The Forgotten Field

As the young Crown Prince entered the vast estate of Mordawin Monastery with his entourage, hundreds of citizens scattered flower petals along the roadside.

Gareth raised one hand in acknowledgment of their welcome.

The cheers of the crowd swelled even louder.

Though it was a ceremony repeated so endlessly over the past several days that it should have become tiresome by now, he found himself enjoying it every time. Lifting his chin even higher, he proudly guided his horse forward.

Once they passed through the crowded city streets, a broad courtyard and magnificent temple came into view. Gareth halted the knights before a structure that appeared to be a prayer hall.

“You must have endured much hardship traveling such a great distance.”

A short while later, a man dressed in pure white monastic robes stepped forward.

Remaining seated atop his horse, Gareth studied him carefully.

The man possessed a face sharp as an arrowhead and pale silver hair tinged faintly blue.

It did not take Gareth long to realize the young monk was not fully human. His complexion was unnaturally pale, and the tips of his ears tapered into delicate points.

Likely a half-elf or perhaps a quarter-elf.

There was nothing particularly strange about it. In the northeastern regions of the former Kingdom of Osiria, it was not difficult to find mixed-blood races carrying traces of elf or dwarf ancestry.

Suppressing the instinctive revulsion he felt toward races unlike his own, Gareth questioned him in a dignified tone.

“Are you the abbot of this monastery?”

“Yes, Your Noble Highness the Crown Prince. My name is Vasilis, and I have been entrusted with overseeing this monastery.”

The man smiled gently.

“I sincerely welcome you to Mordawin.”

“This land is sacred ground — the place where my ancestor, the great Emperor Darian, claimed his first victory in the North and received the divine revelation to unite the nations. I too am sincerely pleased to stand here.”

Gareth swung himself down from his horse and spoke in the arrogant manner characteristic of imperial royalty.

“In accordance with imperial tradition, I seek blessings in the names of the saints. Pray that divine grace may descend upon both myself and my sister.”

“It would be my honor.”

The abbot answered respectfully before cautiously adding,

“For today, perhaps it would be best for Your Highness to rest within my residence and recover from the fatigue of travel. We have prepared a grand banquet for several days in anticipation of your arrival.”

Gareth hesitated briefly.

Originally, they were supposed to stay in the guest lodgings reserved for pilgrims. Residing within the abbot’s private residence could easily be interpreted as political favoritism.

He cast a glance backward toward Varkas, who stood behind him like a shadow.

Apparently unwilling to attract attention, Varkas had half his face concealed beneath a long hood.

After silently surveying the monastery grounds for some time, Varkas finally gave a slight nod.

“As Your Highness wishes.”

“Very well. Then we shall stay at the abbot’s residence tonight.”

The moment permission was granted, the waiting servants descended the steps in orderly formation to escort the guests inside. Handing over his horse’s reins, Gareth addressed Varkas once more.

“Make sure to take proper care of Aila. This is the first time she has traveled so far from the palace. Everything here must feel unfamiliar and uncomfortable to her.”

Still stroking his horse, Varkas gave a slight nod.

Gareth frowned faintly.

If only he would devote even half as much care to my sister as he does to that horse.

Muttering inwardly, Gareth followed after the monks before suddenly noticing a luxurious carriage positioned near the edge of the clearing.

He narrowed his eyes at the carriage window concealed behind thick curtains.

Whether she had finally learned caution or merely understood her place at last, Talia Roem Gwirta had remained shut inside that carriage throughout the entire journey without once showing herself.

It almost made him feel foolish for spending so much time preparing himself to snap that delicate neck the instant she caused trouble.

‘It would be preferable if she remained quiet like this.’

But Talia Roem Gwirta was not the sort of woman capable of that.

She had attached herself to this pilgrimage while harboring some filthy scheme from the very beginning. There was no knowing when, where, or what kind of chaos she might provoke.

After staring at the carriage for a long moment, Gareth suddenly barked toward Varkas,

“And tell that woman this as well. Tell her to continue behaving like a dead mouse and stay out of my sight, just as she has so far.”

Varkas’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

It seemed he disliked how openly Gareth displayed hostility toward his half-sister. Come to think of it, he had even lectured Gareth before — unusually for him — warning that he should be more careful with his words for the sake of appearances.

Gareth deliberately scoffed.

As if there were a single citizen in the Empire unaware that the Crown Prince wanted to tear apart his father’s bastard daughter.

Lifting his chin proudly, he followed the priests toward the grand estate situated behind the main sanctuary.

The abbot’s residence was nearly as luxurious as the detached palaces within the imperial grounds themselves.

The thought that he would at least spend this evening in comfort naturally drew a satisfied smile onto Gareth’s face as he stepped into the magnificent hall behind the monks.

The abbot personally guided him to the most lavish room within the estate.

Gareth slowly surveyed the spacious bedchamber as though passing judgment.

It was evidently the abbot’s personal quarters. Paintings depicting holy wars adorned the walls, while prayer books and theological texts rested upon the desk.

The decorations were hardly to his taste, but aside from that, the room was acceptable enough.

Throwing aside the cloak still carrying the smell of horse sweat, he addressed the servants waiting by the doorway.

“I wish to bathe first. Prepare a tub large enough for me to stretch out comfortably in, and fill it with clean water.”

Once the servants scattered, Gareth seated himself beside the window and gestured lazily toward the squires who had followed him inside.

At the silent command, the two boys immediately began removing his armor.

Leaving his body to them, Gareth picked up a wine glass from the shelf nearby. One quick-witted servant instantly stepped forward to refill it.

Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of the chilled wine.

The thick liquid slid smoothly down his throat as a rich fragrance spread through his mouth.

Savoring the strong taste lingering on his tongue, Gareth let out a # Nоvеlight # low, pleased sound.

Perhaps the banquet would prove worth anticipating after all.

Even to someone accustomed to the finest rare liquors, the wine prepared by the monastery was surprisingly excellent.

‘It seems the holy-land business is quite profitable.’

Twisting his mouth faintly, he gazed out over the monastery’s sprawling estate beyond the glass windows.

High-ranking clergy often enjoyed wealth rivaling that of powerful nobles.

The abbot here undoubtedly lived a lifestyle as extravagant as any great aristocrat.

Freed at last from the burden of his heavy armor, Gareth stripped off his sweat-soaked clothing and submerged himself into the bath the monks had prepared. Servants immediately began scrubbing his body with soft brushes.

Resting his head against the edge of the tub, he leisurely sipped the remainder of his wine.

After soaking there for some time, a bit of vitality finally returned to his body, exhausted from half a day spent riding.

Stepping from the bath, he dressed himself in the light summer formalwear the servants had prepared. Throwing on a velvet robe adorned with minimal decoration, he left the room under the guidance of the monks.

“The meal has been prepared in the hall directly below.”

Holding a lantern, the monk carefully descended the marble staircase layered with soft carpets.

Gareth merely gave a disinterested nod.

A ruler was meant to speak as little as possible.

He knew better than anyone how much silence alone could accomplish.

After all, he kept at his side a man who was practically the embodiment of silence itself.

Spotting Varkas standing rigidly at the entrance to the hall as though he had been waiting for him, Gareth frowned.

Whenever he looked at him, a strange sense of hostility inevitably rose within him.

Despite the fact that Varkas had never once defied him.

Was it because of the man’s peculiar presence? Or because he revealed so little of himself?

Gareth had watched him since childhood, yet Varkas always felt like a stranger who needed to be guarded against.

That was what made him unsettling.

Could he truly entrust half of himself to this man?

“And Aila?”

“Her Highness is resting in the dormitory used by the priestesses. She appears exhausted and said she would not be attending the banquet tonight.”

“She has been forced to camp for days. It’s only natural she would be tired.”

“I had restorative medicine prepared for her, so there is no great cause for concern.”

Gareth frowned at the dry reply.

He knew Varkas behaved at least somewhat more gently toward his sister than toward others.

Despite being a man in the prime of his life, Varkas Laedgo Siorcan treated women with detached courtesy at best.

The way he coldly rejected every woman who approached him was enough to make even Gareth uncomfortable watching it happen. The fact that he allowed Aila at his side at all was practically a blessing.

And yet Gareth could never bring himself to approve of his lukewarm attitude.

He was about to obtain the most precious treasure in the Empire, yet not even the slightest trace of gratitude could be found in that detached face.

Sharply, Gareth snapped,

“Aila is your fiancée. Shouldn’t you be showing her a bit more affection than that?”