The Forgotten Field - Chapter 53

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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 53
Barcas turned to look at her as he handed a bundle of parchment bearing the names of the dead to the priest. Talia quickly averted her gaze.
Beneath the summer sun, every flaw in her appearance was laid bare, and she found herself too ashamed to lift her head with any semblance of dignity.
“The Second Princess requires immediate medical attention, so perhaps we might dispense with the formal entry procedures.”
The Taren Family Mage spoke with measured courtesy, standing before Barcas.
When no immediate response came, Talia lifted her eyes once more. Barcas stood motionless, his brow faintly creased, his gaze piercing through her as if dissecting her very soul.
Was it strange to see a woman who threw tantrums at the slightest touch from another person now sitting so docilely?
Barcas’s narrowed eyes methodically examined her pallid, exhausted face before his gaze slowly descended.
His cold stare lingered briefly on her back and the hand clasping her knee, then traveled downward to her calves hanging limply beneath her skirt. Upon noticing the dark crimson stains seeping through the bandages, the furrow between his brows deepened considerably.
An accusatory glint flashed across his eyes, directed sharply at the Taren Family Mages.
As if dismissing his unspoken interrogation, the Mage continued softly.
“His Majesty will surely understand that the Second Princess must return to her quarters at once.”
“Very well. Take the girl to her chambers immediately.”
In his stead, a crystalline voice suddenly provided the answer, breaking the silence.
Talia’s eyes snapped toward the source of that voice, and her face hardened as she spotted Aila crossing the chaotic courtyard, a retinue of Handmaidens trailing behind her.
Aila came to stand beside Barcas, her gaze descending upon Talia with an expression of pitying concern.
“You’ve endured such a grueling journey in your weakened state. It would be best for you to receive treatment and rest as soon as possible.”
Talia clenched her teeth. Humiliation flooded through her at that lukewarm, sympathetic gaze. Had she possessed even a shred of mobility, she would have gouged out those eyes without mercy.
Oblivious—or perhaps not—to the seething fury within her, Aila, her smile gentle and serene, placed her hand upon Barcas’s forearm.
“I shall explain everything to His Majesty.”
With that, she turned her body with elegant grace and urged Barcas forward.
“Come now, let us retire. His Majesty awaits us.”
Only then did the man, who had stood motionless until now, begin to move his legs slowly. Talia’s eyes lingered wistfully on his receding figure before her eyelids finally closed.
The Mages passed through the Main Palace and entered a sprawling Garden dense with flowers. Soon, an ornate and magnificent structure engulfed her.
Talia felt as though she were being swallowed into the entrails of some colossal beast.
In moments, the Mages crossed the Marble Hall and ascended the stairs, entering Senevir’s Study. Beyond several massive bookshelves displaying hundreds of volumes, a Secret Passage hidden between the columns was revealed. The Mages entered without hesitation, as though treading a familiar path.
Soon, Senevir’s Research Laboratory came into view.
Talia’s brow furrowed at the overwhelming stench of pungent essential oils and various medicinal herbs.
“Lay her down here.”
The Mage, crossing the laboratory with long, swift strides, abruptly opened a door beside a display cabinet.
Though she had visited this place many times before, she had never entered this chamber. The man carrying her set her down upon a bed positioned in the center of the room.
Talia’s eyes darted nervously around her surroundings.
The meticulously organized chamber was filled with strange instruments she had never seen before in her life.
As she examined them, her gaze shifted back to the two Mages. They were arranging unfamiliar equipment across a table.
This must be how a calf feels upon entering a slaughterhouse. Cold sweat drenched the nape of her neck. Had she not been bound by magic, she would have screamed.
“First, we shall examine your wounds.”
One of the Mages positioned himself near her legs and spoke.
Talia felt her skirt being lifted and stiffened her body rigidly.
The man unwound the bandages with clinical efficiency, then clicked his tongue softly in disapproval.
“The condition is far more severe than anticipated.”
With ice-cold fingers, he meticulously palpated her knee, then continued.
“The crude way the bone was set is actually the problem. If we let the wound heal as it is, the nerves will become paralyzed and you’ll lose the use of your leg permanently.”
“In any case, the clumsy handiwork of human mages is truly….”
The Mage muttered softly as he picked up a small knife from the table.
“There’s no help for it. I’ll have to reset it.”
In that instant, a harsh sob burst from her constricted throat.
Only then did the Mage, seeing her face drained of all color, lower the cloth he’d been holding around his jaw and attempt to lift the corners of his mouth.
“There’s no need to worry so much.”
Though it seemed meant to reassure, Talia felt her blood run cold. It was less a human smile than a fish mimicking human expression.
The man continued prattling on.
“It will be difficult to restore it to exactly the same condition as before, but at least I’ll ensure you have no trouble walking.”
She struggled to move her lips.
Stop.
If it cannot return to what it was, there is no reason to endure this ordeal.
She wanted to cry out thus, but only harsh sobs escaped her lips.
The man raised the cloth again and issued an instruction.
“It would be best to burn some sleeping herbs.”
The Mage, who had been examining the equipment on the table, brought a small brazier to her bedside and lit a bundle of dried medicinal herbs.
Talia immediately held her breath. But she could not endure it long. Unable to resist the suffocation, she inhaled the smoke, and her vision grew distant in an instant.
Talia, straining her eyes and struggling to part the hazy veil before her, soon fell into sleep as if losing consciousness.
* * *
Raindrops fell upon the Lake.
She realized she was dreaming. A landscape from an old memory unfolded before her eyes.
Fourteen-year-old Talia crouched beneath a massive Large Tree, staring at the gray surface of the water pouring with rain as though it were a mortal enemy.
Barcas, drenched in rainwater, approached her side.
“Is hide-and-seek over now?”
She glared at him with a venomous gaze.
Whether he had searched every corner of the Imperial Palace grounds, his clothing and hair—which had been impeccably arranged—were now completely disheveled. Yet Talia’s mood did not improve in the slightest.
She reached out, grasped a handful of squelching mud, and hurled it at him.
“Get away! I can’t stand the sight of you!”
An ugly stain appeared on his velvet uniform embroidered with elaborate designs, but Barcas did not even blink.
His unaffected response only inflamed her further. Talia continued hurling mud at him.
“Get out of here! Go to Aila instead!”
“I would wish nothing more.”
Barcas exhaled a short sigh and knelt on one knee beside her, continuing his words.
“But I am bound without reprieve until Your Highness reaches the age of sixteen.”
Talia glared at him with a flushed face.
Pitiably, tears threatened to spill. To hide them, she tensed her eyes and deliberately twisted her lips into a sneer.
“To think I have to see your face for two more years—it’s absolutely horrible. Just thinking about it makes me want to vomit.”
“….”
“I despise you most in this world. You repulse me. You sicken me. You’re utterly vile.”
“Are you finished?”
“Not even close. Your breath reeks.”
His eyebrow arched slightly upward.
Talia flinched and cast her gaze downward. Having spent her childhood at the Monastery, Barcas harbored an almost obsessive fixation on cleanliness.
He perpetually emanated the crisp scent of soap. He was surely aware of this himself, which meant he understood her reproach was nothing more than petty fault-finding.
Yet rather than point this out, Barcas simply draped the coat he held in one hand across her shoulders and straightened to his feet.
“I shall hear the remainder of your grievances at the Separate Palace. Rise now. Your lips have turned purple.”

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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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