The Forgotten Field - Chapter 221

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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 221
Ever since regaining consciousness, I had been waiting for this report, only to receive something so utterly worthless.
While I could not entirely fault my retainers’ cold demeanor when recalling all the incidents and accidents she had caused, I could not suppress the strong displeasure that welled up within me.
I cast the parchment into the campfire the soldiers had kindled and turned to regard Darian with an icy gaze.
“Have the escort unit stand by separately.”
“Your meaning, sir…?”
“Once the withdrawal is complete, I shall make for Kalmor.”
“Understood. I shall complete the handover procedures at once and have the Knights stand ready.”
The man offered a light bow and turned his steps toward the sector where the Wolfram Cavalry had established their camp.
I gazed briefly at the parchment curling black within the flames, then redirected my path toward the tent where the commanders had gathered.
* * *
Once the Northern Alliance Forces, composed of approximately eight thousand heavily armored warriors, had completed their fortifications, I led the remaining army toward the southern reaches of the Jotungar Mountain Range, leaving behind a portion of the Imperial Elite Forces in reserve. The objective was to seal every approach leading to the rebel stronghold.
I positioned troops along every route through which supplies could pass, then established a new allied encampment at the boundary between the Eastern Territories and the Northern Region.
It was an optimal position from which I could immediately reinforce the Northern Alliance Forces should the tide of battle turn unfavorable, while simultaneously cutting off any escape routes the enemy might attempt.
Now Bjorn Blodar Heimdal was nothing more than a rat trapped in a jar.
I slipped my hand into my coat and traced the scar that remained along my ribs.
It was the first defeat I had suffered since my knighting.
I harbored no small desire to repay that humiliation by my own hand, yet he was a man already destined for ruin.
A man seized by reckless ambition, who had plunged the entire Northern Region into the agony of war. It would be absurd to harbor resentment toward the death throes of one who had lost everything through his own stupidity.
With eyes gleaming with cold contempt, I gazed upon the rugged yet elegant ridgeline of the Jotungar Mountain Range, then turned my horse about.
The vast barracks constructed along the mountain range flew the banners of houses that had sworn loyalty to the Imperial Family. As I surveyed dozens of colorful standards, I spurred my horse toward the end of the barracks.
Before the checkpoint stood the commanders I had appointed as successors, arrayed in a long line. Darian, who had been conversing with the Knights at their center, spotted me and cut across the soldiers to approach.
“All handovers have been completed. You may depart at once, sir.”
“I shall return once Raina’s betrothal ceremony concludes.”
“There is no need for such haste. You still bear the lingering effects of your wounds, do you not?”
The man pressed close to my horse’s side, his voice low so that those nearby could not hear.
I furrowed my brow. I had not anticipated that he would have noticed.
“Do not concern yourself with this place. Rest here in the Eastern Territories for the time being.”
The man added his words with firm resolve.
I gazed down at his face for a moment, then turned my horse about with a quiet sigh.
“Should any problems arise, report immediately through the emergency channels.”
With that, I passed through the checkpoint and began riding along the gentle ridgeline leading into the Eastern Territories.
Thirty Knights clad in heavy blacksteel armor followed in double file behind me.
It was only as the sun began to set that we arrived at the Eastern Border.
There, having carefully inspected the livelihoods of the outer regions of the east, including Tarlin, I led my subordinates southeastward the following day.
At last reaching Kalmor, a vast steppe in the throes of spring unfurled before my eyes.
For a fleeting moment, I was seized by a strange illusion, as though I had transcended the passage of years.
Balto was a harsh land that spent half the year locked in winter. Perhaps for that reason, time sometimes seemed to stand still.
Gazing upward at the blue sky pouring forth warm sunlight with unfamiliar eyes, I spurred my horse forward.
Before long, villages both great and small appeared, along with a massive walled city. As I crossed through its center and entered the grand fortress surrounded by double walls, hundreds of retainers poured forth to receive me.
“Welcome back, sir!”
Barcas dismounted from Torque with fluid grace, his gaze sweeping methodically across the soldiers filling the Training Grounds and the Servants stationed at the Outer Fortress. Word of his injury had stirred considerable commotion, and the faces of his Retainers bore the unmistakable marks of anxiety, concern, and profound relief intermingled.
“You must have endured considerable hardship on such a long journey. Seeing you in such robust health dispels all our worries like morning mist.”
Modrian stepped forward, his voice low and measured—clearly intent on completely assuaging his Retainers’ anxieties.
Barcas offered a perfunctory nod.
“It seems I’ve caused unnecessary concern. As you can see, I’m perfectly sound, so let everyone set aside their needless worries.”
“Truly a blessing beyond measure. It appears the Divine watches over the Grand Duke with particular favor.”
The old Knight spoke with exaggerated reverence.
Barcas felt fatigue settle heavily upon his shoulders as he handed Torque’s reins to a nearby Servant.
“I wish to rest. I shall retire now, so everyone return to your posts.”
The moment his command fell, the gathered crowd dispersed in all directions.
He proceeded directly across the Training Grounds, passing through the Inner Gate. Beyond lay the Garden where flowers had begun to bud, and ahead stood the Great Hall, where the Castle’s Servants lined the entrance in perfect formation.
Barcas moved to pass through their ranks without ceremony when he abruptly halted, arrested by an unexpected presence among the assembled crowd.
For an instant, the very air seemed to cease its movement.
He stood motionless as stone, his gaze descending upon the woman positioned at the head of the Handmaidens’ line.
She wore her deep wheat-gold hair braided neatly atop her head, a white linen cloth draped loosely over it, and her figure was clad in a voluminous ash-brown dress.
As his eyes traced the austere unfamiliarity of her attire, she lifted the head she had held slightly bowed.
Light refracted through invisible glass poured down upon her face—as intricately carved as marble sculpture in a temple cloister—in shimmering cascades.
At the sight of her ethereal presence, his throat constricted sharply.
Despite the plainness of her modest dress, she was breathtakingly beautiful. And she appeared far healthier than when they had last met.
Barcas gazed intently at her serene countenance—so peaceful it seemed almost that of a stranger—before slowly parting his lips.
“It has been a long time.”
Her blue eyes trembled infinitesimally. Yet the flicker of emotion vanished without trace.
The woman, her long lashes lowered, replied in a composed voice.
“…It has been a long time.”
I could see her fingers, clasped together at her center, subtly grip the fabric of her skirt. But her voice that followed remained utterly serene.
“I heard you were injured. I’m relieved you’ve returned safely like this.”
His eyes narrowed.
Until the moment of departure, she had hurled curses woven entirely from resentment and hatred. That she now offered formal pleasantries with such composed indifference—as though nothing had transpired—twisted something within him.
He approached her with the detached demeanor of one addressing a complete stranger.
Her shoulders stiffened subtly with tension. Yet the eyes that gazed up at him remained infinitely tranquil.
Suddenly, a peculiar impulse seized him—an overwhelming desire to shatter that composure.
“You must be disappointed that I returned alive and unscathed.”
He tilted his head toward her, his voice dropping to a whisper, and her lips trembled faintly.
He waited for sharp recriminations to pour forth. But she offered no response. She merely gazed up at him with eyes so shadowed and inscrutable that their depths could not be fathomed. Strangely, her silence sent a dull ache radiating through his chest.

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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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