TFM 100

Chapter 100

***

Lucas immediately turned and ran away.

Daren, who had been watching the scene nearby, clicked his tongue with a worried expression.

“Aren’t you taking this a bit too far? What are you thinking, making him harbor ill will toward you?”

“Lucas is currently the Grand Duke’s sole heir. If anything were to happen to me, that boy would have to carry on the family line.”

Varkas said flatly.

“If anything, I’d like to ask what on earth made you let things get to that point.”

“Your Excellency is so young and robust—what reason is there to prepare the second young master as your heir?”

Daren shrugged his shoulders with a casual air.

“Besides, now that you’ve married, won’t you soon have a direct heir of your own?”

Varkas offered no reply, merely opening the canteen strapped to his waist to wet his lips.

Amid the bustling soldiers coming and going, fourteen supply wagons and a large four-wheeled carriage built for travel came into view.

A quarter-dwarf carrying a large basin approached them. She seemed intent on attending to his wife’s needs.

Suddenly, a bitter taste, as if he were chewing on old metal, spread through his mouth.

Ever since she’d injured her leg, Talia had become extremely sensitive about exposing her body. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her leg except for the healer her mother had assigned to her.

The memory of her having a fit every time he tried to examine the wound himself made the metallic taste in his mouth grow even stronger.

He poured another sip of hard liquor down his throat, which felt rough and gritty as if filled with sand, then deliberately changed the subject.

“Was there anything unusual within Dorcaen Castle?”

“I couldn’t find anything particularly suspicious. It seems they invited us simply to establish ties with the Grand Duke’s family.”

Daren, stroking his beard, continued calmly.

“While Your Excellency was in a private audience with the lord, I took the opportunity to inspect the training grounds, and it seems the reports of a shortage of soldiers are indeed true.”

“Is there a specific reason for the reduction in troops?”

“I suspect it is due to financial difficulties.”

Daren let out a deep sigh.

“It seems the Lord of Dorcaen has little talent for managing his fiefdom. Not only has he failed to pay salaries properly, causing many warriors to leave Dorcaen, but with raiders running rampant, there have been serious losses in manpower. I don’t think he’s likely to rebel against the Grand Duke’s family.”

Varkas gazed thoughtfully at the grasslands bathed in the glow of the sunset.

His assessment wasn’t much different from Daren’s. While his father lay ill, the local magnates had each been strengthening their forces and expanding their influence.

For a lord lacking a proper army, the presence of neighboring lords growing stronger by the day must have felt like a threat.

He likely concluded that supporting the new Grand Duke would be better, if only for his own safety.

The question was whether that man would actually be of any use to him.

“Do you intend to support Darken to keep the other vassals in check?”

Just as he was running the numbers through his head, Daren posed the question.

Varkas slowly shook his head.

“I’ll decide after I’ve met with the rest of the local lords first.”

“A wise decision.”

Having concluded his conversation with Daren, Varkas made his way to the center of the camp.

The soldiers had already gathered around the campfire to eat. He surveyed the camp before turning toward his own tent.

As he stepped into the dimly lit tent, the pungent scent of rose oil and a cloying sweetness stung his nostrils.

Stopping at the entrance, Varkas turned his gaze toward the bed illuminated by candlelight. He saw the woman, loosely clad in blue linen nightgowns, slumped limply on the quilt.

In that instant, a chill seeped between his ribs.

He strode over to the bedside and placed the back of his hand against her cheek. A faint sheen of cold sweat glistened on her skin, as smooth as glazed porcelain.

Is she suffering from pain again?

Furrowing his brow, Varkas stood up and rummaged through the cabinet. If she was suffering even in her sleep, it would be best to burn some herbs for her.

He pushed a bundle of thoroughly dried herbs into the small incense burner the healer had prepared in advance.

Just as he was about to light it, a faint voice reached his ears from nearby.

“......Varkas.”

Turning his head, he saw her drowsy, half-asleep eyes.

Seeing her appear as if intoxicated by something, he narrowed his eyes.

Could it be that she had already burned the sleep herb?

He leaned toward her and pressed his nose against her collar, but he could not detect the scent of smoke. Instead, a sweet, fleshly scent—so thick it made his throat feel sticky—filled his lungs.

The overwhelmingly intense sensation momentarily clouded his mind. It felt as though long-buried, decayed sensations were all awakening at once.

Struggling to shake off that strange feeling, he cautiously lifted his head and noticed her shoulders hunched tightly, as if the closeness made her uncomfortable. Pretending not to notice, he asked in a deliberately calm tone.

“Do you have a fever, by any chance?”

She pulled the blanket up to her chest and replied curtly.

“I’m fine. I just dozed off for a moment.”

“Have you eaten properly?”

“I ate a little while ago.”

She gestured with her chin toward the tray placed beside the bed.

He frowned as he looked down at the bowls filled with food.

There was almost no sign that she had eaten. She’d probably just taken a sip of mead or a few pieces of fruit.

Feeling the strange sensation that had been unsettling him instantly turn to irritation, he ran his fingers roughly through his hair.

Talia glanced at him. His restless demeanor made her increasingly on edge. It seemed best if he waited outside until she fell back asleep.

He turned toward the entrance of the tent.

“Please get some rest.”

“Var… Varkas!”

Just then, a frantic hand reached out from behind him.

He turned around, his eyes wide with surprise. Talia, who had been rolling her eyes while clutching the sleeve of his coat tightly, blurted out in a cracked voice.

“My… my leg hurts.”

When he showed no reaction, Talia swallowed hard and struggled to continue.

“Give me some medicine.”

Varkas blinked blankly, then lowered his gaze to her lips. The swollen, red flesh looked just like crushed pomegranate seeds.

He recalled the sensation of placing them in his mouth and sucking on them. The feel of the moist flesh wrapping softly around his tongue came vividly back to him.

Suddenly, a burning thirst welled up in the back of his throat. He walked slowly to the shelf and picked up a small glass bottle. As he sat on the edge of the bed, holding it in his hand, a deep sense of anxiety spread across her face.

He held out the bottle as if testing her.

“This?”

A pink blush spread across her skin, which was so transparent you could see through it.

The woman, her ears and the nape of her neck flushed red, shifted her gaze from side to side before nodding slightly.

He immediately opened the cap and took a mouthful of the viscous liquid.

As he cupped her slender, fragile neck, he felt a rapid, strong pulse.

He recalled the time he had held a small bird in his hand. Just as he had felt the heart beating vigorously beneath its soft, delicate skin, a sense of anxiety washed over him.

He cupped her delicate, sculpted jaw and pressed his lips against the plump flesh that seemed to be molded from drops of blood.

As he slipped his tongue into the slightly parted lips, a moan like a cat’s purr tickled his throat.

***

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