The Forgotten Field Novel - Chapter 232

## THE FORGOTTEN FIELDS (NOVEL) – Chapter 232

As he stepped out of the fortress tower, a roar that seemed to vibrate heaven and earth rumbled in his eardrums.

Varkas stopped and turned toward the source of the sound, seeing that the northern zone of the castle wall was completely covered in fire.

It appeared that the infiltration team had managed to destroy the opening and closing mechanism of the fortress gates, and he could clearly see the giant battering rams advancing like a torrent through the double iron gates that now remained open.

Seeing the guards of the outer fortress gathering like clouds to prevent the enemies from entering, Varkas quickly changed direction.

—It is better to look for another escape route.

He could break through the enemy camp and join the main force, but the risk was too high.

Varkas glanced at Garis, who wore a velvet cloak over a thin shirt. If he dragged him onto the battlefield in that state, he would become a piece of meat in the blink of an eye.

Varkas clicked his tongue slightly and began to run around the fortress tower, heading toward the southern outer wall of the main castle; however, just as he turned the corner of the building, he came face-to-face with guards carrying artillery shells.

He drew his sword immediately and decapitated the soldier closest to him.

The moment the head protected by an iron helmet fell to the ground, blood sprouted from the incision like a fountain, and a cry bordering on a lament escaped the mouths of the guards who witnessed the scene.

—An intruder! The intruder is fleeing with the prisoner!

At that instant, the imperial army probably detonated a shell, so a heavy explosion cut off the cry before it was halfway through. However, it seemed to have managed to attract the attention of the soldiers moving around the outer wall.

Seeing dozens of torches approaching, Varkas immediately pushed Garis against the wall of the building and swung his sword horizontally toward the approaching soldier.

The blade, whose weight he had lightened anticipating a spasm in his arm, pierced through the man’s armor and cut through muscles, entrails, and bones in a single strike. The man’s upper body separated from the lower one in an instant, and a cry of pain erupted from his mouth:

—A m… monster…!

The terror-filled cry of someone served as a signal, causing the soldiers who were attacking with their weapons to halt hesitantly.

Varkas did not waste that opportunity and lunged forward immediately from his position.

His body, bearing minimal armor for the infiltration, moved with the lightness of a warhorse released from its reins. His blade, which launched toward the enemy with the speed of an arrow, drove deeply into the body of the pikeman leading the line.

Varkas pulled the sword downward to split the man even between his legs, then changed the sword’s direction immediately to slice the legs of the infantryman who was belatedly trying to adopt a defensive stance, causing the body of the soldier who lost his legs to fall to the ground in an instant.

A soldier watching the scene with a panic-stricken expression let out a deranged cry and lunged at them; his movement was more akin to an instinctive resistance to death than a strategic attack.

Varkas held his sword diagonally at once, parried upward the battle-axe flying toward his head, and changed the direction of the sword’s tip vertically to stab between the soldier’s neck and collarbone.

Seeing three soldiers lose their lives in an instant, some turned around and fled. Varkas did not deliberately pursue the fleeing enemies; instead, he extracted the sword from the soldier’s body and shouted to Garis:

—Follow me right behind me!

Garis, who remained in a hesitant posture, ran toward him dazed.

Varkas began to advance, breaking through the enemy encirclement, making sure that Garis did not stray too far from him, but the path leading to the west gate was completely blocked. In the midst of this chaos, it was not possible to scale the castle wall using ropes.

It seemed inevitable to have to break through the main camp.

As his mind worked at full speed and his eyes searched for a retreat route, he heard a familiar voice ahead.

—Your Excellency the Duke!

Varkas turned quickly and saw the vanguard of the imperial army, which had already reached the inner courtyard of the castle, so he breathed a sigh of relief.

The fact that the main force had reached the heart of the fortress meant nothing else than that the scales of battle had already tipped.

He grabbed Garis’s arm at once and leaped into the inner courtyard where the combat was unfolding.

—I have rescued His Highness the Crown Prince! Guard him immediately!

About six heavily armed infantrymen rushed directly toward them. Varkas pushed Garis toward the soldiers as if handing him over, and quickly checked the surroundings.

Under the pressure of the imperial army bursting through the front and rear gates with irresistible force, the people of the north were scattering. It was a natural outcome; nearly half of the rebels were volunteers who had not received proper military training, and once the geographical advantage was lost, the northern rabble could not hold out against the elite of the imperial army.

Given that they had lost the prisoner, who was their only bargaining chip, they no longer had any way out.

—Take His Highness the Crown Prince out of the castle immediately.

—Understood!

The soldiers surrounding Garis headed immediately toward the castle gate.

Varkas threw himself to the front of the line to open a retreat route.

Right at that moment, with the sharp sound of tearing air, a blue light rushed toward him in a straight line.

Varkas raised his sword by instinct and, at the same time, a heavy vibration spread from his wrist to his elbow and shoulder like a wave. He tensed his entire body so as not to fall back and looked at the man pressing his sword against his own.

The blue light of dawn dimly illuminated the heavy silhouette of the enemy; although his face was covered by a black helmet, it was not difficult to recognize his identity.

—Bjorn…

—It is an honor for me that Your Excellency the Duke remembers my name —the man sneered while tilting his sword further toward him.

Varkas gritted his teeth against that brutal force, then pushed the opponent’s sword upward with all his strength, and just as he was preparing to stab the enemy’s chest, Bjorn retreated quickly.

Varkas adopted the combat stance immediately and stared at him with eyes flashing with coldness:

—The outcome is already decided, surrender now.

—This cannot be ended in such a boring way —the man laughed as if he were truly enjoying the situation—. Since the end is approaching, shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves until the last moment?

These were not simple words of empty boasting from someone cornered; inside the helmet burned eyes like fire, eyes tinged with madness and unafraid of destruction.

—Everyone calls you the Immortal, let us verify the truth of that.

As he finished speaking, the massive blade lunged toward him.

Varkas leaned his body to one side immediately and swung his sword from the flank to deflect the enemy’s attack, but the opponent changed the course of his sword instantly and delivered a second blow; it was a swift coordination that did not correspond with his massive body.

Instead of retreating, Varkas advanced forward, gripped a part of his sword’s blade with his other hand, and blocked the rapid attack with the flat side of the sword, causing the man’s arm to rise slightly.

He did not waste that momentary gap and struck the sword’s guard toward his head; although it did not cause a direct wound because the northerner shifted his head quickly, he seemed affected by the impact as it barely clipped the side of the helmet, causing the man’s posture to destabilize.

He launched the next attack immediately, and Bjorn Heimdall tried to recover his body’s balance quickly to block the sword, but he arrived a step late, so the longsword that thrust like an arrow drove deeply into his shoulder.

—This is a debt from the previous time.

—Heh… your grudge is long-lasting —the man grabbed the blade of the sword stuck in his shoulder with one hand and spoke with irony.

Varkas twisted the handle of the sword immediately to enlarge the wound, and a faint groan finally escaped from inside the helmet. He looked with bitterness at the man trying to suppress his pain, then pulled the sword downward to force him to his knees.

The enemy leader, who was trying to resist by gritting his teeth, ended up collapsing, and Varkas crushed the wrist of the man —who would not let go of the sword— with his military boot without mercy, and whispered in a low voice:

—The game of war is over for now.

The soldiers of the Empire watching the scene in silence let out a victory cry in unison.

On the other hand, the rebels who witnessed the defeat of their leader lost their fighting spirit in an instant and began to retreat hesitantly.

Chapter 232

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