Shadow Oath

Chapter 47. Corpse

Demion jumped out of bed and rushed toward the banquet hall, fearing he might witness an even more horrific scene.

However, it wasn’t a horrific sight but a strange one.

Beside the bonfire, a knight lay collapsed.

Though not heavily armed, he was clad in chainmail and was clearly a knight of the Kingdom of Triton.

Standing next to the knight were Jedric and Stuga.

Stuga held a dagger.

At first, it was difficult to discern in the faint glow of the bonfire, but the dagger was Maraka’s, stained with blood.

What made the scene even stranger was the behavior of the other guards.

Three knights who were supposed to be guarding the outside had come in, their drawn swords aimed at Stuga and Jedric.

The two offered no resistance, standing still under the knights’ blades.

“…What is happening?”

Demion wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Cold sweat soaked his back.

Truthfully, he wanted to speak about the nightmare he had just had rather than deal with this strange scene.

‘Whether that person is dead or not, could you listen to my story for a moment? I just had a dream…’

The nightmare was so painful that he felt fortunate Stuga’s call had woken him.

Demion snapped out of it and raised his voice.

“What are you doing? Lower your swords!”

He rushed forward as if to shield the two from the knights’ swords.

In his haste, he nearly impaled himself on one of the blades pointed at them.

The knights withdrew their swords and stepped back a few paces.

However, they didn’t sheathe their weapons.

“Your Highness, Captain Clave has been killed,” one of the knights said.

His expression was filled with anger, and that anger was directed at Stuga and Jedric.

“I can see that,” Demion replied.

It wasn’t something one could tell just by looking.

The stab wound on Captain Clave’s neck was clearly visible.

The blood that had flowed from it was still spreading across the floor, suggesting he hadn’t been dead for long.

“This one killed…”

Another knight beside the first pointed at Stuga and began to speak again, but Demion raised his hand to silence him.

“Everyone, leave,” Demion ordered.

“Your Highness, this is murder!”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

“But…”

“Shut your mouth! This is sacred ground for the Gerans. Someone has died here, among us.

At this moment, it doesn’t matter who killed whom or who has died. This should never have happened.

Do you understand what I mean?”

The royal knights exchanged glances.

None immediately obeyed the prince’s command.

‘So, you won’t listen to me? These men swore loyalty not to me but to my father.’

Demion spoke in the strongest tone he could muster.

“If you understand, sheathe your swords and leave!”

The knights reluctantly complied, moving as slowly as they could and displaying their discontent.

Demion reinforced his command.

“If even a single word of this incident leaks, I will consider it the fault of one of you and ensure that all of you are executed without exception.”

The three retreated, with one asking as he backed away, “Are you sure you’ll be alright with the murderer?”

‘I’ll be better off with them than with you.’

Demion considered saying this but refrained, deciding not to crush their pride.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied curtly.

“Shall we leave the weapon?”

The knight gestured toward the bloodstained Maraka dagger.

Demion dismissed him with a wave.

“It’s fine.”

“If you need anything, call us.”

The knight shot a final glare at Stuga before turning to leave.

When the door closed, Stuga and Jedric remained in place, unmoving.

“What… happened?”

Charlon stood in the lodging area, clutching a blanket to her chest.

She had likely woken to the commotion but hadn’t dressed in time to come out sooner.

Her white silk nightgown was so thin it seemed see-through even with several layers, unsuitable attire for a space occupied by men.

Ruseph’s excessive caution seemed justified.

“It’s not urgent. Go and change first,” Demion said.

Charlon surveyed the bonfire area briefly.

Her pale expression wasn’t due to shock at the murder scene.

She was startled by something else, with this sight merely a continuation of that.

‘Just like me.’

Charlon nodded and returned to her room.

Demion hurriedly threw more firewood onto the bonfire.

As the flames grew larger and the crackling intensified, Charlon returned, dressed.

Demion checked that the door through which the knights had left was securely closed before speaking.

“Now, talk, Stuga. We’re alone.”

Stuga hesitated.

“If I speak, all our lives could be in danger,” he said.

“I’m a prince! I’m the conqueror of this land and soon-to-be its ruler.

Who could threaten my life or that of ‘my people’ here?”

Demion spoke with deliberate emphasis.

‘I’m bluffing again without even realizing it. I’m still nothing….’

Stuga hesitated until the end.

When he finally spoke, the reason for his reluctance became clear.

“His Majesty, King Gallant,” Stuga said.

“What about my father?” Demion asked.

“You just asked who could threaten our lives. The answer is His Majesty,” Stuga replied.

Demion took a sharp breath.

Charlon clasped her hands, trembling.

She moved closer to the bonfire as if cold, though her fear wasn’t from the presence of a corpse or the connection to Demion’s father.

“Looks like we’ve all fallen into a trap,” Jedric said, his tone persuasive.

“Speak everything, Stuga. You must. Let us hear it, and we’ll decide,” he added.

Demion admired Jedric’s composure but felt both envy and dislike.

‘No matter how much I shout about being a prince or assert my authority, when he speaks like that, everyone listens.’

Still, Stuga sought Demion’s final permission.

Demion appreciated Stuga’s deference, as well as Charlon’s determination to endure her fear on her own.

He admired all three of them.

Demion wanted to protect these three with his strength.

“Speak, Stuga. I will take responsibility,” Demion declared.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Stuga summarized the situation briefly and concisely.

There were no detailed descriptions or embellishments, no sensational words.

Yet, to Demion, the story was more shocking than any poem he had ever heard from a bard.

His father had ordered Stuga to assassinate General Terrdin.

Stuga had tactfully refused to demonstrate his skills before Demion's father.

In response, he was summoned in the middle of the night and tested by being forced to fight knights.

In that fight, Captain Clave of the Royal Guard lost an eye to Stuga’s sword.

Afterward, Demion’s father threatened and tempted him simultaneously.

If he killed General Terrdin, he would be granted a noble’s title; if not, he would face death.

This simple story frightened all three listeners.

After finishing the story, Stuga remained silent.

He was still hiding something, but Demion didn’t press further.

Even this much was difficult to process.

“Does General Terrdin know about this?”

Demion asked.

“Yes, I told him last night,” Stuga replied.

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much. It seemed the general was already aware that His Majesty intended to kill him.

The only thing he found strange was that I was chosen to carry it out.”

“That makes sense,” Demion said.

Terrdin had many enemies.

He often remarked that the royal court was more dangerous than the battlefield.

The general wasn’t a lord with vast lands, nor a soldier with a large private army, nor a wealthy man.

Once the war ended, he might receive some compensation in gold or land, but nothing that would make him extraordinarily rich.

However, he was incredibly popular.

That was the problem.

Demion’s father worried that General Terrdin might covet the throne.

“Why would the captain of the royal guard target Stuga?” Charlon asked.

“Clave was a proud man,” Demion said as he looked down at the corpse.

“He took great pride in being the most skilled knight of the royal court.

Many knights lined up to praise him and learn his techniques.

But to have lost—in front of the king, no less—was something he couldn’t tolerate.”

Charlon questioned further.

“So, he came here to kill someone under your command?

He must have known that Stuga was the shadow of General Terrdin.

And here, where you reside? In the middle of the night?

If he wanted to restore his pride, shouldn’t he have sought an official duel instead?”

Demion didn’t want to admit it, but it was possible.

Clave was a knight who considered only the king to be his superior.

He showed minimal courtesy to the first prince, purely as a precaution not to offend the future king.

As for the second prince, he didn’t even acknowledge him.

When Demion hesitated, Jedric interjected.

“Couldn’t this man have come to assassinate you, me, or Charlon?”

Demion’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Why would he? What reason could he have for doing such a thing?”

“I don’t know who he is.

I don’t know the internal politics of your kingdom.

I’m simply speaking about the situation at hand,” Jedric replied, pointing at Stuga.

“The only guard here was Stuga.

If this man is the kingdom’s best knight, then after eliminating Stuga, he could have easily killed all three of us, even if we were awake.

We had no weapons, we were asleep, and the other guards were outside.”

“The other knights…” Demion trailed off, realizing something too late.

Jedric nodded.

“Yes. The knights outside the hall let the captain of the royal guard in without question.

And when he was killed, they turned their swords on Stuga and me.

Even if he had killed one of us and walked out, the knights outside could have lied for him.”

“That’s impossible! The kingdom’s knights are absolutely loyal to me,” Demion insisted, though even he wasn’t convinced.

“Then ask how Clave managed to get past all those knights and into this room,” Jedric said in an emotionless tone.

“The knights under Terrdin’s command didn’t step aside even when a noble like Badio came to meet me personally.

Yet the royal knights—your knights—allowed the king’s captain of the guard to pass without issue.

It doesn’t seem ‘absolute’ to me.”

Demion grew furious and was about to call the knights outside to kneel before him and berate them for breaking protocol.

However, Charlon spoke first.

“Before that…”

The three men turned to her simultaneously.

She was trembling, her hands dangerously close to the fire.

“…Are you all okay?”

Demion belatedly asked about her condition.

“Are you alright, Charlon?”

Charlon couldn’t even respond politely with a simple “yes.”

“I had a nightmare.

It felt so vivid, as if it really happened.

Then I woke up to find someone dead.

What is going on?

Was it just me?

I think it has to do with meeting Hagra yesterday.”

Jedric looked startled and admitted, “I had a nightmare too.

I wasn’t going to mention it out of embarrassment, but I did.”

“That’s strange. I also…” Demion trailed off, shaking his head.

“What do you mean it’s because of meeting Hagra? What does that imply?”

“When we entered Hagra’s room, there was a peculiar floral scent.

I assumed it was from the tea.

But she never actually served us tea.

Do you remember?”

“I remember. I declined it.

But it was as if she anticipated our refusal and didn’t prepare any tea…”

“Isn’t that odd?

She could have asked first and then served it.

Or, if she already knew we’d refuse, she could have avoided offering it altogether.

Instead, she gave us empty cups as if playing a joke.

And from those cups, there was a strange smell.

It was sweet and aromatic.”

“Was there?

But is that so unusual?”

“Why would empty cups smell like that?

It seemed as though something had been in them and removed.

She teased us about Gerans not washing their cups, yet her own cups were unwashed…”

Demion carefully asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

“Are you saying this has something to do with the nightmares we had?”

“I’m not saying it does, just that there are rumors about witches from Born being able to control people’s consciousness through scent…

I wonder if the shamans here might use similar magic…

What do you think, Jeje?” Charlon asked hesitantly.

Jedric responded in an equally uncertain tone.

“I’ve never heard of Hagra manipulating dreams.

There are tales of succubi who create dreams to drain a man’s vitality, but Olga doing such a thing… I’m not sure.”

“It was a powder scent,” Stuga suddenly said.

As everyone turned to him, he lowered his head.

Already troubled by having killed Clave, discussing this seemed especially difficult for him.

“A powder?

Do you mean the powder Hagra threw into the bonfire?” Demion asked.

Now that it was mentioned, it did seem possible.

“It wasn’t exactly like Maraka’s powder but similar.

The fragrance was stronger than most powders I’ve encountered.

I didn’t get a proper whiff since I didn’t get a cup, and with so many herbs present, I assumed it was just one of those.

But the scent wasn’t that of tea—it was much closer to a powder, as Charlon described, like flowers.”

After finishing, Stuga added, “But I’m not certain.

As I said, there were too many smells…”

Demion turned back to Jedric.

“What about what you drank? You said it was for a cold?”

“I’ve had it several times a year.

It didn’t have any particular taste or smell,” Jedric replied, then corrected himself.

"Honestly, I didn’t really pay attention to the fragrance while drinking it.

I’ve never noticed any particular smell in that room before.

Until Charlon mentioned it, I didn’t even think there had been such a scent.”

“That’s true.”

Demion hadn’t thought of connecting the nightmare to the scent until Charlon brought it up.

Anyone would be the same.

“What’s your plan, Prince?

We can’t just leave a corpse here,” Jedric said.

Jedric was right.

They had to act quickly.

Time was running out.

Dawn would soon break, and Ikahm would arrive with a morning greeting.

Although the knights had been silenced, rumors could still spread.

Should he summon General Terrdin?

No, the body needed to be dealt with first.

Or perhaps he should call the knights and question them.

They had let someone in who shouldn’t have entered without the prince’s permission.

Yet he found himself unable to act.

He felt as if he had forgotten something important.

The tasks that needed to be done immediately and those that could wait had become jumbled in his mind.

Then, at last, he remembered the most urgent matter.

Though everything seemed pressing, this was the most critical.

“If even one of you here tells me, ‘This isn’t the time for such talk,’ I’ll immediately prioritize getting rid of the body.

But to me, this feels like the most important thing to address right now.”

Though aware that time was tight, Demion felt compelled to explain himself at length.

The three of them listened patiently and waited for him to finish.

Swallowing hard, Demion finally said,

“Let’s each talk about the dreams we had.”

Demion braced himself, expecting all three of them to simultaneously question his sanity.

Talking about dreams at such a critical moment!

However, none of them objected.

Instead, they eagerly nodded.

Charlon, in particular, seemed to have been waiting for someone to bring it up.

“Who should start?” she asked.