Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 101: The Night of Chaos (3)

Ram was crawling through the underbrush.

The scent of sorcery grew stronger, and the voice of the enemy drew nearer.

It sounded similar to Geronese, but it was not the language of Geron.

It was more akin to the sounds made by Ainyu, the shaman of Tagda, from beyond the Snake Cave in the Temple of Raham.

Olga had never uttered such incantations.

Her voice had always been warm and never threatening.

Even when she made that strange prophecy, though everyone was terrified by its implications, the voice itself had not been frightening.

But this voice was terrifying.

Even without understanding its meaning, Ram could sense the malice in it—the wicked intent to kill.

Ram gripped his dagger.

When it was sheathed at his waist, it kept making noise as it bumped against his belt, which could give away his position.

The sorcerer casting the spell was the dagger’s owner.

Hak Maraka.

‘Of course. It has to be him.’

When they met on the hill earlier this evening, he should have settled things one way or another!

That thought startled Ram.

Once again, he felt as if he had overlooked something.

It felt like he had left something important undone.

Or like he had forgotten something valuable.

Or even lost someone significant.

But soon, the feeling faded from his mind.

For now, he had to focus on the task at hand.

Maraka was already deep into his sorcery.

Or perhaps he had started casting long ago.

Or maybe the preparations had been made since dusk, and now he was merely finishing it with words.

Without understanding the principles of magic, Ram couldn’t tell where it began or ended.

Hand gestures accompanied the incantation.

Was it truly a lethal spell?

Or just a curse like the one at the banquet hall?

Perhaps he was merely divining the future?

What if Maraka, naked under the night sky, was simply performing a daily ritual to read the omens?

What if, like Olga using runes to tell fortunes, Maraka used powder to do the same?

By Baron Selken’s principles, Ram should either observe or retreat.

An unclear target must not be killed.

Failing to kill a necessary target could be rectified later.

But killing the wrong person could never be undone.

However, this time, Ram intended to break that rule.

The sounds, the smell, and everything he could see warned of danger.

Maraka had to die before his sorcery was complete!

Maraka was rubbing his palms together, muttering in that incomprehensible language.

The words were strange, impossible to mimic, and repeated over and over.

Though it was dark, Ram could tell he wasn’t rubbing his hands for warmth.

Nor was he praying.

As his rough palms scraped together, the scent of powder thickened.

He was grinding something between his hands.

It didn’t glow like when thrown into a fire.

Quite the opposite.

The fine powder streamed downward, falling into a jar about the size of a pumpkin at Maraka’s feet.

Or rather, into a dark, jar-like object.

In the dim moonlight, Ram couldn’t make out its details.

Moments later, something began to take shape around that dark object, writhing as it formed.

It was humanoid.

It pressed its hands against the ground, extended its legs, and then stood up.

‘A ghoul.’

The darkness obscured the details, but Ram knew he had to act before the spell was complete.

‘Once a death spell is cast, it won’t stop.’

That morning, he had learned that ghouls wouldn’t stop moving even if their throats were slit or their hearts pierced.

Strangely, they had halted when Charlon commanded them to stop.

But they wouldn’t obey Ram’s voice.

There was only one way to stop them—eliminate the spellcaster.

When Charlon had shouted, “Return to your master!” the creatures had shrieked in agony at Hak Ainyu’s voice and collapsed.

Ram didn’t understand the mechanics, but that method had worked.

Now was the time to strike.

Ram broke into a sprint.

He ignored the ghoul.

Only Hak Maraka mattered.

If he cut down the spellcaster, it would all end.

But he had to stop.

Between him and Maraka—two steps from Maraka, ten steps from Ram—another shadowy figure rose.

A writhing mass of smoke expanded rapidly, growing in size.

Ram barely stopped himself from making a sound as he skidded to a halt.

The creature’s glowing eyes turned toward him.

First, a head emerged from the dark mass.

Then ears.

Then a torso.

Its feet had yet to form, leaving it floating above the ground.

Ram recognized it.

A panther.

But it was larger than a horse.

And it was still growing.

Maraka’s sorcery hadn’t summoned just one ghoul.

There were two lethal spells in play.

* * *

“Ram?”

Charlon called out once more toward the tent.

No response.

‘Is this really Ram’s tent?’

There was no identifying mark.

Charlon had only been told once where Ram’s tent was, so she wasn’t entirely sure she had the right one.

She had taken the risk of calling out, but there was no reply.

Should she call louder?

But then, the men in the neighboring tents might hear.

A young woman’s voice in an all-male camp would be suspicious.

Even if she disguised her appearance with Odel’s clothes, she couldn’t disguise her voice.

But she couldn’t leave now.

Taking a deep breath, Charlon stepped inside the tent.

She quickly lifted her lantern to illuminate the interior.

There was no one there.

The space was empty, save for a small wooden chair and a bed without even a blanket.

Unlike her own barracks, where a luxurious mattress lay on a large, soft bed, this one had nothing to block the cold seeping up from the ground.

There wasn’t even a single strand of straw.

It was as if the bed had been placed directly on the grass, and bugs were crawling over it.

She felt both relieved and disappointed at the same time.

At that moment, a blanket rose up from behind the bed.

Charlon instinctively covered her mouth to stifle a scream.

Fortunately, she managed to suppress it to just a gasp.

It was Jedrick.

“H-How…?”

A flood of thoughts rushed through Charlon's mind.

Ram had said he couldn’t find a way—so had he discovered a method after all?

Or had Jedrick come here on his own?

Any explanation seemed plausible, and yet none of them made sense.

It almost felt like Jedrick wasn’t real.

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He placed a finger to his lips as he stepped out from behind the bed and approached her.

“Did Ram bring you here?”

Jeje asked in an extremely low voice.

Charlon also answered in the smallest whisper she could manage.

“No, I came alone.”

Speaking quietly brought their faces naturally closer together.

Charlon lifted the lantern toward his face.

‘To see this face again…!’

Jeje, too, was looking at her, as if confirming she was truly standing before him.

His hands, lightly touching her arms and shoulders, revealed his desperation, as if he had to make sure she was real.

She wasn’t the only one who had suffered from longing.

The realization was almost overwhelming.

“How did you know to come here?”

Jeje asked, gently placing his hand on her cheek.

“I didn’t. I came to ask Ram for a way to see you.”

“So our paths crossed.”

“I missed you, Jeje.”

“I missed you too.”

Jeje pulled her into an embrace.

No—Charlon was the one who embraced him first.

It didn’t matter who moved first—they could have argued about it for an hour.

The only thing that mattered was that they both pulled each other in with desperate force.

Charlon nearly dropped the lantern, but she managed to hold on to it.

She didn’t even have time to say, Let me put this down for a moment.

Every second, every moment, was too precious.

Still wrapped in his arms, she said,

“There’s no time. I have to leave for Born soon. And I won’t be able to come back.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow as well. Even if you somehow find a way back to the north, I won’t be in this village anymore.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time to explain. Ram will tell you later. I just had to say this—I had to see you.”

Even though he claimed there was no time, Jeje struggled to get the words out.

So Charlon spoke first.

“I love you, Jeje.”

Jeje clenched his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again.

“Thank you… for saying it first.”

“But you still have to say it yourself.”

“I love you, Charlon.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Say it again.”

Charlon wept.

“I love you.”

Jeje wept as well.

Charlon, her voice breaking, said,

“My God, I thought that if I could just say those words to you even once, if I could hear you say them just once, I could let go of everything else without regret… But I can’t. I don’t want to leave you like this…”

“Charlon…”

Jeje gently pushed her back.

For a moment, she nearly dropped the lantern again.

He quickly grabbed it and set it aside.

Then he took her shoulders, brought his face close—so close their lips were nearly touching—and whispered,

“…I feel the same, Charlon. I thought that even if I could only see you from afar one last time, even if I could promise never to forget you, I could let go. But I can’t. I won’t.”

“I can’t lose you, Jeje. Not like this.”

“I only wanted to see you one last time, but now I want to hold you one last time. Call it selfish if you must—I don’t care. I’m a Geron. I don’t know how to express love with beautiful words and songs like you Southerners do. This is the only way I know.”

“No, this is enough. This is what I wanted too.”

“I love you, Charlon. I can’t lie to myself. Even if I confess everything to Damion and he takes my life for it, I refuse to leave you like this.”

They kissed.

Charlon ran her hands over Jedrick’s face, his neck, his chest—touching the places she hadn’t been able to before.

Jeje laid her on the bed and lifted her skirt.

He placed his hands on her breasts, squeezed them tightly, ran his fingers down her stomach, and then slipped them beneath her skirt.

There was no time to prepare, but neither of them needed it.

Jedrick thrust himself inside her.

Every second was too precious.

Every moment too fleeting.

Charlon pressed her hands to her mouth, unable to stifle her moans with just her lips alone.

Jedrick removed her hands and covered her lips with his own.

Their desperate breaths merged into one between their mouths.

Only now did Charlon realize how gentle Jedrick had been with her the first time—how carefully he had moved, worried about her injured side.

She now understood just how tender he had been back then.

When she cried out in pain, Jedrick immediately stopped.

“Are you alright…?”

Charlon grabbed his face with both hands and said,

“Don’t stop. I’m fine.”

In truth, her side hurt like hell.

But she didn’t care.

She didn’t want him to worry.

Jedrick nodded.

“If it hurts, tell me.”

“I will.”

She answered, but she had no intention of telling him.

After that, Jedrick focused only on devouring her with his body.

And Charlon only focused on how he burned her from the inside out.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

“Don’t stop.”

Jedrick gave her exactly what she wanted.

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