Shadow Oath

Chapter 41: A Brief Outing

‘Is it really okay to go out? In the middle of enemy territory?’

Even Demion had his doubts at first.

It was true that he was swept up by the atmosphere. He also wanted to accommodate Charlon's words unconditionally.

Feeling left out of the conversation between Jedric and Charlon, a sense of defiance arose.

Sending just the two of them on this night walk? No way!

But once he stepped outside the banquet hall, he thought it was a good decision.

The northern night breeze, which he had dismissed as merely cold, refreshed his chest, and the desolate plains under the moonlight and starlight appeared like a beautiful gray-black carpet woven from threads. Perhaps because they stood atop a high hill, it didn’t seem so barren.

The rocky peaks that were indistinct during the day now seemed to rise sharply along the horizon, offering a sense of fortification like a castle.

‘I'm starting to like this place more and more. Especially with Charlon by my side!’

Seeing Charlon confront the northern culture more boldly than he, Demion felt more confident.

“This is reckless no matter how I think about it,” said Jedric, who walked at the front.

“Didn’t you say this yourself? That your Geran people love this kind of bravery.”

Demion replied with a show of confidence.

“That was when we were inside the banquet hall. Shouldn’t we at least report something like this to Terrdin?”

Jedric’s troubled expression was oddly satisfying to him.

“It’s already done, isn’t it?”

Demion asked the knights following them.

One of the knights, walking closest among the ten, replied.

“Yes, sir. One knight has already gone to report to the General.”

“See? Royal knights are quicker to act than anyone else.”

When Demion said this confidently, Jedric asked with a hint of protest.

“Were you always like this?”

“Like what? The knights?”

“No, you.”

“What about me?”

“I thought you were more cautious.”

“I used to be.”

“And now?”

“Have you never wanted to break free from your father’s pressure and do as you please?”

Jedric couldn’t answer. Demion once again felt a surge of satisfaction.

Some Geran villagers, noticing the group of knights moving with torches, came out to watch. While some retreated into their homes, none approached closely.

“The danger remains. Didn’t Ikahm suggest Stuga should go alone? He didn’t mean you should accompany him…”

Demion interrupted Jedric and turned to Stuga.

“What do you think, Stuga? Do you think this nighttime movement is dangerous?”

In the darkness, Stuga’s expression was hard to read. There was a vague sense of unease about him. Why?

Since he rarely showed emotion, it was uncertain, but his face carried a persistent unease. Yet, his answer was clear.

“If someone in this village had planned to assassinate the Prince, they would not see this sudden movement as an opportunity but rather as a disruption to their plans.”

“See? Even our shadow agrees with me.”

Demion felt relieved but also surprised.

‘I just sought Stuga’s approval.’

If Stuga had objected, Demion thought he might have followed his advice. And for some reason, he believed Charlon would have followed if Stuga told them not to go.

Hagra’s hut was located at the edge of the village, about a hundred steps away from its entrance at the foot of the hill. It wasn’t much of a house—more like a roofed pit with a door.

A Geran man, sitting in front of the hut, rose slowly when he spotted the Prince’s procession. Despite the darkness, it was clear he was of considerable size.

When the torch Jedric carried illuminated his face, they saw that his nose had been cut off, and his twisted features revealed his fangs even when his lips were closed.

“Jeje. This is a restricted area. And you brought a Southerner with you…”

“Watch your words, Dulam. Before being a conqueror, he is our guest. And as the chieftain, I have the authority to visit Hagra, even if she’s imprisoned.”

“No matter who you are, what’s forbidden is forbidden. Step back.”

Dulam feigned drawing a sword as he spoke.

The knights behind Demion simultaneously reached for their weapons. The sound of metal echoed loudly in the previously quiet surroundings. However, Dulam had no sword.

All weapons in the village had been confiscated, so he couldn’t have one. Upon inspection, his scabbard was empty—a silent act of defiance in refusing to surrender it.

Jedric approached Dulam to stop the knights from acting and blocked Dulam’s hostility with his own presence.

“We came with Ikahm’s permission. Feel free to verify.”

Dulam asked suspiciously, “You’re not lying?”

“Didn’t I tell you to check?”

“Fine. But there will be consequences if you’re lying.”

Dulam trudged up the hill with a slightly waddling gait.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a good man taking care of his widowed mother. He’s just doing his best with his assigned duty.”

Jedric offered an excuse on Dulam’s behalf and approached the door.

Without even knocking, a voice called out from inside, speaking in Triton’s language.

“Come in, Chieftain, Prince, and the Lady as well.”

Charlon’s expression showed her surprise.

"How did you know we were coming?"

Demion spoke as if it were nothing.

"With so many people making noise, she must have looked out from some window."

But even he found it surprising.

"By the way, can Hagra speak Triton’s language?"

"The one who taught me that language was Olga."

Jedric responded as he opened the door.

Warm air flowed out.

The place where Hagra was confined wasn’t some rough prison but her own home.

Demion whispered to Charlon.

"Just in case, don’t say anything first. Witches or not, these types always figure out what the other person wants to hear and then predict it as if it were prophecy."

Charlon smiled, as if to say not to worry.

"I'm used to this kind of thing. Like I said earlier, there are famous witches in Born, too. They usually predict the future. They always choose words that paying 'clients' want to hear. I’ve had my fortune read a few times for fun, but I’ve never taken it seriously."

Demion pointed to two knights named Ram and Dinton.

"Only you two come in. The rest, stay outside and guard."

The other knights obeyed the prince’s orders and retreated, surrounding the house and maintaining vigilance.

However, their dissatisfaction was apparent.

It was unclear whether they were upset about being unable to rest at this late hour, worried about the prince’s dangerous outing, or frustrated that Demion relied on Stuga instead of them.

For safety, the knights Dinton and Ram entered first.

Following them were Demion, Charlon, and lastly, Jedric.

The cramped room was cluttered with medicine bottles, herbs, earthenware, books, and scrolls piled haphazardly.

A pot hung over a brazier filled with charcoal, with water boiling inside.

A woman was pouring the water into one teacup.

Three cups with lids were already on the table.

When she placed the freshly filled cup on the table, there were now four.

The room was filled with a complex yet fragrant aroma.

The scent of burning wood, flowers, tea, spices, baked bread, and strawberry jam mingled together.

Faintly, there was also a smell reminiscent of the powder Maraka sprinkled on the firewood.

‘As a shaman, it’s natural for her to carry powders. But suspicion arises inevitably.’

"My apologies for the sudden visit at this late hour, Hagra Olga."

Jedric introduced each person.

"This is Prince Demion of the Kingdom of Triton, and this is Lady Charlon Bormont of the Duchy of Born."

Hagra Maraka had wrinkled skin like an old woman.

So naturally, one would expect Hagra Olga to also be old... but she was younger than expected.

At most, thirty-five? Based on her face alone, she could be mistaken for under thirty.

Her shimmering silver hair didn’t fit the rough image of the North but complemented her gentle appearance and cozy surroundings.

"Yes, I am the Hagra of this village, Olga. Please come in and have a seat."

Olga spoke Triton’s language with near-perfect pronunciation and intonation, pointing to small wooden chairs in front of the table.

As Demion was about to sit, Dinton stopped him with his hand.

"Wait a moment, Your Highness."

Dinton thoroughly inspected the room.

In the already narrow space, the armored knight with his sword disrupted the piles of books and toppled over several medicine bottles, breaking some.

Without a hint of apology, he checked for other doors and hidden people.

He even stomped heavily with his boots to check for hidden trapdoors, cracking the wooden floor in the process.

Hagra Olga looked at him with pity but said nothing.

Demion, unable to watch any longer, spoke up.

"That’s enough, Dinton. Leave the room now."

"Pardon? But you just asked me to…"

"After that inspection, I believe there’s no further need for you to remain. This place seems safe, so you can leave. The rest will be handled by my shadow."

Dinton glared at Stuga before bowing his head in acknowledgment.

"Understood, Your Highness."

As he left, his helmet scraped the top of the doorframe, slightly warping it.

"I apologize on his behalf," Demion said.

"It’s all right, Your Highness. Please have a seat."

Olga, with an endlessly kind expression, gestured toward the round table.

The table was set with four small chairs.

Demion sat opposite Hagra, Jedric sat to Demion’s left, and Charlon to his right.

The table, too large for this small house, made the three so close their shoulders touched.

Hagra took the remaining seat and spoke.

"Welcome. I’ve been expecting you. Your Highness, my lady, and Jedric. First, have some tea…"

She pushed one covered teacup in front of each person but suddenly stopped.

She was staring at Stuga, standing behind Demion.

Her eyes widened as though she had seen a ghost.

Even Demion turned to look instinctively.

Stuga seemed to check whether she was looking at him or something behind him.

Naturally, there was nothing but the closed door behind him.

Dinton had shut it securely, obscuring any view of the outside.

"What is it, Hagra?" Demion asked.

Fixing her gaze on Stuga, Olga spoke to Demion.

"I read my fortune today, as I always do. It foretold that 'three guests and one' would sit together. So, I prepared four cups.

When the door opened and five people entered, I was sure. Two would leave... one left. I assumed the other would follow. But it hasn’t."

Demion shrugged it off.

"Don’t worry, Hagra. That one is a shadow. Stuga, as Jedric named him. Shadows follow but do nothing. He’ll act as if he doesn’t exist, so there are only four of us here. Your reading isn’t wrong. No need to feel embarrassed."

Demion turned to ask.

"Isn’t that right, Stuga?"

"Yes, Your Highness. You may consider me absent, Hagra Olga."

Stuga, even when addressing the Geran shaman, remained humble and polite.

"That’s strange," Olga muttered, still unconvinced.

"Three guests and one. The three guests are, of course, the three here. Naturally, the one must be me since I cannot leave this place. That leaves two possibilities. Either I misread my fortune, or…"

Olga squinted her eyes and said to Stuga.

"…you are not my guest."