The Forgotten Field - Chapter 230

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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 230
Soldiers bearing torches patrolled the perimeter of the stone building, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the courtyard.
Most of the garrison had been concentrated along the outer walls in preparation for a night assault, leaving the Inner Castle’s defenses relatively sparse—though armed sentries still maintained their posts near the Main Castle.
He concealed himself behind the supply depot where supply wagons were lined up, observing the sentries’ patrol routes before advancing toward the Inner Citadel that rose prominently from the fortress’s center.
At that moment, a group of men carrying torches poured out from the building.
Barcas remained hidden in the darkness, observing them intently. They were heavily armored Knights bearing the robust physiques characteristic of Northern Forces, crossing the Training Grounds toward the Castle Gate.
Among them, Barcas spotted a massive figure with graying blonde hair like a lion’s mane, and his eyes narrowed. Despite the considerable distance, he recognized him instantly as Bjorn Blodar Heimdal.
‘Has he sensed something amiss?’
After watching the man’s retreating figure for a moment longer, Barcas turned and moved toward the rear of the Main Castle. He needed to locate Gareth before the guards became even more vigilant.
Concealed within the deep shadows, he moved swiftly along the wall.
Before long, he discovered a small side door behind the Stone Building connected to the Main Castle.
He grasped the door handle and pulled gently. A bolt secured it, though it didn’t appear particularly sturdy.
He wrapped his cloak around the lock mechanism, then pulled the handle with considerable force. With a sharp crack, the handle tore away along with a section of wooden panel. The noise was substantial, but fortunately, it seemed to have attracted no one’s attention.
He carefully opened the door and stepped inside.
The space appeared to serve as a Food Storage, and the musty smell of grain mixed with the stench of cured meat assaulted his nostrils. Surveying the expansive chamber stacked with dried bread, ham, and cheese, Barcas quickly exited into a dimly lit Corridor.
At that moment, he sensed a presence nearby.
Barcas concealed himself behind a pillar, peering toward the source of the sound. A large Guard in heavy armor and a Middle-aged Commander of diminutive stature were descending the Staircase.
Their voices echoed faintly through the silent space.
“How much longer must we tolerate that madman? If the Imperial Palace shows no willingness to pay his ransom, we should take his head immediately and satisfy the Duke’s resentment!”
“I understand your frustration, but we cannot kill the Crown Prince just yet. He still possesses value as a hostage.”
The Middle-aged Commander spoke with measured authority.
“The desire for the Crown Prince’s safe return extends beyond the Imperial Family alone. Behind him stand numerous Conservative Faction nobles led by Marquis Orisstein. Moreover, the Imperial Traditionalists who revere Emperor Darian will also demand his rescue. If we buy time while they sway public opinion, the Emperor himself will have no choice but to negotiate.”
“But will the Empress simply stand idle? She will not miss this opportunity either.”
“The more aggressively that sorceress acts, the more fiercely the Conservative Faction will resist. The Traditionalists’ antipathy toward the Empress is beyond imagination. The Nobility Alliance’s lenient acceptance of that madman stems largely from their animosity toward the Taren Family.”
The Middle-aged Commander, speaking in an even tone, patted the Large Guard’s shoulder and continued.
“Therefore, we cannot yet conclude that negotiations have failed. Though it pains you emotionally, humor that madman a while longer.”
Without giving the man an opportunity to voice further complaints, he crossed the Hall and departed.
The Large Guard glared after him with evident displeasure, spat on the floor, and ascended the Staircase again with menacing haste.
Barcas immediately pursued him.
The man climbed to the third floor in great strides and exited through a door at the end of the Corridor.
Approaching the entrance through which the man had departed with a slight delay, Barcas saw a torch-lit passage and the Castle Tower at its end come into view.
Estimating the building’s height, Barcas proceeded cautiously through the stone Cloister and beneath the arched entrance.
Just as he was about to ascend the Staircase, he heard a sharp intake of breath from behind. Barcas reacted instantly.
He seized the head of a Soldier standing uncertainly on the stairs, drove him against the wall, and immediately drew a dagger from the device attached to his wrist guard. He then struck the man’s carotid artery repeatedly.
Blood from the severed artery flowed into the man’s airway; the Soldier choked for a few seconds before collapsing limply.
As he was dragging the corpse out of the Castle Tower, a hoarse voice rang out from above.
“Damn! An intruder! There’s an intruder—!”
A Soldier wielding a spear rushed down the Staircase in panic.
Barcas immediately drew his longsword and slashed diagonally at the fleeing Soldier. The blade flashed like lightning, piercing through the man’s shoulder and emerging from his opposite flank.
The Soldier’s bisected body sprayed blood as it tumbled down the stairs. The sentries who had belatedly rushed into the Castle Tower froze at the sight.
Barcas did not let that fleeting moment slip away.
He drove his blood-soaked blade into the chest of the nearest soldier and hurled the corpse tumbling down the staircase.
Two soldiers wielding spear shafts charged forward, only to be knocked aside by their falling comrade and sent crashing down the steps. But there was no time to catch his breath—the commotion had drawn more soldiers rushing toward him.
‘It seems a quiet escape is no longer an option.’
Barcas clicked his tongue softly and immediately bounded up the staircase toward the upper levels.
A considerable number of guards appeared to be stationed at the top of the castle tower—massive soldiers wielding battle axes descended the spiral stone staircase in thunderous strides.
He deflected the colossal axe blade that came crashing down like lightning above his head, then swiftly severed the soldier’s neck. As the massive body toppled toward him, he sidestepped and struck the next soldier’s face with his pommel.
With a sharp crack, crimson blood spurted through the gaps in the soldier’s helmet.
The man reflexively dropped his weapon and clutched his face with both hands, letting out an agonized scream.
Barcas did not hesitate—he brought his blade down to end the soldier’s suffering.
But before he could ascend further, fresh enemies surged forward. He drove his sword through one charging soldier and used the body as a shield while pushing up the stairs.
The impaled soldier thrashed violently, screaming in agony. The other soldiers hesitated, recoiling at the sight.
While they faltered, unable to bring themselves to strike their comrade, Barcas drew his blade like lightning and severed the necks of his enemies in rapid succession.
He dispatched three foes in an instant, yet escape remained blocked. Now spearmen were flooding up from below like a tidal wave.
Barcas gripped the blood-slicked sword hilt firmly with both hands. Soon, not only the Inner Castle Guard but the Regular Army would arrive. He could not face all of them alone.
Should he attempt an escape now?
As he hesitated for a moment, a loud horn blast echoed from the distance.
He glanced out the window. The aerial assault was commencing as planned. Soldiers bearing torches rushed toward the castle gate.
Barcas immediately shifted into combat readiness. The main forces would be preoccupied with the Imperial Army for some time. This was his moment.
He swung his sword without restraint at the soldier charging toward him.
* * *
“You brought me this swill to drink?”
Gareth seized the goblet and hurled it against the wall. With a dull thud, dark wine streamed down the stone like blood.
The Northern Forces commander’s bloodshot eyes fixed upon him with a piercing glare.
Gareth deliberately raised his chin high, refusing to show any sign of intimidation.
“Bring me proper wine at once!”
“Crown Prince.”
The man spoke with a sneer.
“You seem to be laboring under a grave misunderstanding. You are a prisoner, nothing more.”
A giant standing nearly seven cubits tall leaned close, exhaling hot breath into his face.
“You are not a guest to be treated with courtesy. If you do not behave, we may feed you our filth instead of wine.”
“How dare you—a mere minor noble—speak thus to the Crown Prince of the Empire—”
Gareth’s face flushed crimson with rage.
The Northern commander’s lips curled into an open sneer as he looked down at him, arms crossed over his chest.
“A prisoner is a prisoner, whether you are the Crown Prince or his grandfather. Your life rests in our hands.”
He gripped Gareth’s shoulder with a brutal hand, twisting it hard.
“So if you wish to avoid suffering, I suggest you keep silent.”
Gareth clenched his teeth so hard his jaw trembled.
He longed to snap this filthy traitor’s neck on the spot, but he lacked the means to overpower this giant with bare hands. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
The guard looked down at him with contempt, then slowly walked toward the door and dropped heavily onto a velvet chair. It was clear he intended to watch over him throughout the night in this same chamber.
After several failed escape attempts that ended in recapture, the Northern Forces had not left him alone for a single moment.
Gareth kicked the table over with brutal force, sending plates and utensils clattering across the floor in a cacophony of destruction.
The guard, accustomed to such outbursts, didn’t so much as blink, his expression remaining impassive as he continued oiling his greatsword. Gareth, as if to spite the man’s indifference, vented his fury by trampling the shattered glass fragments beneath his feet until exhaustion claimed him, and he slumped against the windowsill.
When his gaze drifted beyond the window, the Imperial Army’s formation encamped beyond the city walls came into view, and in that instant, his stomach twisted with a sickening coil of rage and dread.
If they had come to extract him from this place, ransom negotiations should have commenced immediately. Yet the army that arrived this afternoon was arrayed in an unmistakable formation of assault.
So Barcas had betrayed him after all.
He ground his teeth together with a sharp, audible sound.
I should have seen this coming. Perhaps I sensed it from the moment he married Talia, or even before—some dim premonition I refused to acknowledge.
From the moment that emotionless bastard began showing a reaction to that woman alone….

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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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