The Forgotten Field

Varkas answered in a calm voice and slowly straightened up.

Eyes clouded by fever followed him blankly. He gazed into them for a long moment, and just as he reluctantly turned to leave, slender fingertips caught on the edge of his sleeve.

"You have to come back quickly."

"..."

"If you're not here to take care of me, everything becomes terribly inconvenient."

He bit into the inside of his cheek with his molars.

Only after wetting his burning throat with blood and saliva did he manage to speak.

"...I'll return shortly. Try to get some sleep while I'm gone."

He gently brushed aside the few loose strands of her hair before quietly leaving the room.

As soon as he inhaled the cold air pooled in the corridor, the heat churning inside him—as though he had swallowed strong liquor—subsided a little.

Raking a hand roughly through his hair, he gave an order to the attendant waiting in the hallway.

"Prepare bathwater in the sauna. Lay out a fresh change of clothes as well."

He had only taken a few long strides before noticing how tightly his trousers were constricting him, and he let out an impatient sigh.

"Don't light the furnace. Tell them to prepare water as cold as ice."

* * *

Lowell Draven moistened his lips with the fine wine the servants had served him as he looked out over the entirety of Laedgo Castle through the window.

As befitted the stronghold of a family whose influence extended not only across the East but deep into both the North and the South, there wasn't a single vulnerable point to be seen.

Within the massive fortress enclosed by double walls stood rows of orderly stone buildings, each combining practicality with elegant craftsmanship. Between them ran crystal-clear canals woven together like a spider's web.

Stretching before the castle lay an enormous barracks and training grounds. Even at a glance, they appeared capable of housing well over a thousand soldiers. Including the Kalmor garrison, there were likely around five thousand troops permanently stationed in this region alone.

Adding the eastern garrisons and the frontier defense forces together, the Grand Duchy of Siorcan possessed somewhere between fifty-eight thousand and sixty thousand soldiers in total—enough to rival the Imperial Army itself.

Furthermore, since most of the Khan people trained in horsemanship from childhood, they could raise an even larger force if additional recruitment became necessary.

As Lowell examined the castle's internal layout, countless calculations ran through his mind. Then, suddenly sensing a chill, he whipped his head around.

Standing in the wide-open entrance of the reception room was a man draped in a gray fur-lined cloak over a black velvet tunic.

Lowell hurriedly placed a hand over his chest and bowed respectfully.

"Though belated, allow me to offer my greetings, Your Grace. I am Lowell Draven, Guildmaster of the Northern Merchants' Guild. Thank you for inviting me to your castle."

"Sit."

The man gave a slight nod before taking the seat at the end of the long table.

Lowell pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, carefully studying the young ruler of the East.

The man possessed a refined beauty worthy of a marble sculpture. Delicate features, flawless bone structure, and eyes of an extraordinarily rare color... Judging solely by appearances, he looked better suited to being a wandering bard or stage actor than a ruler.

Had Lowell not witnessed the man's monstrous strength with his own eyes, he would have dismissed him as nothing more than an exceptionally handsome young noble.

"Finished spying?"

The dry, low voice snapped Lowell back to reality. He forced an awkward smile to ease the uncomfortable silence.

"For a moment, I found myself captivated by Your Grace's remarkable appearance. Please forgive my discourtesy."

The corner of the man's lips curled upward.

It was such a smooth smile that it was almost unsettling.

"You have quite the silver tongue."

"Haha, a merchant's tongue is his livelihood, is it not? I meet distinguished people every day, so naturally I've become rather eloquent."

"Indeed. It seems you've been putting that tongue to use in quite a few places."

The man accepted a goblet from a young page who appeared to be his attendant and spoke in a relaxed tone.

Lowell forced a smile onto his face before it could stiffen completely.

"I... I'm afraid I don't understand what Your Grace means."

"I already know you've been selling information about the East's military strongholds to the North. Let's spare ourselves a pointless exchange of words."

Still idly swirling his wine, the man spoke with complete indifference.

Lowell swallowed dryly.

For a brief instant, he considered denying everything, but he suspected that would only provoke the young ruler's anger.

He decided to confront the matter directly.

"I am a northerner, Your Grace. Obeying my lord's commands is my duty."

"So you merely obeyed the orders of Bjorn Blodar Heimdal. Is that your argument?"

Lowell bit his lip.

The current Duke of Heimdal was Kailus.

Yet the man before him already seemed fully aware that true power in the North had effectively passed into the hands of the duke's son.

Feeling cold sweat soaking his back, Lowell hurriedly continued.

"What I passed along can hardly be called military secrets. They're the sort of things anyone with sharp eyes could discover—road conditions, market distribution routes, the approximate size of military forces... These are simply the kinds of information every merchant is expected to know. I have also heard that Your Grace gathers detailed intelligence on the North through merchants."

"True. Using merchants' information networks to observe neighboring territories is hardly unusual..."

The man deliberately let the sentence trail off.

Lowell watched the elegant curve of those cold lips with mounting tension.

After several seconds of silence that slowly burned away his composure, the young Grand Duke finally dropped the bombshell.

"But aiding traitors is another matter entirely."

Lowell's shoulders recoiled as though struck by lightning.

He sprang to his feet in alarm.

"T-Treason? That's a slanderous accusation! How could Your Grace possibly say such a thing...!"

"I've heard that the amount of silver coin circulating in the North has increased dramatically since last spring. Curious, isn't it? Especially considering that trade itself hasn't changed much compared to last year."

Lowell's feigned outrage instantly froze on his face.

The Grand Duke of Siorcan leisurely took another sip of wine before continuing.

"I looked into the state of affairs in the North because it had become rather entertaining. During my investigation, I found something fascinating. Some fearless metal engraver had produced an impressively accurate copy of the Roem Imperial minting plates. Care to guess where that craftsman belonged?"

Strength left Lowell's legs, and he collapsed back into his chair.

He had expected reprimands and pressure after being brought here, but never imagined the Grand Duke had already uncovered everything down to the very bottom.

With frightened eyes, he stared up at the astonishingly young ruler.

The man set down his empty goblet with a sharp clack and let out a disappointed sigh.

"Counterfeiting the Imperial minting plates alone is a crime worthy of exterminating three generations of one's family. Yet you went even further and used those coins to fill the purses of traitors... I doubt you'll even be buried with your body intact. Allow me to offer my condolences in advance."

Lowell immediately dropped to his knees before him.

This was no longer the time to worry about how many cards the other man held.

If the Grand Duke had wanted him handed over to the Imperial Tribunal, he would never have brought him to Laedgo Castle. There had to be another purpose.

Abandoning every shred of pride, he began to beg.

"I-I never intended to participate in treason! If I refused to cooperate, I had no idea what would happen to my business or my family. I only agreed to help mint the silver coins because I had no other choice. Please... show me mercy!"

"Are you asking me to overlook your crimes while fully aware that doing so would itself constitute treason? Tell me, what possible benefit would make such a risk worthwhile?"

The man leaned slightly toward him.

His expressionless, beautiful face resembled that of an angel delivering divine punishment.

Through trembling lips, Lowell barely managed to force out the rest.

"If you spare my life this once, I swear that no matter what happens in the future, I will never utter Your Grace's name. Furthermore, I will become your hands and feet, carrying out any dirty task without hesitation. From this day forward... I am your servant."

Instinctively, Lowell knew this was exactly what the man had been waiting to hear when he invited him here.

The young ruler silently studied his face before the corner of his mouth twisted ever so slightly.

It was a smile as sharp as a freshly honed blade.

"Very well. I'll place my trust in that silver tongue of yours."

* * *

She had been lying in bed reading a book, and at some point she must have drifted off to sleep.

Still breathing softly with her eyes closed, Talia felt something cool touch her lips. Unconsciously, she parted them, and a small round object was gently pushed into her mouth.

As she bit down lightly, sweet-and-tart juice burst across her tongue.

She swallowed the slightly softened seed and rubbed her heavy eyelids with the back of her hand. As her vision gradually cleared, Varkas came into focus.

A faint frown appeared between her brows.

Resting one elbow on his knee, he was carefully working at something in his hands.

"What is that?"

"A pomegranate. One of the guests brought it as a gift. Open your mouth."

He carefully removed one crimson seed from the split fruit and held it to her lips.

Talia stared at it blankly for a moment before slowly opening her mouth.

He placed the pomegranate seed onto her tongue, then immediately began picking out another one.