The Forgotten Field

The size of the Valto militia was growing with each passing day.

Young men whose hatred for the Imperial Family had reached its breaking point continued to join the rebellion one after another. In the span of only a few months, they had assembled an army large enough to rival the Northern Noble Alliance’s forces.

It was the inevitable consequence of the indiscriminate plundering and brutal military crackdowns the Imperial Army had carried out over the past several years.

“Those filthy traitors!”

Forced into a humiliating retreat by the relentless, well-coordinated assaults of the Amasek citizen army, the Crown Prince ripped off his helmet, hurled it to the ground, and flew into a rage.

Varkas finally lifted his gaze from the documents spread across the desk.

Exhausted from days of grueling combat, the Crown Prince looked utterly haggard as he kicked over a table in the corner of the command tent, screaming in fury.

“I swear before the gods I’ll flay those vermin alive and hang their skins from every street in the capital like banners! I’ll gouge out their eyes while they’re still breathing, tear out their tongues, chop them into pieces, and scatter them across this wretched land as fertilizer! Just you wait, you sons of bitches!”

Leaning lazily against the back of his chair, Varkas quietly waited for his cousin’s fit of madness to burn itself out.

Only after Gareth’s rage finally seemed to subside did the man, who had smashed nearly everything inside the tent, collapse into a chair.

Watching him, Varkas addressed the servant lingering awkwardly near the entrance.

“Don’t just stand there. Pour His Highness a glass of cold wine.”

“I don’t need it! Get out, all of you!”

The Crown Prince shoved aside the servant who had hurried over with a bottle of wine, then shot Varkas a blazing glare.

“How can you sit there looking so calm? Are you enjoying seeing me humiliated like this?”

Without answering, Varkas simply picked up the goblet resting on the table.

He had barely raised it to his lips when Gareth sprang to his feet, snatched the goblet away, and hurled it into the corner of the tent before leaning toward him threateningly.

“Why aren’t you answering? I asked if you’re enjoying this.”

“You’ve chosen the wrong person to vent your anger on.”

Looking up at him with an expressionless face, Varkas spoke evenly.

“Is this truly how Your Highness intends to treat the man who rode all this way to clean up this disaster?”

Whether Gareth caught the warning hidden beneath those words or not, his body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Varkas gestured toward the chair opposite him.

“Sit down. We have matters to discuss.”

“So you’ve become quite full of yourself. I suppose becoming Supreme Commander has made even the Crown Prince seem beneath you.”

Perhaps ashamed that he had momentarily faltered, Gareth twisted his face into a sneer.

Varkas’s voice turned icy.

“I said, sit down.”

After glaring at him with veins bulging across his neck, the Crown Prince finally dragged over a chair and sat.

Varkas spread a map before him and began explaining in a calm voice.

“From this point onward, Your Highness’s personal forces will be stationed in the rear. Establish camp in the southwestern region of Amasek and devote yourselves to cutting off the enemy’s supply routes.”

“So you’re telling me to flee from those lowborn peasants like a coward?”

“This uprising is the direct result of the ruthless suppression Your Highness has carried out. His Majesty does not wish to see the hatred the people of the North harbor toward the Imperial Family grow any further.”

Gareth’s face flushed crimson at the undisguised criticism.

Slamming his fist onto the table, he hissed through clenched teeth,

“So you’re saying this is my fault?”

Neither agreeing nor denying the accusation, Varkas continued calmly.

“If the Crown Prince who is destined to rule the Empire one day massacres the citizen army of Valto, then the North will turn its back on the Imperial Family forever. His Majesty has judged that, in order to bring Valto back into the Empire, someone else must dirty his hands in Your Highness’s place.”

“And that chosen cleaner is you?”

Gareth let out a mocking laugh.

“And naturally, out of your unwavering loyalty to me, you humbly accepted the position of Supreme Commander. Is that it?”

“That is correct.”

Varkas answered gently.

“And yet my dear cousin now seems intent on shaking my loyalty to the Empire.”

“...”

“If my services are no longer required, simply say so. At Your Highness’s command, I shall gladly take the reinforcements and return to the East.”

Gareth ground his teeth as though on the verge of exploding again.

A taut silence settled over the tent.

At last, after grinding his teeth for several moments, the Crown Prince spat out,

“Fine. For now, I’ll follow your orders. But since you’re sending my troops to the rear, you’d better produce results.”

With that, he shot to his feet and strode out of the tent.

The very next day, Varkas immediately reorganized the army and began tightening the noose around Amasek.

He had no intention of forcing a direct assault.

After completely isolating the city and cutting off the expansion of the rebel forces, which had begun spreading like poisonous mushrooms throughout the region, Varkas established fortified positions to the north before severing the flow of the Ruden River into Amasek.

Redirecting the course of such a massive river required an enormous amount of magical devices and explosives, but the results were undeniable.

According to the spies already planted inside the city, signs of division had begun appearing among the citizens.

The Imperial Army had long known that enough food had been stockpiled within Amasek’s walls to sustain tens of thousands of people for well over half a year.

Water, however, was another matter.

Without it, they would be forced to raise the white flag within a month.

Now all Varkas had to do was wait for the trapped rats to make their final desperate struggle.

In preparation for the inevitable battle, he stationed layer upon layer of cavalry around the city gates.

Several weeks passed.

Then an unexpected visitor arrived at the military camp.

“It has been quite some time, Lord Siorcan.”

Standing atop the watchtower, observing the isolated city below, Varkas turned toward the voice.

Several hundred knights carrying long spears adorned with green banners were climbing the hill.

The towering man at their head called out cheerfully,

“Or rather, I suppose I should address you as Your Grace now.”

Recognizing him a moment later, Varkas frowned.

He was the second son of House Bleston, one of the North’s most prestigious ducal families.

Descending the stairs at an unhurried pace, Varkas approached him.

The man promptly dismounted and respectfully extended one hand.

“We met once at an Imperial banquet years ago. Have you been well?”

“It has been a long time.”

Shaking his hand, Varkas carefully studied him with guarded eyes.

House Bleston currently served as the head of the Northern Noble Alliance in place of House Heimdal.

Why would someone who ought to be attending the peace negotiations at Dolakan Castle come here instead?

As Varkas silently questioned him with his gaze, the man finally spoke in a cautious tone.

“I have come as a representative of House Bleston with a proposal I would like to present to Your Grace. May I have a moment of your time?”

After silently searching the man’s eyes, Varkas nodded toward the entrance to the camp.

“You may come inside. But only you and one escort.”

The man stiffened slightly before letting out a resigned sigh and nodding.

Varkas walked straight through the checkpoint toward his command tent.

Inside the large tent reserved for the commanding officer stood only the bare necessities.

Stepping inside, Varkas seated himself beside the roughly crafted meeting table and motioned for the man to sit.

After glancing around the tent, the visitor quietly pulled out a chair and sat opposite him.

“So. What proposal have you come to make?”

The blunt question briefly brought irritation to the man’s face.

Apparently he had not expected Varkas to skip straight to the point.

Clearing his throat, he complained quietly,

“You’re rather inhospitable to your guests. Couldn’t you at least offer me something to drink?”

“I’ll decide whether you’re a guest or an unwelcome visitor after I’ve heard why you’ve come.”

A heavy sigh escaped the man’s lips.

“Very well. Then I’ll come straight to the matter. This...”

He reached into his robe and produced a small envelope.

One of Varkas’s eyebrows rose.

“What is it?”

“A personal letter from my elder brother, Duke Rowin Bleston.”

After confirming the Bleston family seal pressed into the wax, Varkas accepted the letter and broke it open.

Written across the yellowed parchment was a startling proposal.

House Bleston wished to recommend its eldest legitimate daughter, Anastair, as the Crown Princess.

A faint laugh escaped Varkas.

“This is astonishing. Though the Northern Noble Alliance has now sided with the Imperial Family, the fact remains that you once supported House Heimdal’s rebellion. And now you’re asking me to place the daughter of a family that once harbored treasonous ambitions beside the Crown Prince?”

“At present, there is no other solution.”

Moistening his dry lips, the man continued carefully.

“Your Grace is surely aware that public sentiment among the people of Valto has reached a dangerous point. If we are to calm them, the Empire must present an image of embracing Valto with generosity. What could symbolize that more clearly than a pure-blooded northerner becoming the Crown Princess?”

He paused, as though waiting for agreement.

Varkas remained silent, merely giving a slight nod for him to continue.

Seemingly irritated by the arrogant response, the man leaned forward with both hands braced against the table.

“At this rate, the war will drag on for years. The reason the peace negotiations have stalled for six months is because the Northern ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) Noble Alliance still has no confidence that its position will be secured. But if Anastair becomes the Crown Princess, that distrust will disappear overnight.”

Varkas tapped his fingertips lightly against the table as he quietly studied the letter from the Duke of Bleston.

It was an extremely tempting proposal.

At present, it was also the most realistic solution.

The only problem was whether Gareth would obediently accept such a compromise.

Feeling a headache already forming, Varkas pressed his fingers against his temple.

Persuading that unruly bastard would not be easy.

But if he managed to coax him into agreement, this exhausting war could be brought to an end in a single stroke.

He tightened his grip on the parchment.

“Very well. I’ll move this forward. But I have one condition.”

“Please, name it.”

“The moment the marriage is concluded, the Northern Noble Alliance must stand at the forefront of suppressing the rebellion.”

“That...”

The man’s expression hardened.

Varkas pressed on relentlessly.

“The Imperial Army must not be seen oppressing the people of the North. You must execute the rebels with your own hands. Only then will the Northern Noble Alliance prove its loyalty.”

“...”

“If you cannot agree to that, then neither can I present this proposal to His Majesty.”

After a long silence, the man finally answered in a heavy voice.

“Understood. I shall convey Your Grace’s wishes to my elder brother.”

He rose to his feet and extended his hand once more.

Just as Varkas reached out to shake it, the booming blast of a war horn echoed from outside the tent.

Varkas immediately seized his sword and rushed outside.

At the same moment, the soldiers’ thunderous shouts rang across the camp.

“The enemy has begun their attack!”