at Barcas pleadingly, gazing at him as if clinging to him would somehow resolve everything.
Through tear-blurred vision, a face appeared even paler than before—ashen as plaster—hovering just above the bridge of her nose.
“It’s all right. Talia. Everything is fine, so don’t cry.”
With hands grown cold and rigid, he brushed away her tears from her cheeks, his voice emerging in an oddly hushed, subdued tone.
Talia’s face contorted.
Nothing was all right. Nothing was fine at all. Yet if he said it so, she wanted to believe it was.

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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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