The Forgotten Field

The man pinned beneath him on the carpet thrashed desperately, struggling with all four limbs.

Rough hands with bulging veins clawed frantically at the backs of his hands, while muscular legs repeatedly slammed into his body, but Varkas paid no attention. He only tightened his grip. Blood vessels burst across the man's eyes, which were wide with horror.

Gasping with his mouth stretched open as though trying to draw in even a single breath, the man reached out blindly across the floor.

His fingertips brushed against the wine bottle that had rolled away from the overturned table. Gareth seized it and swung it mercilessly at Varkas's head.

A heavy impact smashed into his temple. He felt sticky liquid and shattered glass run down one side of his face.

He did not even flinch.

He simply tightened his hands even harder around the man's throat.

He did not know why he was attacking the very person he had spent nearly his entire life protecting.

Consumed by a fury so intense it felt as though it were burning through his eyes, he continued strangling the man when, without warning, the muscles in his fingers began twisting violently.

The convulsions spread through his entire arm in an instant. It was as though every individual muscle fiber had begun moving wildly against his own will.

His trembling hands clenched even harder by force, pressing Gareth down more firmly.

Then an overwhelming pressure gripped his chest.

The crushing weight slowly climbed into his throat.

It felt as though he were strangling himself.

His own eyes became bloodshot beneath the suffocating sensation of his airway being cut off.

Yet Varkas did not even blink.

Instead, he forced even more strength into his convulsing fingers.

Then someone cried out in shock, and another person threw themselves onto his arm.

He did not budge.

A moment later, four pairs of hands bound him from both sides like ropes and forcibly tore him away from the Crown Prince.

“Your Grace! Please stop!”

At last, his fingers slipped weakly away from Gareth's throat.

The instant he was released, Gareth rolled out from beneath him, clutching his neck as violent coughing wracked his body.

A woman rushed to his side, wrapped both arms around the Crown Prince, and stared at Varkas with stunned eyes.

Only after a long moment did he recognize her.

Aila Roem Gwirta.

Why was this woman at Laedgo Castle?

As he narrowed his eyes, the man restraining him suddenly froze.

“Y-Your Grace... the blood...”

The man's gaze was fixed on Varkas's mouth.

Varkas frowned.

His injury was on his head.

Why was the man looking there?

He raised a hand and touched his lips.

His fingertips came away slick.

Only then did he realize that blood had risen from his throat and was running down his chin and neck.

That was not all.

The palms of his hands had become raw and inflamed, as though they had been badly burned.

He stared blankly at them.

Then, from close by, a stifled laugh reached his ears.

Varkas slowly lifted his head.

Across from him, Gareth sat collapsed on the floor, one hand clutching his bruised neck where dark finger marks had already appeared. He drew ragged breaths while a twisted smile spread across his face.

His eyes shimmered in the darkness, overflowing with rage, betrayal, and a warped sense of exhilaration.

“Just look at yourself.”

His cackling laughter echoed through the study.

“This is what happens when you try to defy your fate.”

“G-Gareth...”

Aila reached for his clothes as though trying to stop him, but Gareth violently shook her off and shouted,

“It is useless no matter how hard you struggle! You belong to us! That woman died because you tried to defy it!”

The air inside the room froze instantly.

The soldiers of House Siorcan stared at the Crown Prince with hardened expressions.

Yet even in the oppressive silence, Gareth did not stop.

“Am I wrong? If she had never married you, she would still be alive today! Talia Roem Gwirta died because you tried to stray from the path that was chosen for you! Fate removed her just to force you back where you belong!”

“Your Highness!”

Unable to listen any longer, Daren stepped between them.

But Gareth paid him no heed and continued shouting.

“You cannot escape! From the moment my mother pulled you out of that secret chamber, your life belonged to us!”

“Gareth!”

A sharp crack rang through the room like the snap of a whip.

The Crown Prince's head jerked violently to one side.

He stared at his twin sister in utter disbelief.

Looking down at him with icy eyes, the Imperial Princess rose to her feet and shouted at the knights standing by the door.

“Why are you just standing there? Escort His Highness the Crown Prince away immediately! Take him back to his quarters and see that he receives treatment at once!”

Then she turned toward Varkas and added in a low, restrained voice,

“Your Grace should also receive treatment immediately. As for today's unfortunate incident...”

The voice she had maintained so calmly trembled ever so slightly.

She swallowed once before finishing her sentence.

“In consideration of the friendship we have shared all these years... I shall let the matter rest.”

“How magnanimous.”

Daren answered with open sarcasm.

“But do not expect House Siorcan to show the same generosity regarding the outrageous words spoken by His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Aila glared at him with a flash of anger before leading Gareth out of the study.

Watching them leave with wary eyes, Daren turned back and bowed before Varkas.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?”

Varkas slowly raised his head from where he had been staring vacantly at his own hands.

The eyes surrounding him were filled with concern, worry... and pity.

He could not understand why they were looking at him like that.

Why would he not be all right?

He roughly shook off the hands holding him and staggered to his feet.

Just as he was about to dismiss the crowd that had gathered—

A surge rose from his throat.

Dark crimson blood spilled from his mouth.

“Your Grace!”

“Summon a healing mage immediately!”

Someone hurriedly caught him as his body threatened to collapse.

Varkas stared blankly at the dark stains splattered across the floor.

Over them, another image slowly overlapped.

Talia.

She lay there limply, her blood-soaked clothing wrapped around her thin body.

He stared at her frozen, deathly pale face as though nailed in place.

Slowly, he reached out and laid a hand against her waxen white cheek.

The moment he touched her—

Her image shattered into countless fragments that scattered in every direction.

Thousands upon thousands of shards drove into his eyes, his skin, his bones, and his heart like blades.

It felt as though he were being carved apart while still alive.

Unable to endure the unbearable agony, he finally collapsed onto his knees.

The world, faded into black and white, slowly turned crimson.

He could no longer tell whether it was reality or hallucination.

A flood of blood surged from somewhere unseen and swallowed him from his feet upward.

Everything slowly sank beneath the crimson river.

Then he realized the river's true name.

It was despair.

The despair he had denied for so long poured relentlessly into his nose, his mouth, and his ears.

Amid the endless suffocation—

At last, he lost consciousness.

* * *

She was sitting on the windowsill, quietly watching the setting sun.

The breeze drifting out of the forest gently swept through her long hair and the hem of her thin dress.

A faint smile suddenly touched her lips.

He watched her without blinking.

Then he followed her gaze and looked out the window.

The scenery was exactly as it always was.

He could not understand what about it had made this difficult woman smile.

“What are you looking at?”

Unable to suppress his curiosity any longer, he finally asked.

The languid eyes, as though she had been lost in a pleasant daydream, slowly turned toward him.

“Just... the sky.”

Her indifferent answer made him knit his brows.

She added, almost teasingly,

“The sunset is especially beautiful today, so I was admiring it.”

He turned back toward the window.

Half the sun had already sunk beyond the horizon, staining the western sky crimson.

Yet he could not find anything particularly beautiful about it.

He looked back at her.

Her face had been bathed in the glow of the sunset, and her eyes shimmered with an indescribable radiance amid the burning evening light.

Only then did he finally perceive the beauty that had captivated her.

It was always like this whenever he was with her.

Things he had never noticed before suddenly became visible.

Things he had never felt before quietly found their way into him.

The subtle shifts in sunlight.

The density of the air.

The breeze brushing against his cheek.

The gentle sound of falling rain.

The fresh scent of grass...

Sometimes it even felt as though his senses had become connected to hers.

His once colorless world was slowly being painted with countless shades by this unpredictable young woman.

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