Shadow Oath

Chapter 32: Astian

Astian came looking for me while I was sitting alone on the grass, eating.

It was less than half a day since Jedric had warned me.

“The evening in this place doesn’t begin with the western sky adorned like red silk but with a faded gray, like my worn-out handkerchief.”

I usually avoided the other soldiers and carried my bowl to a secluded spot to eat.

Only there would I finally remove my helmet, and even while eating, I tried my best not to take off my hood.

So, when Astian approached and sat next to me, I deliberately kept my head low, maintaining the servile posture of a bowing slave.

“Yes, but on cloudless days, the sunset glows as red as it does in other southern places.”

“Is it also typical here not to see even a single bird flying toward the twilight sky?”

“Occasionally, white swans can be seen flying from south to north or north to south.”

“Raise your head and look at me.”

I did as he ordered.

Astian smiled brightly, revealing white teeth I had rarely seen on a man during wartime.

“A person who speaks like you—there’s no one like that among the knights of either Born or Triton combined.

You must know how to read and appreciate poetry. Where did you learn it?”

The baroness often ordered me to read poetry.

If I faltered even slightly, she scolded me, so I had to practice extensively.

She also frequently instructed me to follow along with the songs of minstrels, though when I couldn’t manage to sing, I would just recite the lyrics instead.

But I couldn’t tell him that honestly.

“I enjoy following along with minstrel songs.”

“It seems you had a fine poet by your side.”

Had Jedric not warned me in advance, I might have spilled everything in response to Astian’s questions without a second thought.

That’s how disarmingly friendly his expression and tone were, naturally drawing out my trust.

And he was subtly steering the conversation to make me speak first, just as Jedric had described.

‘A slave must say nothing until their master directly asks. That’s all you need to do.’

I repeated Jedric’s advice in my head.

“My father has spoken highly of you, saying he’s gained a reliable bodyguard.”

Astian commented as he sat down beside me, holding a bowl of food.

I’d heard he was one of the royal knights’ captains, yet his meal was the same as mine: a piece of bread and thick soup.

Though, since the king’s arrival, the soup had gained a bit more substance.

“Thank you for the compliment, Captain.”

When addressing someone whose title was uncertain, calling them "Captain" was usually a safe choice.

Even squires or common-born attendants appreciated being addressed that way.

And if the title was wrong, they’d often correct you, though some chose not to.

Even nobles far above a knight’s rank usually let such a minor error pass.

However, Astian didn’t appreciate this approach.

“Call me Knight-Captain.”

There was a sharpness hidden in his otherwise soft voice.

I quickly adjusted my address.

“Yes, Knight-Captain Astian.”

As far as I knew, there were five royal knight orders, ranked in importance.

Astian’s was the lowest among them.

“I’ve heard your efforts saved our army.”

Astian softened his tone as if withdrawing the sharpness from before.

“I’m not sure what I did, Knight-Captain. I’m merely doing my errands diligently.”

“Humility, armed with silence, elevates one’s value without the clutter of noise.

So every errand you carry out must be boosting the morale of the army.

Otherwise, how could a mere soldier without value meet His Majesty?”

Astian dipped his bread into the soup and waited for my response.

Between his deliberate movements, I sensed a cautiousness like a snake eyeing its prey.

It was so well-concealed that I wouldn’t have noticed without Jedric’s prior warning.

Once again, I nearly mentioned meeting His Majesty but managed to hold back.

Astian didn’t ask outright what I had discussed with the king.

An awkward silence settled as we ate.

Astian ate, and so did I.

“I enjoy secrets.”

“Pardon?”

“My father doesn’t deliberately share military secrets with me, but he doesn’t hide them, either.

Standing somewhere in between, I find hints in his words and piece them together.

That’s my kind of fun.

You must’ve overheard plenty of General Terrdin’s military secrets.”

“Whether it’s plenty or not, I wouldn’t know.

I’ve been strictly ordered not to share what I’ve seen or heard while at his side.”

“His Majesty must have also instructed you not to reveal the royal command you received to anyone.”

I almost said, "Yes," but stopped myself.

‘He knows I received a royal command?’

Astian stared intently at me, and I avoided his gaze.

“Well then, shall we see if I’ve pieced together the secrets correctly?

I’d like to play this game with my father, but he’s too busy negotiating with the Ellum Tribe.

It feels wrong to interrupt after years apart just to have a casual father-son chat.”

“You two seem to get along well.”

I tried to deflect with a casual comment.

“I wouldn’t say we’re close, but we’ve never had a fierce argument, either.”

Astian continued with a bitter smile.

“His Majesty gave you an order related to my father, didn’t he?”

By now, I realized I had fallen into a trap.

I couldn’t say yes—it would confirm I’d received a royal command.

I couldn’t say no—he already knew that would be a lie, which he’d press further.

Silence wasn’t an option, either.

Astian had a way of making silence almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry. I cannot answer that question.”

Astian looked disappointed but didn’t lose his smile.

“That’s fine. That’s how it should be.

A shadow should have no mouth.

You’re doing well.”

Astian stood, carrying his bowl carefully to keep the soup from spilling.

Every movement—placing his hand on the ground, adjusting his cloak to avoid stirring dust—was slow, as if following a predefined ritual.

It felt less like consideration and more like he was coaxing me to say something, anything.

“I must’ve made you uncomfortable.

Apologies for interrupting your meal.”

“No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I’ll leave now. See you later.”

“Take care.”

Finally relieved, I hastily dipped my bread into the soup.

I wanted to show I was eating quickly, hoping Astian would leave.

But it was pointless.

After walking a few steps, Astian turned back to me.

“Oh, by the way, the mage mentioned something about a curse clinging to you?”

I turned my head slightly, keeping my servile posture.

“I cannot comment on that either.”

“Ah, I’ve made another mistake, haven’t I?

I said a shadow should have no mouth, and yet here I am, pressing you again!”

Astian turned and left.

I felt uneasy.

From the confidence in his retreating figure, I knew he hadn’t left empty-handed.

Though I had said almost nothing, he had gleaned everything he wanted to know.

And I had no idea what it was.

‘What did I say?

What mistake did I make?’

I couldn’t bring myself to eat another bite.

Anxiety sprouted branches within me, growing until it seemed to spill out of my mouth.

The following morning, soldiers departing for the Ellum Tribe village were granted early rest.

I was among them, so I returned to my tent earlier than usual.

Demion and Jedric already had four guards each, so I didn’t need to stay by their side.

Even so, I felt uneasy.

That unease stemmed from what was inside my tent.

A mage was waiting for me.

The younger-looking one, Kura, though he was older than he appeared.

Kura didn’t speak when he saw me.

I chose silence as well.

There were too many troubling questions to ask why he was here or what he wanted.

After a moment, Kura broke the silence.

As always, his voice was barely above a whisper.

Given my current state, his subdued tone was a strange comfort.

“If you can hear me, just nod.”

I nodded.

“Did the king personally order you to assassinate someone?”

I nodded again.

“Are you planning to do it?”

I shook my head.

“If you don’t, you’ll die.

The king’s commands are absolute.

No matter how skilled you are, if the king orders your death, you won’t escape it.”

I nodded.

“And yet, you still won’t do it?”

Nod.

The mage hesitated briefly before speaking again.

“I know what you’re worried about.”

I didn’t even know what I was worried about myself.

“I’ll give you a solution.

Tomorrow, when you go to the barbarians’ village, you’ll be able to obtain a barbarian dagger.

Wait for a moment when Illiam is alone.

Strike then.

You’re skilled at leaving no evidence behind, aren’t you?

Leave the dagger near the corpse.

The barbarians will bear the blame.

Prince Demion will burn their village in anger over the general’s death, erasing all traces.

If the prince doesn’t, the king will.

To cover it up, they’ll act even more aggressively.

That way, you fulfill the king’s command and receive the promised reward.

Even if you’re held accountable for failing to protect the general, you won’t be suspected of killing him.”

Ram couldn't keep silent and opened his mouth.

"I thought you only gave advice before, but today you’re directly intervening. Why?"

"We had a prophecy too. Illiam will bring down this country."

Ram wasn’t surprised at all. It was too unrealistic. Hearing that there would be two pieces of bread for tomorrow's lunch would’ve been more surprising.

"It's a bit grander than the prophecy about Ran. But isn’t it a principle that magicians don’t interfere in such matters?"

"Then Illiam will bring down the Tower of the Magician."

The magician continued in a voice filled with fear.

"And that's just the beginning. Conqueror Illiam will destroy the Akian Empire and summon an evil unlike anything this world has seen. Black flames will burn the continent and the seas, and the skies will be shrouded in darkness."

"I don’t believe in such superstitions."

"It’s not superstition; it’s prophecy."

"To me, they’re the same thing."

Ram drew his sword.

"Have you forgotten who I am? I am General Terrdin’s shadow. A shadow doesn’t betray its master."

"You seem unwilling to meet Ran."

"There's no one I want to meet more right now. If all of this ends safely, I would give up everything I have to go see her. But I can’t meet her after doing something like this. If she’s still the Ran I know, she wouldn’t welcome me with open arms."

Kura showed a bitter smile.

"If you weren’t born a slave but a descendant of royalty, this war wouldn’t have even occurred. And if you were born of Terrdin's bloodline, the one the king marked for assassination wouldn’t have been Illiam, but you."

Ram didn’t bother pointing his sword at Kura. He had never threatened anyone. If someone was his target, he only knew how to kill them without their notice.

"You won’t escape this time. Come with me to the general. You’ll have to explain the prophecy you just spoke of."

"Magicians don’t get captured. We exist where we are meant to be and go where we must go."

"Then I’ll subdue you and take you."

Ram dashed forward, extending his sword toward Kura’s neck.

He had no intention of stabbing him. He aimed to inflict a wound large enough to render him immobile and bring him to General Terrdin.

But the magician whipped his cloak and covered Ram's face.

Suddenly, darkness engulfed Ram. It wasn’t simply a piece of fabric obscuring his vision. The surroundings turned pitch black, as if a veil of darkness had descended.

‘Stay calm. It’s fake. Only your vision is gone; your other senses remain intact.’

Ram shut his eyes entirely, sharpening his senses for touch, smell, and hearing to detect any movement.

He had often found and struck targets in such darkness. Whenever his opponent moved, he would predict where they’d go and how they’d act, and he never failed. If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t have survived this long.

Ram swung his sword.

He felt the blade graze flesh.

But when the darkness lifted and the inside of the tent became visible again, nothing remained. There wasn’t a drop of blood on the blade, but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t cut anything. When something was sliced quickly, it often left no trace on the sword. Instead, it left a scent.

The scent of blood.

He had definitely struck something. Where, he wasn’t sure.

Ram ran out of the tent.

All he saw were soldiers busily preparing for tomorrow’s expedition. The ground was littered with footprints, too chaotic to distinguish between those freshly made and others from the morning or even the day before.

Ram sprinted toward the magician’s tent. He ran so fast he surprised even himself. Perhaps it was just his anxious mind making him feel this way, but he reached the tent in what felt like only two breaths.

Ram burst into the tent, sword drawn.

The magician wasn’t there. Neither young magician Kura nor old magician Kaimule. Instead, there was only a single scarecrow, dressed identically to Kura, made of straw.

Ram picked up the scarecrow.

Its neck was severed about two finger-widths down.

‘Did I cut this scarecrow? Was this what I struck?’

He instinctively pressed his sword to the cut on the scarecrow.

Even if he did, there was no way to confirm if the mark matched his blade.

‘Who was I talking to?’

Ram was confused. The tent was completely cleared out, leaving no trace that it had ever been a magician’s quarters. Could he have entered the wrong tent? No, the location of this tent was unique, leaving no room for error.

‘At what point was it fake?’

Was it real when they first met alongside General Terrdin?

Could it have been an illusion so intricate even Terrdin was deceived?

And Kura, who had sneaked into the tent? Was that scarecrow too?

Why had Kura’s voice been particularly quiet?

‘Maybe Kaimule orchestrated the whole thing with a scarecrow. I’ve heard of puppeteers who speak without moving their lips, making it seem like the puppet itself is talking….’

Ram shook his head. No matter how skilled they were, it couldn’t have been this seamless.

"Kill Illiam…."

The scarecrow in Ram’s hands spoke, its eyes glowing red.

It wasn’t just an illusion. It was on fire.

"…Remember Ran."

Startled, Ram threw the scarecrow.

The burning scarecrow landed on the ground and began to dance on its own. It waved its hands above its head and stretched its legs in exaggerated steps, alternately pointing skyward and stomping the earth. Ram could almost hear imaginary music.

"…Remember Ran…."

The scarecrow’s dance slowed until the fire extinguished.

The flames, which had blazed so intensely, left not even a scorch mark on the tent’s fabric. All that remained on the ground was a small pile of ash, light enough to scatter with the faintest breeze slipping into the tent.

Just earlier, Ram had run the fastest he had ever run in his life, but now he was walking slower than ever.

General Terrdin, having completed the final inspections for the next day’s expedition, was just now returning to his tent.

Ram approached the general, but he wasn’t alone.

Astian was with him.

Ram stopped walking.

Terrdin recognized him and raised his hand.

“Why are you out here instead of sleeping?”

Ram opened his mouth halfway but then closed it again.

Blood was dripping from Astian’s neck, at the same spot where the scarecrow’s wound had been.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Astian asked with a gentle smile, the same considerate expression as earlier in the day.

When Ram couldn’t answer, Astian urged him in a sing-song tone.

“The beasts of the plains, baked in the sun all day, tire even from the gaze of men. I’ve had too many meetings and walked too much today, so I’m exhausted. If you have something to say, speak up and release me from your gaze.”

The general chuckled and scolded his son’s words.

“You claim to be tired, yet you recite such poetry, my son.”

Ram managed to lift a finger and point at Astian.

“Your neck…”

Astian belatedly noticed and touched the back of his neck. Then he wiped the dripping blood on his pants.

General Terrdin also noticed the wound.

“What happened to your neck?”

“I think I must have nicked myself earlier while cutting the net used to load supplies. I didn’t even realize I was cut.”

“The wound looks fairly deep…”

When Terrdin, looking concerned, tried to examine the wound, Astian naturally brushed him off.

“Father, I know you worry about your son, but it’s embarrassing in front of the soldiers. While I may seem lacking in your eyes, I am still a commander leading a knightly order.”

Terrdin withdrew his hand.

“Fine. But make sure to get it treated immediately. You must never underestimate a sword wound. I’ve seen too many of them to—”

“Father!”

“Hmph, very well. Then I’ll head to rest first.”

As Terrdin turned away, Astian pointed at Ram instead and said,

“It seems your shadow has something he wants to say to you.”

When Terrdin turned back, Ram shook his head.

“No, sir, nothing at all. I was just passing by. I’ll head to rest as well.”

Astian smiled warmly again and asked,

“Are you sure you didn’t have something to say to me?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?”

Astian smiled as if he was asking whether Ram was absolutely certain.

Ram couldn’t bear to keep looking at that smile and turned his head away.

He desperately wanted to confirm whether Astian was still looking at him, but he walked straight back to his tent without glancing back even once.

‘Last time, Kura kept referring to the general as Terrdin or simply “the general”…’

In Ram’s hand, there was still ash from the burned scarecrow.

‘…But this time, they specifically identified Illiam. They had to. Because there are currently two people with the name Terrdin on this battlefield.’