Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 102: The Night of Chaos (4)

The black panther’s form stepped into the underbrush.

Despite its enormous size, it made no sound, as if it had no weight at all.

As soon as the front legs, formed from the dark mass, touched the ground, the hind legs began to take shape.

Upon closer inspection, the tail extending from its body was connected to Maraka’s palm.

He was still rubbing his hands together, and with each motion, the creature seemed to grow larger.

Its feet expanded as they touched the ground, and its body swelled.

It opened its mouth, but no sound came out.

It did not growl like a beast, nor did it roar like a Geronian warrior.

Sound is only made to threaten an enemy.

It is a warning, a declaration to stay away.

A way to instill fear so the opponent cannot fight at their full potential.

But when it comes to the moment of death—no sound is made.

That is how beasts hunt their prey.

That is how Ram moves when sneaking in for an assassination.

When it’s truly time to kill, there is no sound.

Ram knew immediately—if that thing fully emerged from Maraka’s palm, it would be unstoppable!

How could he kill something made of smoke?

What weapon could possibly harm it?

‘I haven’t been detected yet. It must have appeared in front of me by coincidence, not because it was summoned specifically to target me.’

The ghoul standing beside Maraka would also be difficult to deal with.

Even if he severed its neck, it would keep moving.

Even if he cut off both legs, it would crawl toward him.

He couldn’t afford to leave them alone.

If this creature attacked the campsite like the corpses that had risen earlier that dawn, the consequences would be catastrophic.

Even a single one of them would be enough to devastate the southern soldiers.

Perhaps they could hold it off with heavy sacrifices, but those who survived would never forget the terror of these moving corpses.

Stories would spread, rumors of ghouls running rampant among the troops.

Even soldiers who had never witnessed them would be paralyzed with fear.

‘Is that their real objective?’

Whatever it was, he had to stop it now.

‘Can I do this alone? Should I call for the soldiers and handle it together?’

But if he did, the entire camp would be thrown into chaos, and torches would light up the area.

The Geronians from the village atop the hill would surely rush over in numbers.

That would expose Jedrick.

There was no time to hesitate.

Ram repositioned himself beside the black smoke-formed panther.

The creature did not turn its gaze toward him but continued staring straight ahead, just as it had when it first appeared.

Maraka, too, was unaware of Ram’s presence.

He continued rubbing the powder between his hands and chanting in an incomprehensible language.

‘The spell isn’t finished yet.’

The panther’s hind legs were still forming.

The ghoul remained the only one.

Every instinct within Ram screamed that this was his only chance.

Maraka still hadn’t noticed him.

No matter how powerful or respected the sorcerer was, no matter if he was even stronger than the revered Haks of the Geronian villages, he could not surpass Ram’s ability to move unseen in the darkness.

Just then, a gust of wind rustled through the underbrush.

Using the noise as cover, Ram surged forward, blending into the wind as he closed in on Maraka.

Maraka never saw it coming.

By the time Ram’s blade pierced his throat, it was already too late.

However, the panther noticed.

Without crouching or coiling to leap, it slid through the air, lunging at Ram.

Ram had anticipated this.

As the panther pounced, he dropped backward, narrowly avoiding its claws.

He had to leave the dagger buried in Maraka’s neck.

Pulling it out would have accelerated Maraka’s death, but the blade had sunk too deep—he couldn’t retrieve it in time.

Even though he had retreated quickly, the panther did not let him go.

It pinned him down with one massive paw, pressing against his chest.

Ram had thought it was made of mere smoke, but it had weight and form.

He could grab its front leg.

The sharp pressure of its claws piercing his chest was undeniable.

That meant its fangs could reach him too.

Ram raised his right arm, offering it to the panther’s mouth.

He was willing to sacrifice one arm to free the rest of his body.

Whether the plan would work or not, he had no better option.

Where should he strike to make it feel pain?

Would it even feel pain?

Wasn’t it just a construct of magic?

But as soon as the panther’s fangs sank into his arm—

It vanished.

Ram saw it bite down.

The misty moonlight behind it glowed like the beast’s eyes, and beneath them, he saw the jagged shape of its fangs.

The fangs pierced his flesh.

They should have been crushing his bones next.

But in that instant—it was gone.

The panther’s body faded away, starting from its face, then its body, its front legs, and finally its tail.

The fangs embedded in his arm disappeared along with it.

Only a swirl of magic-infused powder lingered briefly in the air before the wind carried it away.

It hadn’t been an illusion.

The pain in his right arm was real.

Blood seeped through the holes torn in his sleeve.

But there was no time to rest.

The ghoul Maraka had raised lunged at him next.

It was faster than the corpses Ainyu had animated before.

Ram was still sitting on the ground after fending off the panther.

He saw the ghoul coming but couldn’t stand in time.

So he kicked it in the face instead.

The creature didn’t even flinch.

It merely thrust its face toward him again.

Ram reached for his waist, trying to grab a knife.

But his position made it impossible to draw his weapon.

He regretted not retrieving the dagger from Maraka’s throat.

The ghoul wasn’t even large, yet it felt unnaturally heavy.

Now he saw why—it was wearing armor.

Even in the dim light and the chaos of battle, Ram recognized the style.

It was from the South.

So that pot-like object at Maraka’s feet earlier—had it been this armor?

Had Maraka revived a dead Southerner?

Or had he raised a Geronian corpse and dressed it in Southern armor?

The ghoul opened its mouth, preparing to bite Ram.

Its fangs were nowhere near as terrifying as the panther’s, but they were still sharp.

Its teeth should have long since rotted away, yet they remained jagged, packed tightly together like needles.

But the ghoul didn’t last long either.

Just as it was about to sink its teeth into him, it suddenly collapsed onto him.

A foul, rotting stench overwhelmed Ram’s senses.

He quickly shoved the body away, dragging himself backward.

A few steps were enough to put distance between them, but he moved much farther.

The corpse did not move again.

He scanned the area.

The panther was gone.

The stardust-like magic that had formed it was nowhere to be seen.

Then he turned to Maraka.

The sorcerer lay face down, Ram’s dagger still embedded in his neck.

But Maraka was still conscious.

He stared at Ram, his body trembling.

He lifted a finger and pointed at Ram.

Then he opened his mouth.

He was trying to say something.

‘No. It’s another spell.’

Ram didn’t know what effect the words would have.

But he did know one thing—whether it was a mage or a sorcerer, their voice had to be silenced.

Ram leaped toward Maraka.

‘I have to silence him.’

* * *

Damion arrived in front of Charlon’s barracks. Born’s escort knight was standing guard.

As soon as the knight saw Damion, he rushed over with a startled expression. Even his hurried movements were cautious.

“Your Highness, if you’ve come to see the Lady, you’re a bit late.”

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes. She said she wanted to rest deeply and even gave orders not to let anyone in…”

Just before Damion arrived, the knight had been warning passing soldiers to keep quiet.

That was probably why his eyes were filled with concern—what if the prince insisted on seeing Charlon despite her orders?

There was no point in proposing to someone who was dazed from sleep.

“I’m late, then. I’ll have to postpone it until tomorrow morning.”

The knight sighed in relief and smiled.

“If there’s something you’d like to say, I can pass the message along.”

“There’s no need for that. I’ll return at dawn.”

It would be better to propose when the first light of dawn shone, when both their minds were clear.

In that case, the person he needed to inform in advance was Rusef.

If he made it clear that he had to meet Charlon before their departure tomorrow, and if the reason was a marriage proposal, Rusef wouldn’t try to stop him.

In fact, he’d probably go out of his way to arrange the meeting.

‘Rusef is probably still in the meeting. I should head back—I’ve been away too long.’

Just as Damion turned, eager to wrap up the meeting quickly, he suddenly thought of Jedrick.

‘I need to make sure Jedrick is safe. Who knows what Ikarum or Vadio might try overnight… It would be best to inform Miela. If I offer to help with her son’s situation, she’ll definitely step up.’

This was too sensitive a matter to entrust to another soldier.

‘I feel bad for Ram, but I’ll have to interrupt his rest for a bit.’

Damion turned and walked toward Ram’s barracks.

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* * *

Jedrick let his face drop onto Charlon’s chest, ending a moment that had felt like it would last forever.

As his cheek pressed against her small yet soft bosom, an overwhelming sense of happiness surged through him.

His heart pounded so hard it felt as if it would shake his entire body.

He clenched his teeth to keep from making a sound, which left his jaw aching.

Charlon, too, held his head against her chest, her breath still uneven as she tried to calm herself.

Jedrick felt the gentle rise and fall of her body beneath him and remained still.

It reminded him of the time they had stayed like this for so long in the cave.

He wanted to remain this way again.

“I have to go now.”

Jedrick lifted his face and spoke.

Charlon cupped his face with the hands that had been holding his head.

“To where?”

“To Damion.”

Jedrick gave Charlon a kiss that might be their last and continued speaking.

“If I don’t say it now, Damion might never know. But we swore—we vowed to bind our souls. That’s why we have to tell him everything.”

Charlon nodded.

“Then let’s go together. We’ll tell him together.”

“He won’t forgive us.”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. We’re telling him because we have to.”

“…Alright. Let’s go together.”

The consequences would be greater than they had imagined, but they had to face them.

Jedrick pulled himself away from Charlon’s body and stood up.

And that was when he realized how naive he had been to think he was prepared to endure it.

He had expected the impact to be severe, but even that expectation had been a way of downplaying the situation to himself.

The door to the barracks was open.

There, watching the two of them, stood Damion.

* * *

Ram couldn’t stop Maraka from speaking.

With his throat pierced, his voice wasn’t loud, and his words slurred.

At first, Ram thought he was speaking in an unintelligible language, like when casting a spell.

But no—it was Geronian, and Ram could understand it.

“You are... not Tanu...”

It was Maraka who had first called him Tanu.

And when Ram mentioned it to Olga, she had reinforced it, mentioning the term Tanu’s shadow.

Then it appeared again in the divination.

And in the prophecy before death.

“...Malarhatu...”

Maraka, dying, spoke to Ram.

Ram should have stopped him.

He could have.

He could have silenced him completely, clamping his hand over his blood-soaked mouth to prevent even a groan.

He had assassinated like that countless times before.

But he let him speak.

Even though it could have been the spell to revive the black panther, Ram let him speak.

It felt as if Maraka was continuing the prophecy that Olga had always refused to reveal, the one she had tried to keep hidden.

Olga always mocked Maraka.

‘…Maraka is a greedy and impatient old man…’

But she never underestimated him.

‘…He is not without skill…’

Maraka spoke as though he were borrowing another force, as though something else was granting him the strength to make his words clear to Ram.

“You will kill the three serpents...”

And with those final words, he died.

Or perhaps, it felt like he spoke after he had already died.

“You will bring about the end of the world...”

Ram, still kneeling, looked down at Maraka’s corpse.

A question escaped his lips without him realizing it.

“Malarhatu…?”

At that moment, Damion’s scream rang out.

It was not a scream of fear.

But it was more agonized than any cry of pain, more so than if someone had stabbed him in the heart or thrown him into a fire alive.

A feeling of having missed something surged in Ram’s chest again.

He had failed to do what needed to be done, failed to find the one he was supposed to find, lost the item he was supposed to retrieve.

But it wasn’t a matter of simply doing it now, finding them now, reclaiming what was lost now.

It was too late.

He had already lost it.

And it could never be recovered.

“How…?”

Damion’s voice was low, sorrowful, choked with emotion.

Ram abandoned Maraka’s corpse and ran immediately.

Though he only heard Damion’s voice, he could picture the entire scene in his mind.

No!

Ram ran faster than he had when facing Ainyu’s massacre spell at the Temple of Raham, faster than when dodging the black panther Maraka had summoned.

Even though he knew it was too late, he ran with everything he had.

Damion’s sobs, his anguished cries, continued to ring out.

“How could this happen…?”

* * *

Damion kept repeating the same words in a scream.

“How could this happen…?”

His voice didn’t break into a loud cry.

It was suppressed, trapped beneath his throat, as if his vocal cords were buried under his heart, crushed under its weight.

“You... how... how could you…?”

Damion’s voice was neither a sob nor a scream nor a furious shout.

But he couldn’t finish his sentence.

He couldn’t add any more words to what he had just spoken.

The scene before him was not something that could be dismissed as merely two people embracing on a bed.

He wanted to believe he had seen a hallucination, that it was all fake, that if he walked back to his barracks, lay down, and then returned, none of this would have happened.

What he had heard was the two of them saying, We have to tell Damion.

What he had seen when he first opened the door was the two of them kissing.

And when Jedrick stood up and looked at him, Damion saw everything.

Before he had arrived, he knew exactly what had happened between them.

Everything was laid bare.

“Damion!”

Jedrick approached him, but Damion covered his eyes.

Maybe he covered his mouth too.

He wasn’t even sure whether he wanted to hide his eyes or his lips.

Without his sight, his balance wavered.

Something was wrong with his sense of equilibrium—he swayed from just one misstep.

He staggered again.

He hurt again.

He felt like he would faint.

Damion stumbled as if he would fall—but didn’t.

He just kept staggering.

Pathetic…

That thought crept into his mind.

How pitiful and weak must he look to them right now?

How weak must he have seemed for this to happen?

“Damion.”

Jedrick reached out, holding him steady as he nearly collapsed.

By now, soldiers were murmuring and gathering.

Many had already seen the prince walking toward this direction, so they had heard his cries.

They were now forming a crowd around Jedrick and Damion.

But none of it mattered to Damion.

“Tell me nothing happened.”

Damion grabbed Jedrick’s shoulders.

Only now did he realize tears were falling down his face, but he couldn’t stop them.

How hideous must he look crying like this?

How foolish must he seem?

The two people he loves the most are seeing him at his weakest.

Damion screamed at Jedrick.

“Say it! Say that, and I will forget everything I saw and heard. Just tell me nothing happened!”

“I’m sorry, Damion. I was going to tell you. What you saw is the truth.”

Jedrick spoke.

A moment later, Charlon stepped out of the barracks.

“My prince, I’m sorry. But I could not deceive you with a lie. I was going to tell you. It’s just that things kept happening…”

“Both of you, shut up!”

Damion shouted.

He had wanted his voice to be powerful, full of authority, but it cracked and broke, sounding more like a child throwing a tantrum.

Jedrick pleaded.

“Please listen, Damion. We should have told you sooner. We meant to tell you this morning, but the trial in the village—”

“Did I not tell you to shut up?”

“I love Charlon. And Charlon loves me. But that doesn’t mean we betrayed you.”

“Betrayal? If this isn’t betrayal, then what the hell is?!”

“Damion, please listen.”

Charlon also stepped forward.

“My prince, I will tell you everything. Please, let me confess everything.”

Damion turned to the soldiers gathering around.

“Restrain him!”

Charlon screamed in desperation.

“Please, let us explain first!”

“Us? There is no ‘us’ with me in it.”

“My prince, that’s not true—”

In the growing commotion, Damion spotted Terdin and Rusef.

They had just emerged from their meeting, unaware of what had transpired.

Yes, the ever-dutiful brother who adored his sister would never have imagined something like this happening barely twenty steps from his tent.

He would handle it better than he ever could—calmly, decisively.

What about Count Vadio?

He would settle this cruelly, cleanly, without letting emotions interfere.

I can’t handle this.

I’m not that kind of person.

I ruined the trial today.

I killed Olga.

I was the one who left them alone in the cave.

I was the one who let Aikob manipulate me into going to the temple…

I can’t handle this.

I won’t handle this.

If I had a sword in my hand, I don’t know if I’d stab Jedrick or myself.

I can’t do anything.

I don’t want to do anything.

A royal guard approached.

“My prince! What’s happening?”

Damion pointed at Jedrick.

“Seize that barbarian and bind him.”

The guard hesitated.

“What is his crime?”

Damion spoke.

“That barbarian defiled my betrothed.”

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