Shadow Oath

Chapter 40: Trial of Maraka (2)

“Did Chieftain Ikahm really say that?”

Demion spoke while looking down at Maraka’s dagger.

It was a dagger with a blade about a handspan long and an unrefined wooden handle.

It looked as if the blade hadn't been attached to a handle but rather naturally grown from a tree branch, which had then been snapped off to form the weapon.

It was thorny, making it uncomfortable to hold, and it had an unpleasant appearance that made one reluctant to touch it.

“Yes, he said we should find Hagra Olga to lift the curse on this dagger.”

Ram continued as he held the dagger in his palm.

“This blade bears Maraka's blood. There’s also some powder that seems like ritual dust on it. You said it was just superstition, but we can’t keep such a sinister blade here.”

Demion scratched his cheek.

“That does make sense, but...”

Ram lowered his head, avoiding everyone’s gaze, and expressed his concern.

“I’m not saying I want to follow superstitions either. But the truth is, Hak attempted something in front of the bonfire during the feast. We can’t leave this kind of blade in the banquet hall. We can’t just throw it away anywhere, nor can we ask someone else to keep it.”

Demion didn’t think long before responding.

“You’re saying Hagra Olga can take care of the blade? Then it’s simple. Go and give it to her.”

“I don’t know where Hagra Olga is.”

Demion pointed to Jedric.

“Wouldn’t it be fine if someone guided you?”

Ram hesitated, wanting to argue that the guards couldn’t leave their posts. However, knights were stationed both inside and outside the hall. With such a force, they could repel most of Geran’s units.

“I’ve thought about it, too. Keeping that dagger here is unsettling. Let’s go together, Stuga. It’s not far, so it won’t take long.”

Jedric suggested.

“May I come along as well?”

Charlon spoke up.

“What did you say?”

“What?”

The two men were more startled than if she had declared war.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Charlon asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Didn’t you hear what Stuga is about to do?”

Jedric questioned her accusingly.

“Oh my, the sound of the icy northern wind was too loud for me to catch anything. What are you doing?”

At Charlon’s words, Ram glanced toward the window. The only sound was a nearly silent gust of wind.

“We’re going to deal with a curse.”

Demion answered.

“What curse?”

Charlon asked again, feigning ignorance.

“Didn’t you hear during the feast earlier?”

“I heard it. Did you understand what it meant?”

“Didn’t Elder Sao explain it? Something about Mantum’s curse... falling on us... killing us... a bloody wind engulfing us... something like that.”

Demion mumbled, trailing off before throwing a glance at Jedric.

“At the time, it was all so chaotic that it just passed, but now that I think about it, it was a truly dreadful story. I can see why the chieftains panicked and tried to behead Maraka.”

Jedric let out a deep sigh, looking troubled.

“Now that you mention it, in all the chaos, neither you nor the elders addressed the most crucial matter.”

“What is it?”

“Apologies.”

Jedric bowed deeply as he continued to speak.

“I apologize to both of you on behalf of our entire village. This was never the will of the entire village.”

Demion smiled in satisfaction.

“I know. But it’s not something you should be apologizing for, Jedric.”

“Since it’s everyone’s fault, someone has to apologize. We’re tired of war, we’ve lost, we’ve surrendered, and we no longer seek revenge. Who among us doesn’t understand what kind of disaster would happen if anyone touched the prince here? While we are far braver than you think, in other ways, we’re far more cowardly than you believe.”

Jedric gestured toward the royal knights standing guard in the shadows.

“If I had been asked how we should handle security here, I would have said not to station a single escort knight.”

“You want me to stay in the middle of enemy territory alone? And with Charlon, no less?”

“That’s right. If that were the case, we would have assigned our warriors to guard the great banquet hall instead. If some fool like Maraka had appeared earlier and tried to exact revenge, causing harm to you, it would be disastrous for us. Then you’d become the brave warrior sleeping alone in enemy territory, and we are a people easily swayed by such courage.”

At those words, Charlon laughed.

Jedric turned to Charlon, his gaze still warm.

“Did you ask about Hak’s curse? But I, too, don’t know much beyond what you’ve already heard. Maraka mixed in ancient language and dialects when he spoke. It’s only thanks to Sao interpreting that I understood anything.”

“Is such a curse really possible?”

Charlon asked.

Demion spoke up as well.

“Yes, I’m curious about that too. When he added the powder, the firewood burned quite spectacularly. It seemed like it was forming some kind of shape.”

“If you ask whether anything truly happens…”

Jedric closed his eyes as if searching his memory before continuing.

“I’ve never seen anything like that actually occur. Stories of evil spirits appearing to kill someone or ghouls rising from the grave to steal souls—I’ve heard such tales countless times. But I’ve never witnessed it firsthand.”

“That’s likely the case.”

As Demion nodded calmly, Jedric added,

“But perhaps it’s because I don’t know enough to see it. Isn’t that how curses work?”

“You’ve really improved at speaking our language.”

Demion commented with a sarcastic tone, and Jedric shrugged.

Charlon, intrigued, asked with a curious expression.

“But it seems that Hak Maraka had immense loyalty toward Mantum. In a way, he openly attempted assassination in a place surrounded by countless people. He even came close to losing his head.”

“If you call that courage, I have nothing to say. The Gerans always love such recklessness.”

In response to Jedric’s retort, Demion waved his hand irritably. It seemed like a gesture to change the subject, but to Ram, it appeared more like a movement disrupting the gaze exchanged between the two.

“Stop it. Enough. My father always said that magic is just trickery, and sorcery is merely a way to manipulate people’s thoughts with atmosphere. Although I usually took his words negatively, I think he was right about that. So, if Hak is such a great sorcerer, why couldn’t he prevent Mantum’s death? Hm?”

That question made Ram shrink back.

Jedric, on the other hand, responded calmly.

“That’s correct. Hak Maraka couldn’t do anything. He claimed to have cast a spell to prevent Mantum’s death in the camp. Yet, my father still died.”

Demion cleared his throat.

“Apologies. I got a little heated and forgot for a moment that Mantum was your father.”

“It doesn’t matter. I only want to convey the truth.”

Jedric’s voice resonated through the vast banquet hall like music, drawing the attention of even the knights guarding the hall.

Ram, too, momentarily forgot his concern about the dagger and simply listened intently.

“We confronted Hak about our father’s death, accusing him that his protective spell had been breached.

We demanded to know what had happened.

Hak raged, claiming it was impossible, but the fact remained—it had already happened.

Hak had no choice but to admit his failure, but he mentioned another curse.

He claimed to have cast two spells on Mantum.

One: whoever attempted to kill Mantum would die.

The other: if someone did manage to kill Mantum, that person would suffer the most horrifying death they could imagine.”

“Did the curse work?”

Demion asked, tense.

“Why don’t you ask General Terrdin that question?

Who killed Mantum?

Did that person meet a horrifying death?

I asked, but he didn’t answer.

Could you ask him on my behalf?”

“I’ve actually asked him before.

But he wouldn’t give me an answer.”

Ram felt as if hundreds of spikes were stabbing into his back.

It was like someone was pushing him forward with a spike-covered cushion, forcing him to confess.

‘Just say it.

Jedric already knows anyway.

So tell Demion and Charlon.

Admit that you’re the assassin.’

Jedric spoke toward the firewood.

“Neither I nor the Ellum people could ever know for sure whether Hak’s curse worked.

But it’s true that Hak’s prophecy about Mantum’s fate was wrong.

It’s also true that he couldn’t stop Mantum’s death with his spells.

And because of that, Hagra Olga has now become the center of everyone’s attention.

Hagra was the only one who predicted Mantum’s death.”

“What is Hagra?”

Demion asked.

“A female sorcerer.”

“How is Hak different from Hagra?

Is it just their gender?”

Charlon asked.

Jedric pondered how to explain before reciting a poem in the Geran language.

It was a beautiful rhythm, delivered with a beautiful voice.

Demion grumbled, “You should say it in our language,” but Charlon was mesmerized as she watched him.

Ram silently prayed that Demion hadn’t noticed the look in her eyes.

Jedric finished the poem and explained.

“When translated into Triton’s tongue, it goes like this:

When Hak curses with death, Hagra lifts the curse.

When Hak summons evil spirits, Hagra banishes them.

When Hak brings sickness, Hagra heals.

If you seek to kill, find Hak.

If you seek love, find Hagra.”

Charlon quickly asked, “How did this Hagra predict Mantum’s death?”

“She foretold that an inevitable death would come for Mantum, one that no spell could stop...

So, she advised stopping the war immediately.

She even went so far as to claim that Adian wasn’t the true Mantum.

And she said this in front of all the chieftains who had declared him Mantum!”

“She said that on the eve of war?

She must have faced severe punishment,” Demion remarked.

“She received the harshest punishment a sorcerer could face.”

“And what’s that?”

“Indefinite imprisonment until the chieftain permits their release.”

“Then why was her prophecy ignored?

Was it because male sorcerers held more authority?”

Charlon asked.

“It wasn’t just Hak Maraka.

All the Haks and Hagras of every tribe predicted victory in this war.

Every chieftain guaranteed victory, and the morale of our warriors soared.

Hagra Olga was the only one who opposed it.

My father was the type of man who would’ve planted wheat in the dead of winter if Hagra Olga advised it, but even he couldn’t follow her advice this time.”

“Because of the army’s morale?”

Demion said, and Jedric gave a brief nod.

“Exactly.”

“Then why is she still imprisoned?

She was the only one who was right.

Shouldn’t she be released by now?”

Charlon asked, and Demion added, “Didn’t you say it’s indefinite until the chieftain allows it?

The previous chieftain is dead, and now Ikahm is in charge, isn’t he?”

Jedric answered slowly, “As I said before, we may be brave, but in other ways, we are cowards.”

Demion looked at him, demanding an explanation with his gaze.

Charlon abruptly began talking about herself.

“We have a witch in our village, too.

People are careful not to bring misfortune just by meeting her.

When they visit for a fortune-telling, they even wear specific clothing.

I followed those rules when I went to meet her once.

But when I actually met her, she was just a kind old lady.

I asked her, ‘What’s the meaning of these clothes?’”

Charlon leaned toward Jedric and Demion.

Her face came so close that Demion subtly leaned back, while Jedric mirrored her posture with ease.

Charlon continued, “The witch said she never told anyone to wear specific clothes.

Yet people always wore white clothes to meet her and burned those clothes afterward.

Why?

Because the witch was frighteningly accurate in predicting impending dangers.”

“Wait, I don’t understand.

What does her accuracy have to do with the clothes?”

Demion asked.

“Because she was too accurate.

It was terrifying.

And because of that fear, people felt they had to do something.

So, they wore white clothes to ward off misfortune on the way there, and they burned them afterward to avoid bringing bad luck into their homes.”

Charlon addressed Demion and then turned to Jedric.

“People are afraid of Hagra because she was too accurate.

That’s why they can’t release her, isn’t it?”

Jedric nodded.

“Ikahm is less superstitious than other Gerans, but even he can’t escape that fear.

It won’t be easy for Ikahm to overcome that and release Hagra from her confinement.”

“Hak and Hagra, and sorcery in general, are deeply embedded in Geran culture.

Isn’t that right, Jeje?”

“It’s important,” Jeje replied.

“When Prince Demion and I govern this village in the future, we can’t ignore this culture, can we, Jeje?”

“That’s… Wait.”

Jedric seemed flustered.

“How do you know that name?”

“I’ve heard it over five times already.

I don’t know the Geran language, but I quickly picked up on the nickname they use for you.”

Demion looked at Charlon with a surprised expression.

“What do you think, Your Highness?

Should I go with Stuga and Jeje to…”

Charlon pointed at the dagger Ram was still holding in both hands.

“…find out how to deal with the blade, and learn the specifics of the curse Hak tried to cast on us tonight?”

Ram thought Demion would refuse.

That would’ve been more convenient for him.

He wanted to go alone, hand over the dagger quickly, and return without the hassle of bringing Jedric and Charlon along.

While Jedric’s role as a guide was understandable, Charlon’s presence wasn’t.

“Fine.”

But Demion agreed.

Come to think of it, he never refused Charlon’s requests.

He was the kind of man who’d climb a sheer cliff with his bare hands if she asked for a flower blooming on a thousand-foot drop.

And he wasn’t one to avoid such sudden tasks, either.

“But how could I let you venture out alone at this hour?

I’ll come with you.

A brief outing is better than staying here all night.”