Chapter 50
----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: Diva Chapter: 50 Chapter Title: Forgotten Field -----------------------------------------------------------------
Talia, her face gruesomely distorted, fiercely slapped his cheek.
"You damn bastard! You have to interfere with me every time to feel satisfied!"
In the darkness, his blue eyes faintly wavered. However, the face looking down at her was as coolly composed as ever. That solid composure was terrifying.
Talia raked her nails across his cheek. Without even flinching, Barkas—who had seized her wrist—surveyed the chaotic campsite.
His icy gaze swept over the pale-faced maids, the knights with flustered expressions, and the woman clutching her burned cheek while sobbing.
A dry sigh escaped his lips.
"Take her to the healer."
With a light tilt of his chin toward the woman, Barkas promptly turned away.
Talia thrashed her limbs wildly, letting out a guttural scream.
"Who gave you permission! That woman's a criminal! You should cut her head off right now!"
She caught glimpses of people who had rushed over at the commotion whispering about her. But she had no energy left to preserve her dignity. She bellowed at the top of her lungs for the entire camp to hear.
"You damn bastard! What kind of knight are you!"
But Barkas didn't so much as blink.
Silently weaving between the tents, Barkas entered the barracks and laid her down on the wide bed.
Talia, utterly absorbed in unleashing her boiling rage, didn't even register that she had been dragged into his bedroom.
"You've never properly protected me once! Always! Always! You left me to become a total wreck! You didn't plan to save me this time either, did you? You wanted me dead. That's why you abandoned me, right? That's why you didn't rush to rescue me? I know everything!"
Ignoring her as she shrieked at the top of her voice, he pinned her wrist to the bed, securing it, then forcibly pried her hand open.
Blood and pus oozed from her palm, burned raw and red. Gazing down at it with furrowed brows, Barkas retrieved a small glass vial from the shelf.
Seeing him pour some unidentified liquid onto her hand, she screamed.
"No! Don't! Leave me alone!"
He silently applied the medicine to her wound, then wrapped it tightly with white bandages fetched from somewhere.
All the while, Talia pounded his shoulder furiously with her free hand, but soon her strength ebbed away entirely, and her limbs went limp. Barkas gazed down at her with dry eyes before slowly rising.
"I'll fetch a sedative for you."
Talia, half her face buried in the pillow as she gasped raggedly, lifted her eyes to him.
Barkas walked calmly to a shelf in one corner of the barracks and examined a medicine bottle.
Over his rigid back, the image of him rushing toward Aila superimposed itself. A searing pain crashed over her.
Talia spat out a twisted voice.
"Seeing me alive and breathing must disgust you to no end, huh?"
She saw his hand, rummaging over the shelf, hesitate and stiffen.
He stood frozen for a long moment before turning his head with unnatural slowness.
Facing his refined features—as if all emotion had been distilled away—something inside her shattered into pieces.
Talia curled a bleak smile onto her lips.
"How disappointing it must be. It was your chance for that thorn in your side to vanish from the world."
Tears finally overflowed, soaking her cheek. Even his cool face seemed warped beneath a thin haze.
He approached with heavy steps and bent down before her. The cold glass bottle touched her lower lip.
"Drink it. You'll feel a little better."
"No need."
"..."
"I don't need anything from you anymore."
Barkas set the vial down.
Just then, the lamp's flame flickered dim, draping his face in deep shadow.
It didn't matter. She knew his expression without looking. As always, either blank indifference or a gaze laced with faint fatigue and irritation.
She turned her back to him.
The man who had silently watched departed the barracks.
Listening to his fading footsteps, Talia reached down and felt her leg. The hard, block-like sensation sent a chill racing up her spine.
Disability.
She hurriedly banished the word from her mind.
No way. It's just idle talk from those who hate me.
The imperial family is brimming with skilled healers. Mother must know plenty of sorcerers versed in forbidden magic, too.
They'll heal me, no matter the means.
Then, right in front of those who mocked me, I'll flaunt my perfect body.
Clutching her throbbing knee, Talia soon lowered her eyelids.
* * *
The grand pilgrimage procession that had set out from the imperial palace had morphed into a somber funeral march.
The imperial attendants donned black robes in place of red surcoats, while the knights draped drab sashes over their armor.
The wagons once laden with fine liquors, silks, and jewels now bore thirty-four carefully shrouded corpses, and musicians played low dirges at steady intervals.
Inside the carriage, Talia listlessly listened to the sounds until the pain—dormant till now—flared viciously once more. She groped fumblingly for the censer.
The cold bronze vessel held only a pile of ashes.
Muttering a brief curse, Talia arduously lifted herself from the cushions. She opened the box beneath the seat and withdrew a fresh incense stick.
It was a tightly bundled mix of dried frost herb, moonflower, mandrake leaves, and crimson petal shards.
She inserted it into the vessel and lit it with a magic stone, thick smoke billowing forth.
Feeling her mind swathed in damp fog, Talia slumped back onto the bedding.
Since the return procession began, Talia had spent most of her time lost in painkiller haze. Adrift in the acrid fumes, tomorrow blurred into today, today into yesterday.
She vaguely registered the occasional mage checking her condition or a guard knight bringing food to pester her amid her half-dreaming stupor, but they merely skimmed the surface of her awareness.
The only one who dragged her back to harsh reality was Barkas.
Gazing up at the shadow opening the carriage door after it halted, Talia narrowed her hazy eyes.
For some reason, her carriage—formerly at the procession's tail—had shifted forward, now under the Imperial Knight Order commander's vigilant escort. He must have deemed personal surveillance necessary to prevent further incidents.
Barkas stepped inside and bent over her sprawl, limp as seaweed.
She felt cold fingers sweep sweat-matted strands from her forehead.
"Use the incense sparingly. You'll build tolerance fast at this rate."
"..."
She stared at his face like some long-neglected puzzle.
Silent as if awaiting her response, the man exhaled faintly.
"We'll camp here tonight."
The sun had dipped low, and the carriage had stopped—of course they would overnight here.
No telling why he bothered stating the obvious. He was the type to hold his tongue even when words were due.