Shadow Oath

Chapter 35: The Grand Banquet Hall

When I entered the banquet hall, the first thing I felt was the scorching heat from the torches.

Dozens of torches illuminated the walls of the banquet hall, but the room was still dark, perhaps due to the lack of natural light.

In the crimson glow, the Geran people stood widely dispersed on either side.

Although Triton Kingdom soldiers guarded the door and the hall, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was stepping into the lair of the Geran people.

I felt tense. The more I tried not to be, the stiffer my body became.

I hadn't even removed my helmet, which I should have taken off earlier.

I tried to remove it, but I couldn’t muster the courage.

The thought that if even one of them, driven by revenge, threw an axe at me, I’d die without a chance to react kept making me lower my hand after reaching for my helmet.

To these people, I was a conqueror who had killed Mantum and forcibly disarmed their village.

“The berserkers of Geran are said to move even after their heads are cut off to kill their enemies, aren’t they? If someone like that charges at me blindly, would the knights of Triton here be able to stop him? If such a thing happens, could I protect Charlon?”

When I turned to my side, Charlon was lowering the hood she had been wearing.

She swept up her green hair, almost flaunting it to the Geran people.

The Bormont family had a legend that they were descendants of the ancient elves.

People considered the green hair, proof of that bloodline, mysterious and sacred just by looking at it.

I wasn’t an exception.

Half of the reason I fell in love with her at first sight was because of her hair.

“To the Geran people, it’ll be the same. That mystique will be a weapon.”

I naturally gained courage, and finally, I was able to remove my helmet.

In the center of the banquet hall, a large bonfire blazed, reaching my height.

As I passed the blazing bonfire, the floor was raised by about one step.

It was a high seat that occupied about a fifth of the banquet hall, with a large stone chair for the chieftain at its end.

The stone chair was so massive that the intricately carved wooden chair with floral decorations next to it seemed comparatively small.

An older man sitting on the high seat gestured to the stone chair for me.

When I sat there, he then gestured to Charlon, directing her to the wooden chair adorned with floral designs.

From the high seat, my eyes were naturally drawn to the blazing bonfire at the center of the hall.

Ten Geran people stood around the bonfire in a circle as if encircling it.

They were the chieftains and elders of two other villages: Meios of the Nak tribe, Rochier of the Olmon tribe, and ten elders whose names were already starting to blur in my mind.

Rather than trying to memorize their names, I focused on Ikahm.

Though his appearance resembled Jedric’s, the atmosphere he exuded was completely different.

Jedric’s gaze showed an attitude of trying to understand others and an open heart.

It reflected his love for his tribe and his unhidden anger toward the southern people who killed his father.

That made him approachable and easy to talk to.

But Ikahm’s eyes showed no anger.

There was only a fighting spirit in them.

It wasn’t the look of someone facing his father’s enemy but the gaze of a warrior meeting an opponent to fight.

“I understand why Father didn’t want to attend this banquet.

It seemed like he was passing the reins to a son who would govern this place in the future, but in truth, he was just scared.

He doesn’t like unforeseen circumstances, and this place feels full of them.”

Terrdin had said that Ikahm didn’t seem to view this war as a defeat.

He thought it was just a temporary pause.

But I couldn’t set the village ablaze, kill the warriors, enslave the women, and take the children hostage to make them submissive, as Count Badio suggested.

Even if I did, they wouldn’t submit until they were utterly annihilated.

The warriors of Geran didn’t fear death in battle.

A myth said that if they died fighting, the god of war would take them to serve as his warriors.

Conversely, their greatest fear was to die outside the battlefield.

Dying from illness or old age was considered shameful.

Only women who bore and raised children could be forgiven for such deaths.

“Should I feel fortunate that Ikahm didn’t throw himself at me to offer his body to the god of war the moment he saw me?

For now, he seemed to be holding back for later.

My task is to ensure that ‘later’ never comes.”

Ikahm stepped away from the bonfire and approached me.

It was part of the planned procedure.

Even so, the escort knights tensed up and took a step forward.

But I observed the position of the shadow rather than the escort knights.

He stood to my right, slightly behind the chair.

If I had my way, I would have had him positioned between Charlon and me, but placing him there would have put him in the exact center.

Ikahm spoke to me in their language.

Jedric, sitting in a chair to my right, farther than the shadow, translated his words.

He conveyed a welcome along with gratitude for sparing them, accepting their surrender, and incorporating them into the Kingdom of Triton.

Though his tone was rough and his expression stern, he showed more courtesy than I had expected.

“General Terrdin must have coordinated this well.

After all, I am the only one who can show them mercy.

If Count Badio were to take over this land, the people of Ellum would not escape slaughter.

Knowing that, they cannot harm me.”

I reassured myself.

The other chieftains also offered their greetings to me with proper etiquette.

Each time, Jedric translated politely, and as I received their greetings in their manner, I gradually began to relax.

“We’ve prepared food and drinks for the prince.”

Jedric conveyed Ikahm’s words, and I raised my hand in response.

“Tell them I’m grateful.”

As soon as Jedric conveyed my words, the prepared meal poured into the banquet hall.

Roast pork, skewers of various vegetables, and baskets full of whole roasted fish were laid out in abundance.

The alcohol arrived in oak barrels.

When the cork was pulled from one barrel, a brown liquid poured out with a gurgling sound.

The aroma was pleasant, but the foam in the glasses looked filthy, like dirty water.

Ikahm personally poured alcohol into a horned cup and handed it to me, then gave another to Charlon.

The horned cup he gave me was nearly the length of my forearm, while Charlon’s was about a hand’s length.

Though the pointed ends of the cups looked menacing, Charlon didn’t show any signs of displeasure.

“The more I see her, the more remarkable she seems.”

At first, I was captivated by her appearance, but over time, I found myself drawn to every one of her actions.

The more we talked, the more I marveled at the depth of her knowledge and admired the confidence in her voice.

“If we had met not through a political marriage but naturally, it would have been better.

My feelings would have been conveyed more genuinely.

No, if she had come instead of Ruseph ten years ago, we might have grown closer more naturally!”

Suddenly, I recalled when Ruseph was taken hostage a decade ago.

His appearance had drawn countless royal women to surround him.

Even when he was young, it was like that, but after he turned sixteen and his looks matured, it only intensified.

At one point, the noblemen of the capital even submitted petitions to temporarily ban Ruseph from going out.

Their official reason was that a hostage from a defeated nation should not roam the royal court, but in truth...

But if it had been Charlon instead of Ruseph who was taken as a hostage?

She would never have experienced only good things.

And I wouldn’t have been given any “opportunity” either.

“This moment of meeting is the best timing.”

One of the escort knights approached and whispered to me.

“All the food has been inspected by us. You can eat without worry.”

“Well done.”

Demion raised the horned cup, intending to drink. He also wanted to reassure Charlon.

However, Ikahm suddenly shouted something in the Geran language, forcing him to pause.

Jedric quickly translated.

“To our new king, loyalty!”

All the Geran people gathered in the banquet hall shouted the same phrase in unison.

Demion hastily pulled the horned cup away from his lips. Some of the liquor spilled onto his chin and clothes.

He coughed lightly and raised the horned cup again.

“I promise peace and prosperity to you.”

As soon as Jedric translated his words into Geran, the Geran people let out a beast-like roar, their unique cheer, and drank their liquor in one go.

Seeing everyone empty their cups in a single gulp, Demion, who had only half-drunk his, had to lift the cup again and finish it.

When he glanced to the side, Charlon was also drinking hers all at once.

Demion was astonished. From what he knew, noblewomen, especially those under twenty, would usually sip even a glass of water ten times.

Yet, this sixteen-year-old girl drank in one go what he intended to finish in three sips.

The Geran people watching the two drink cheered and said something in their language.

Demion turned slightly to Jedric and asked.

“What are they saying?”

“They’re saying, ‘The king and queen have emptied their cups.’”

“What’s so amusing about that?”

“It’s a saying of ours. It means, ‘The deal is sealed.’”

Demion nodded, finding it amusing, and turned his gaze to Charlon.

“Does it taste all right? It might be hard to adjust to this honey-based liquor after drinking wine.”

“It smells strong and scratches my throat when I drink it. It’s not to my taste.”

Charlon criticized it while maintaining her smile.

“Perhaps the first thing we should do here is plant grapes or establish a route to have wine delivered.”

“I agree.”

Demion replied with a laugh, and Charlon smiled silently as well. Her beauty in that moment was unparalleled.

Demion thought he could go to war, like in the old tales of their ancestors, for a woman like her.

He looked around the banquet hall again.

Before coming here, many commanders, royal knights, archbishops, and lords had shared the same concern: “This could be a trap.”

But based on the situation so far, that didn’t seem possible.

Given their belligerent nature, it was always possible that one person might act rashly for Mantum’s revenge, but it wasn’t enough to worry about.

“I’m still wearing armor. And they wouldn’t target Charlon—they’d come for me. I have ten escort knights with me.

They’re monitoring the Geran people, regardless of the banquet’s atmosphere, and if necessary, they could kill everyone here.

Or even annihilate the entire village.

What they should fear isn’t me, but the Geran people.”

Demion decided to trust the escort knights who had protected him until now and would continue to do so.

Yet, there was someone else he instinctively sought.

“Shadow.”

No matter how softly Demion called him, he would always hear and appear.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Are you watching closely?”

“Yes.”

Using the noisy atmosphere as cover, Demion spoke to him in an extremely low voice.

“Does anyone seem like they might target me?”

Even then, Shadow understood him perfectly.

“There are none at present.”

“If someone suddenly charges at me, can you stop them?”

“If they’re slower than an arrow, I can stop them.”

“Let’s just hope no one shoots an arrow, then?”

Demion refrained from making that joke out loud.

“Keep watching. Especially Charlon.”

“I’ll watch both of you.”

After a few rounds of drinks, the meal continued, accompanied by music.

The melodies, composed of unfamiliar notes played on instruments he had never seen, were soothing.

Charlon, perhaps due to the alcohol, spoke more than usual.

“I wonder how many sacrifices were made to prepare this meal.

How many pigs and chickens were slaughtered?

Have they prepared for the coming winter while offering food like this?”

“We take pride in being generous to our guests. So you don’t need to worry about that.”

Surprisingly, it was Jedric who explained.

Until now, he had spoken as an interpreter, but this time, his tone was as stiff as when they had met privately in the barracks.

“Hm, is that so? But surely, it didn’t come without sacrifices, right?”

“If you repay that sacrifice by providing food and supplies to our tribe and the other two, even the seven tribes that haven’t surrendered will eventually yield.

As you said, we lack the resources and food to endure the winter.”

“The war has caused this, hasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

After thinking for a moment, Charlon questioned pointedly.

“But why ‘you’? Shouldn’t you address me as ‘Lady Charlon’?”

“Why bother? No one’s listening.”

“I’m listening!”

Demion stepped between them to calm both sides.

“Stop it. You two need to get along. How can you argue like this at a banquet meant for reconciliation?”

Jedric said nothing in response, and Charlon turned her gaze away with a dismissive snort.

Jedric casually continued his explanation.

“The luxurious meal you see today, though luxurious by our standards, was prepared by the combined efforts of the three tribes.”

Jedric’s slightly awkward pronunciation of Triton’s language sounded even more appealing as it resonated in the noisy banquet hall.

“Compared to this guy’s voice, my voice sounds like a child’s. Ikahm may look physically stronger, but he can’t beat his brother’s voice.”

“Then I should eat less from now on. The less I eat, the more food will be shared with the villagers, won’t it?”

Charlon asked while looking elsewhere.

“We want our guests to eat to their heart’s content and feel there’s no lack.”

“Then I’ve already acted impolitely. I’m so full I might have to loosen my belt.”

“That’s because you drank too much mead. Drink less alcohol and eat more food.”

“Why the alcohol?”

Charlon asked in a challenging tone.

“It’s a waste for someone like you, who can’t appreciate it, to drink it.”

“How can you assume I can’t appreciate it?”

“You said it’s strong and scratches your throat, didn’t you? If it’s not to your taste, then don’t drink it.”

Jedric downed his cup of alcohol in one go.

Charlon snorted again, exhaling sharply through her nose. She looked like she was angry but didn’t know how to contain it.

Demion, worried that their argument might escalate, awkwardly coughed and asked for more alcohol.

Charlon, as if to spite Jedric, took more mead and drank it, while Jedric competitively drank more as well.

“Hmm? Wait.”

A complex emotion stirred in his heart, hammering against his chest.

It felt as if his heart was pounding and echoing from a blow of a hammer.

“What’s going on? Did I drink too much?”

Demion lowered the horned cup he had been about to raise to his lips.

Charlon spoke to Jedric again in a challenging tone.

“When we met last time, you said you’d never meet me again. What do you plan to do now that we’re meeting like this?”

“What choice do I have?”

“So, you’re meeting me even though you don’t want to?”

“It’s my duty.”

“Fine, then let me help you fulfill that duty. Who are those people over there? Explain it quickly.”

Charlon pointed behind the bonfire.

“Who?”

Jedric, without showing any sign of displeasure, followed the direction of her hand.

Demion felt as if Charlon’s hand and Jedric’s gaze had connected.

A hand and a gaze... They weren’t even holding hands, so why did he feel this way?

“The men standing behind the chieftains and elders. They wouldn’t have let just anyone into this banquet hall. Those men who raised their cups earlier and shouted, ‘The king has emptied his cup.’”

“They’re Batu.”

“Batu?”

“It comes from the word ‘Barsatu.’ Have you heard of warriors who fight even after their heads are severed?”

“Berserkers! I’ve heard of them!”

“That’s Barsatu. The most outstanding warriors representing their tribes are called Batu. During war, they act as commanders leading their units, and now they’re responsible for persuading their warriors.”

“Persuade them? How?”

“Not all Geran people would obediently submit to an enemy they fought so fiercely against. Persuasion has to start from the top.”

“Is that advice from Chieftain Jedric to the prince?”

Charlon referred to Demion, gently placing her hand on his forearm. It was a signal that this was a three-way conversation, not just between her and Jedric.

Demion appreciated the small gesture.

Jedric nodded.

“It’s also General Terrdin’s idea.”

“How modest of you.”

“We take pride in never harming a guest we’ve invited and hosted, no matter how much of an enemy they are.

Once we’ve shared a drink and meal like this, we won’t fight for at least a year.”

“Then why are you fighting with me?”

“Is this what you call fighting?”

“Hmm.”

“......”

“Fine. Let’s move on. How do you guarantee that promise?”

“It’s a vow made to the god of war, Akamantum. It can never be broken.”

“Isn’t the god of war Mantum?”

“In our mythology, Akamantum once descended to this world in human form, and during that time, he was called Mantum.”

“That sounds like an interesting story. Can you tell it properly someday?”

“Anytime you want.”

Charlon quickly looked at Demion and added.

“Of course, with the prince as well.”

Demion coughed awkwardly and said.

“I’d like to hear it, too.”

He realized that he had inadvertently frowned.

“These two are just talking about Geran culture. Charlon is listening to gain knowledge she’ll need to govern this place.

If anything, I should have been the one asking and sharing the information with Charlon.

I shouldn’t be frowning while hearing this interesting story!”

Demion tried to steady himself by downing his mead.

As the liquor went down his throat and made him cough, he suddenly recognized the emotion stirring within him.

“Good heavens, I’m jealous, aren’t I?”