Shadow's Oath

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 110: The Chosen Warrior

“What’s all the commotion in the village? That was a volcano eruption earlier, wasn’t it?”

“There’s no time for a long explanation. Release him. We need to take him to the village square.”

Ram, who had been lying on the ground, bound in rope, raised himself up and sat as he heard voices outside the barracks.

“Whose orders?”

“Prince Damion’s.”

“The Count follows no one’s orders…”

“Count Vadio gave the order as well. Just let him go.”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re holding a trial by combat. And the warrior the prince has chosen is this guy.”

“What? Him? We have plenty of knights who are skilled in duels!”

“No kidding. I could take down two of these barbarians on my own, so why would they send this weakling…?”

Four men were talking amongst themselves.

Normally, Ram would have sharpened his hearing to distinguish who was saying what, but this time, he let it all wash over him.

Only one piece of information mattered.

The prince wanted a trial by combat.

“You’re the one stepping into the duel? Don’t make me laugh.”

“What did you just say, you bastard?”

“In battle, you just stand next to the Count, never once drawing your sword. We outnumbered them five to one, and yet we still struggled in this war. Do you really think General Terdin, the god of war himself, made a tactical mistake? No, it was because of the Batu warriors. One Batu alone was taking on ten of our soldiers. And now, the warrior their chief is sending to the duel is said to be the strongest among them—Albo.”

“Are you scared of some savage, coward? Albo? Never even heard the name. And what the hell is a Batu?”

“If you don’t know, shut up. You want to fight without even understanding your enemy? That Albo guy could slice you in half with a single swing of his blade.”

“Watch your mouth! Whose side are you on? Are you a barbarian spy?”

“Both of you, be quiet. You call yourselves knights, yet you bicker like children. I’ve seen Albo in battle several times—he was always on the front lines, crushing our knights. According to the rumors, Albo is the infamous Berserker of the North.”

“A berserker…? You mean those monstrous warriors who keep fighting even after being beheaded?”

“They call them Barsatu in their tongue. To face such a monster, we’d need someone like Captain Claive from the royal guard. Only a holy knight, protected by divine power, could defeat a berserker possessed by dark spirits. If Captain Claive were here, the prince would have surely chosen him…”

“Enough talking. Get him out here. And don’t lay a single finger on him—the prince was very clear about that.”

The barracks door swung open, revealing a figure silhouetted against the light.

His face was obscured by the glare, but Ram didn’t care.

“Get up. The prince is calling for you.”

Ram staggered to his feet, still bound.

One of the men standing outside muttered,

“Damn, he can barely stand. We’re sending this guy to represent us? If he loses, it’ll be a disgrace for all of us.”

Ram passed by a soldier standing by the barracks and stepped outside.

He couldn’t tell whether the sun was rising or setting.

As he stood there staring at the sky, dazed, a soldier tapped his shoulder and asked,

“Hey, you heard us, right? You’re going to fight in the duel. Are you any good? Have you ever even been in a real duel before?”

Ram heard them but didn’t answer.

Instead, he simply held out his bound hands.

“Untie me.”

One soldier grabbed the ropes but hesitated.

“Are we really supposed to untie him?”

A voice that hadn’t joined in the earlier conversation about Albo spoke up.

“The prince ordered it himself. The Count confirmed it. What’s the problem?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…”

The soldier reluctantly undid the bindings.

Ram rubbed his wrists.

His knees felt stiff.

He needed time to loosen up, but one of the knights urged him forward.

“Move it. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Two men walked ahead of him, two more followed behind.

One of the men in the back whispered, just loud enough for his companion to hear,

“Are we really allowed to treat him like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a prisoner. Who cares?”

“The general’s shadow… that’s who he was.”

“So what?”

The man chuckled mockingly.

“Are you scared? Did he threaten you?”

“No, it’s not that… he’s just strange. When I brought him his meal this morning, do you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He asked, ‘Has the prince given his orders yet?’”

“So?”

“So I asked, ‘What orders?’ And then he said, ‘Did he mention a name?’”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Are you sleep-deprived from standing watch all night?”

“I don’t know… There’s just something off about him. He was tied up, locked away, yet he acted like he let himself be captured on purpose.”

“Enough nonsense. Things are tense as they are. If the villagers riot, we’ll get dragged into it too.”

Ram walked up the sloped path, his gaze scanning the area where the blood ritual had taken place the night before.

From a distance, it was hard to make out, but it was clear that Maraka’s corpse had been removed.

However, he couldn’t tell what had happened to Zenri’s body.

He had wondered about it all night, but now that he was outside, it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Ram focused only on one thing—the heart of the crowded village square.

He moved toward it, muttering something.

He wasn’t even aware that his lips were moving.

It was a song.

Yet he couldn’t hear it.

Amidst all the noise of the square filling his ears, the one sound closest to him—the song from his own mouth—was lost to him.

Instead, a soldier following behind him asked in a frightened voice,

“What are you singing?”

Ram asked,

“Me?”

“You were just singing.”

“What song did I sing?”

A knight beside them spoke up.

“I heard it too! You were singing. ‘Tanu, Tanu, Tanu.’ And then…”

Another soldier picked up the lyrics.

“‘Kill someone… save someone… tomorrow’s life… something like that! You sang that, didn’t you?”

Ram asked, genuinely curious,

“I sang that song?”

“Are you seriously going to pretend—”

At that moment, the soldiers came to a halt.

They hadn’t even reached the square yet, but Vadio had come out to meet them.

“Stop right there.”

The men escorting Ram immediately stopped.

Ram stopped as well.

His months in the military had ingrained obedience into his body—no one had to force him to halt; he simply reacted to the command.

Ram turned first to the knight who had ordered his release and asked,

“The prince called for me, correct? Did he mention a name when he did?”

The knight, irritated, asked,

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

“What name?”

“For example…”

Ram’s gaze fixed on the approaching count as he spoke.

“…Vadio, perhaps.”

The knight only stared blankly as if Ram had spoken nonsense, but one of the soldiers behind him recoiled in alarm, gripping his spear.

“Count, this man is suspicious! Don’t come any closer.”

“Huh? What? Why?”

The count, entirely unafraid, stood before Ram.

Ram was unarmed, while the count wore armor and carried a sword.

Five soldiers surrounded them.

But Ram paid no attention to his surroundings.

He focused on only one thing.

Had Damion spoken his name?

“Step back, all of you. I need to speak with this man alone.”

One of the soldiers remained wary.

“It’s dangerous. This man might try something.”

“Stop talking nonsense and step back immediately.”

The soldier hesitated, resisting until two of the count’s personal knights stepped up behind him.

Only then did he retreat, muttering,

“You must keep a close eye on him.”

Vadio, keeping his knights behind him, asked,

“The prince has entrusted you with the king’s duel. Have you heard?”

“I have.”

“Did you also hear that your opponent is Albo?”

Since the soldiers hadn’t told him directly, he decided to feign ignorance.

“No.”

“I hear the man is quite skilled. And I suspect the prince has misjudged your abilities, thinking you suited for this. I understand your specialty is not one-on-one duels. So…”

Vadio stepped closer, his voice dropping lower.

Ram, however, was more focused on Damion, who stood further away, looking back at him.

He watched the prince’s lips, waiting for a name to be spoken.

“…You can refuse the prince’s order. I’ll help set the stage, so just claim you’re unwell. Understand? Surviving is your priority if you want to stay by my side.”

Ram didn’t even nod.

He kept his gaze fixed on the prince’s face.

But Damion’s lips never moved.

Vadio, as if he had merely come to encourage Ram, patted his shoulder and then returned to stand beside the prince.

“I checked his condition, Your Highness. He spent the night tied up, so his body is in poor shape. I feel responsible for that, so I was concerned.”

Vadio laughed awkwardly, then carefully suggested,

“So, I was thinking… perhaps you could use another knight for this duel? If not, I can lend you one of my own.”

Ram walked past Damion without waiting to hear his answer.

He had no interest in the count’s response or request.

He simply went to where he was supposed to be, leaving Damion’s words behind him.

“If the knight you provide loses, will you take responsibility for it, Count?” Damion’s voice carried after him.

“I will tell my father that my honor was tainted because of a knight you forced into the fight. The soldiers here will blame you for making them suffer a defeat they didn’t taste at Terdin. And you, Count, will be left managing Geronian soldiers who now believe they have won. But if the warrior I choose loses, the responsibility is mine alone. And you remain entirely uninvolved. Now tell me, which option benefits you more?”

Vadio, unable to answer, kept his mouth shut.

If Ram had to guess, the threat of informing the king had probably been the most alarming part for the count.

And then, once again, Ram sang.

He didn’t realize it.

He couldn’t even hear his own voice.

In the center of the square stood Ikarum.

But Ram only looked at the man beside him.

Albo.

As he stared at his opponent, he sang.

Tanu.

Tanu.

Tanu.

To survive, one must keep killing.

Who must I kill today to reach tomorrow?

Ram’s body wavered.

Was he struggling to balance himself?

His body still felt sluggish.

Had he made a mistake by coming straight into battle without stretching, after spending so long bound and motionless?

Should he have stalled for more time?

He stopped singing and observed Albo.

In his hand was a shield with a familiar shape—one that had once hung as a decoration in the grand hall.

A red serpent, breathing fire, was emblazoned across it.

Intricate patterns adorned its edges.

In his other hand, he held Mantum’s axe.

Ram had killed Mantum and taken that axe to Terdin as proof.

And yet, somehow, Albo was holding it now.

How was that possible?

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t need to know.

“Arke.”

The moment Damion stood behind him, Ram spoke.

“Yes. This was the only way. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I am your shadow.”

“Yes. But this duel is not for me. It is for Jedrick.”

Ram had not come here for a duel.

He had come to kill.

That was all he knew how to do.

So he didn’t say he would win.

“If I kill him, what happens to Jedrick?”

“I can change his sentence from execution by fire to exile.”

Ram didn’t answer.

He simply extended his hand.

Damion placed his sword in Ram’s palm.

Then, receiving a shield from a nearby knight, he handed it to Ram as well.

“Please, win. Please, don’t die.”

Ram didn’t even wait for Damion to finish speaking before stepping toward Albo.

He left his answer behind as he walked away.

“Don’t worry. This is no place for a shadow to fall.”

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]