The Forgotten Field - Chapter 83

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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 83
Yet his gleaming pupils remained fixed upon her face. The man stared down at her with an expression turbulent with confusion, fury, and an inexplicable heat, muttering beneath his breath.
“Just who in blazes are you…?”
“Can’t you tell at a glance?”
Talia tilted her chin upward, her voice dripping with mockery.
“I’m that ‘wicked woman born of illegitimacy’ you’ve been prattling on about.”
The man’s face flushed crimson. As though the situation had finally crystallized in his mind, his eyes—previously dulled by shock—sharpened with clarity.
He exhaled a torrent of hot breath, his voice rising to a fever pitch.
“Regardless, this is outrageous conduct! I am a Knight and a nobleman! Where in this world is there any law permitting such treatment of nobility…!”
“And where exactly is there a law permitting the open insult of the Imperial Family?”
Talia cut through his words, her lips twisting into a sneer.
“You publicly humiliated the Empire’s Princess and committed treason against the future sovereign. You should be grateful your head remains on your shoulders instead of a wine baptism. Consider yourself fortunate.”
“I merely spoke truth born from loyalty…!”
“Save your barking for the dogs.”
Her eyes gleamed with venomous intensity as she pressed her assault against him.
“Loyalty? Truth? Don’t make me laugh. You simply spewed your grievances like the rabid creature you are.”
Cowed by the venom she radiated, the man flinched and retreated a step backward.
Observing his pathetic retreat with undisguised contempt, Talia unleashed the honeyed tone she so deliberately wielded to flay men’s pride.
“If you find Aila so pitiable and lamentable, why don’t you rush to console her? Who knows? Perhaps the flawless Princess whom the entire Empire adores might bestow her favor upon you.”
Then she leisurely raked her gaze from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet before releasing a light, dismissive laugh.
“No, you won’t do at all. My sister is surprisingly particular about appearances, you see.”
The man’s face had now turned a violent, burning crimson.
Barcas observed in silence as the heat in his eyes transformed into fierce hostility.
Fascination became enmity, desire became rage—the transmutation was swift. Men who encountered her invariably displayed such reactions. The man’s sclera now webbed with blood vessels as he leaned toward her as though poised to strike.
I had endured enough.
I drew the hood over her head and seized her small skull, pulling her firmly against my chest. Talia gasped in surprise, her arms thrashing in protest.
I held her fast as she struggled to break free, studying the man’s expression with deliberate attention. Despite his indignation, he clearly yearned to wrench the woman from my embrace.
With eyes wide and teeth grinding audibly, the man bellowed.
“Release her at once! I cannot let this insult pass!”
“And if you don’t let it pass, what then? Are you challenging me to a duel? Or perhaps…?”
Talia shoved against my hand, her voice sharp as she hurled words at the man, when she suddenly fell silent. She had sensed the ominous atmosphere that now enveloped me.
I carefully concealed the woman’s face beneath the hood, then observed the assembly’s reaction.
Most wore expressions of stunned bewilderment, though many bore eyes alight with intrigue and curiosity. Of course, several displayed overt hostility.
My carefully laid plan to methodically secure the vassals’ obedience and establish an unassailable foundation had already begun to unravel.
I swallowed a sigh and turned my gaze back toward the burly man.
“Let me repeat the question my wife posed. What will you do if you don’t let this pass?”
“I demand an apology for the insult directed at me!”
I stroked my chin thoughtfully, as though considering his demand.
Alec Gutvan wielded considerable influence throughout the Southeastern Region. Among the Khan Tribe’s warriors, who revered martial prowess, there were undoubtedly many who followed this man with blind devotion.
Having consolidated his position as a regional magnate through command of a cavalry unit composed of hundreds of formidable warriors, he likely believed he could manipulate a mere youth in his early twenties as he saw fit.
His immediate arrival upon returning and this commotion were surely an attempt to seize the initiative and establish dominance.
Barcas twisted his lips into a thin smile.
“Must I offer an apology?”
“Yes! You insulted and mocked me—I demand a formal apology before everyone present!”
“What do you think?”
Barcas lowered his gaze and directed the question toward Talia.
“Do you intend to comply with his demand?”
A flash of betrayal shot through her eyes. The chandelier’s light flickered across the deep blue irises that perpetually scraped at his very core.
“I’d rather die. I’ll bite my own tongue first!”
“So be it.”
When he turned his cold gaze back toward the man, a damp malice bloomed within the bloodshot pupils.
The man spat out his words.
“Then let the Khan Lord apologize on behalf of his wife. No matter what, I will exact payment for the insult I have suffered.”
Rough intakes of breath echoed throughout the hall. Even those who had sought to test him seemed taken aback by such an excessive demand.
Barcas paused for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth. At that instant, an urgent hand seized him.
Lowering his gaze, Barcas noted the pallor of her face and furrowed his brow. Talia, gripping his arm tightly, cried out in a fractured voice with desperation.
“Don’t. If you apologize, he won’t let this go!”
His stomach churned again. Previously, he had deemed that sensation unpleasant. But perhaps it was something else entirely—the thought flickered through his mind.
He withdrew his hand from hers and slowly approached the man. The man’s gaze remained fixed upon her. Blocking that stare, Barcas exhaled softly toward the face reeking of potent wine.
“We are Eastern Territories people, are we not. If you desire something, you must seize it by force.”
“That means….”
A shadow of deep suspicion crossed the man’s face. Barcas continued calmly.
“We shall resolve this through traditional means. If you defeat me in a duel, I will offer a formal apology before everyone present.”
A violent tremor swept through the Banquet Hall.
Contrary to his expectation that the man would immediately seize upon his proposal, the man withheld his response and sent forth an appraising gaze. Perhaps half of this man’s violent conduct was merely an act.
The man, scrutinizing him with cunning eyes, finally spoke.
“Do you truly understand what a duel means? A duel in these lands is far different from the childish games played in the Imperial Palace. For us, a duel signifies a desperate struggle where lives hang in the balance.”
Talia, breathing heavily, suddenly seized his coat. He ignored her and replied with indifference.
“Then, are you afraid?”
A thick vein rose across the man’s broad forehead. After scrutinizing him openly, the man let out a derisive laugh.
“You certainly possess the audacity of an Eastern Territories man.”
“Your answer?”
“Very well. I accept the duel.”
The moment the man’s answer fell, murmurs erupted throughout the hall.
Barcas gestured toward Darian, who wore a bewildered expression at the sudden turn of events.
“Prepare horses and armor.”
“The sun has already set. We should wait until dawn breaks tomorrow….”
“Why drag this out any longer?”
Barcas cut off Darian’s words and looked up at the man provocatively.
“The Khan People learn to fight on horseback before they even take their first steps. Is nightfall a problem for us?”
“No problem at all.”
The man growled in response.
“Listen! Bring me my armor and weapons at once!”
“Lord Gutban, please calm yourself. We can discuss this again tomorrow….”
A young aide who appeared to be an attendant urgently tried to dissuade him, but the man struck his face with his fist.
“Don’t make me repeat myself!”
The young man, blood pouring from his nose, stumbled frantically out of the Banquet Hall.
Now the Hall began to pulse with excitement. The man’s own demeanor grew heated. He spoke each word as if spitting it out.
“The duel will take place before everyone’s eyes. If I win, you will immediately prostrate yourself on the ground right there and apologize. For a contest where lives hang in the balance, surely such compensation is warranted, is it not?”
“B-Barcas!”
Talia, frozen by the spiraling situation, stepped in front of him.
He barely turned his gaze toward her. Talia murmured in a pleading voice.
“I-I’ll apologize instead…. I will apologize, so…don’t do anything reckless.”
Her trembling voice clawed mercilessly at his chest. He pulled his robe forward to conceal her face more thoroughly, then looked down at the man with an expressionless gaze.
“Very well. I’ll do as you wish.”
The man’s smile deepened. It was the face of one certain of his victory.
Alec Gutban licked his lips like a bear before its prey and posed a question.
“What will you demand if the Lord wins?”
At that moment, Attendants burst into the Hall carrying armor. Barcas received gauntlets from a swift-moving boy and tilted his head slightly. The answer that emerged sounded bland even to his own ears.
“There is nothing I wish to demand of you.”
Barcas slowly inserted his hand into the steel gauntlet and added.
“If I win, you will never speak again.”

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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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