Shadow Oath

Chapter 38: Tue. Icarum (2)

‘I already knew Stuga picked up Maraka’s dagger. I was so distracted that I let it pass. I should have told him not to bring it in here.’

Jedric worried that the situation might take a bad turn.

Even when Ikahm pointed out the dagger, Stuga didn’t show any signs of surprise.

He hadn’t snuck it in and gotten caught.

In the first place, he wasn’t asked to disarm when entering the room, and he was still wearing a larger sword.

He likely didn’t think carrying an additional dagger was unusual.

So, when he pulled the dagger from his belt, he didn’t hesitate.

“Earlier, Hak, dagger, this. Returning it...”

He drew the blade and took a step toward Ikahm.

Naturally, this also brought him closer to the other elders and Ehodins.

The elderly figures in the room stood up in unison.

Sensing the tension, Stuga immediately stopped in his tracks.

He stepped back to his original spot to show he meant no harm.

He even placed Maraka’s dagger calmly on the palm of his hand, making no further movements.

Ikahm raised his hand, signaling everyone to calm down.

“The meeting is over. Everyone, leave. Jeje and the Southerner, stay for a moment.”

“What about Stuga? Why him?”

Jedric added, as if issuing a warning.

“He’s the prince’s Stuga. He must not cause harm.”

“I know. I just have a few questions to ask him.”

The elders and the two Ehodins left the small hall without complaint, relieved to get away from Maraka’s dagger.

Once everyone had left, only the three of them remained in the room.

The door shut tightly.

“If the Southerner doesn’t understand what I’m saying, Jeje, you interpret. Same goes the other way.”

Jedric nodded, and Ikahm continued.

“That dagger is what Maraka used for curses. Do you know that?”

Stuga placed the dagger on the ground.

“Curse, don’t know. Dropped, picked it up, brought it, to return.”

His speech was still halting.

It wasn’t because he was intimidated by Ikahm’s sharp tone.

Without looking at the dagger on the floor, Ikahm spoke.

“Keep it.”

Stuga, unsure if he’d understood correctly, looked to Jedric.

Jedric, also puzzled, asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s better to say ‘keep carrying it’ than ‘keep it.’”

Stuga looked confused and made no move to pick up the blade.

Ikahm elaborated further.

“That dagger carries Maraka’s curse. Hak’s dagger can harm anyone except Hak himself.

There’s a belief that it brings death to anyone else who carries it.

I don’t want to keep such a cursed blade.

But I also can’t recklessly discard it.

And I certainly can’t return the dagger to Maraka, whom we’ve decided to imprison.

It’s better if the person who first carried it continues to do so.”

‘Better? How is that better? No one would want to keep such a thing!’

I wanted to argue, but Ikahm never reversed his decisions.

So instead, I decided to explain the situation to Stuga and ask him what he wanted to do.

However, it seemed he had already understood Ikahm’s words, as he picked the dagger up from the floor.

As always, he accepted what was said to him without question.

‘He used to be a slave, didn’t he? Is that why he doesn’t know how to refuse orders?

Technically, Ikahm isn’t even his superior.’

Ikahm was carefully observing Stuga’s movements as he picked up the dagger.

He seemed entertained.

It was rare to see such an expression on Ikahm’s face.

“The uncursed one.”

Ikahm murmured.

Both Stuga and Jedric looked at Ikahm.

Ikahm, resting his chin on his hand, was smiling.

“When Hak Maraka’s curse failed to affect Mantum, he said this: ‘The one who killed Mantum is the uncursed one.’

You’re holding the dagger, yet it doesn’t harm you at all.”

Stuga didn’t respond; he merely tucked the dagger into his belt.

“If you find it difficult to deal with that dagger, seek out Hagra Olga.

She can break the curse within it.

Jeje will guide you.

Make sure it doesn’t end up anywhere else.

I don’t want curses spreading through my village.”

Stuga nodded.

“You may leave now.”

At Ikahm’s words, Stuga gave a brief nod and left the room.

Jedric started to follow him but stopped.

“Do you have nothing to say to me?”

Ikahm replied in a relaxed tone.

“You’re supposed to come to me.”

“My answer is ‘I don’t know yet.’”

“Then I have nothing to say either.”

Ikahm spoke in the same laid-back posture, chin still resting on his hand.

The urgency and excitement from earlier, when he stormed out of the main hall, were gone.

‘Father used to say that to lead a group, a chief must hide his emotions, always maintaining restraint and composure.

But he must not have realized there’s an opposite approach.

Like my brother, who always acts hurried and angry.

That excitement lets him conceal himself.’

The elders who dared to point out Father’s mistakes would never do the same to Ikahm.

If he lost his temper, he would decapitate his opponent in a fit of rage.

Then he’d admit his outburst and apologize.

Because of this, people were cautious around Ikahm.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that even his outbursts were calculated.

‘My brother always seems angry, but he’s colder than anyone else.

Even his anger is deliberate.’

Jedric opened the door and stepped out.

Stuga was waiting outside.

“Go ahead. I’ll follow shortly.”

“Understood.”

Stuga confirmed that he had left, and Jedric closed the door to the small hall.

His brother was still sitting there.

“Maraka barging into the banquet has nothing to do with you, right?”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ikahm responded with a sharp, piercing gaze.

Jedric shrank under his brother’s intense stare.

‘When I was a child, just one look like that could make me cry. He never once apologized for it.’

The only reason he could talk back to Ikahm now was thanks to years of effort.

“I’m asking if you planned to kill Prince Demion for Father’s revenge.”

“If I had intended to kill the prince, do you think I’d use Maraka to cast some silly curse?

Even if there were a hundred southern men in iron armor and I had no weapon in hand, I would have strangled the prince to death.

Right now, my priority isn’t spilling the prince’s blood. It’s saving the villagers.”

He deliberately added the word “priority.”

Then what are you planning to do later?

“Prince Demion must return safely, without even a scratch.”

“Why? Have you grown attached to him?”

Ikahm asked mockingly.

“No. I’m saying this for the same reason you are.

The Kingdom of Triton hasn’t even used a tenth of its total forces in this war.

The king sent only that many troops under General Terrdin to attack here.

But if Prince Demion dies, the entire army will come.

And if Lady Charlon, whom we saw today, is injured, twice as many troops will come from Borne.

Those two must remain unharmed.”

“I know.”

Ikahm growled as he continued.

“Father knew he would lose.

He fought in the frontlines just to show his final pride.

That’s why he always fought in the deadliest positions.

And that’s why he told me to surrender if he fell…”

“Father said that?”

Jedric asked, startled.

Ikahm turned his head as if he regretted saying too much.

He avoided looking at his brother and spoke without turning back.

“Return to the banquet hall, Jeje.

Persuade the prince. We can’t have our future ruler upset.”

Jedric couldn’t ask any more questions and had no choice but to return to the banquet hall as his brother ordered.

‘Then what is my role now?’

Jedric still remembered the instructions Ikahm had given when he assumed the role of chieftain.

He was deliberating when and how to bring them up—or even whether he should.

But now Ikahm was acting as if that plan no longer existed.

‘Jeje, after you surrender as chieftain and are taken hostage, you’ll have one task.’

Ikahm seemed willing to sacrifice the entire village if necessary.

‘Find out who killed Father!’

Ram thought all his worries would end once he handed Maraka’s dagger to Ikahm.

But that wasn’t the case.

‘Tomorrow, when you go to the barbarians’ village, you will find the barbarian’s dagger...’

Ram couldn’t stop recalling the words the sorcerer Kura had spoken the previous day.

‘…And there will be a moment when Illiam is alone. Strike then…’

Ram placed his hand on Hak Maraka’s dagger, which hung at his waist.

Though it was said to be cursed, even just touching it felt like a sharp pain stabbing his head.

He knew the pain was due to his worries, but it felt like a curse regardless.

‘Maraka was clearly targeting Prince Demion with this dagger.’

Ram thought back to the moment Maraka threw the dagger, which was stained with blood and powder.

It didn’t seem like he aimed precisely.

The dagger merely fell to the ground and slid across the floor.

All Ram did was stop it with his foot.

A bloodstained dagger? So what?

Ram had handled much worse blades before.

In this very battlefield, he had been soaked in the blood of countless enemies.

Magic powder? The smell was the same as when two sorcerers had once demonstrated the difference between sorcery and magic by scattering powder.

That was all.

It didn’t seem harmful.

What bothered Ram wasn’t the blood, powder, or dagger.

It was Maraka’s gaze.

Until the royal knights and the Geran elders restrained him, Maraka had been staring at Ram with a strange look.

‘I’ve seen that gaze before.’

When carrying out assassinations, it was standard to avoid being seen by the target.

But on occasions where the Selkon lord ordered Ram to “make sure the target knows who sent you,” Ram had to reveal himself.

He would often wait for his target in the most familiar places.

The best spot was always the bedroom.

When an unfamiliar figure appeared in what was supposed to be a private, secure space, the first reaction was always confusion.

Fear came next.

As the target wondered who this person was and why they were there, their emotions grew more chaotic.

Maraka’s gaze mirrored that.

When he threw the dagger at the prince, his expression had been one of grim determination.

But the moment Ram stopped the dagger with his foot, Maraka looked at him as if he were a target meeting his assassin.

That expression always held the same questions.

Who are you?

Why are you here?

The words Maraka muttered as he was dragged away were suspicious too.

He had been murmuring incomprehensible phrases since the start of the ritual.

So Ram assumed his final words were more of the same.

But Ram understood them.

Those words weren’t in some ancient language.

They were in the Geran tongue.

‘Kill the Tanu.’

It was so chaotic at the time, and Maraka’s voice so low, that few would have heard him.

Even if someone did, they wouldn’t have paid attention in such a dire situation.

‘He was clearly speaking to me.’

After that, the banquet’s atmosphere had cooled, and the sudden chieftains’ meeting left Ram no chance to investigate.

‘Kill the Tanu? What’s a Tanu? Did I hear him correctly?’

Ram hadn’t been able to ask Ikahm or Jedric about it and now found himself back in the banquet hall.

‘It seems Maraka didn’t actually intend to harm Prince Demion. He had another goal.

And Ikahm likely shares that goal.

But there’s no way their intentions are good.’

Ram wanted to discuss this matter.

But who could he trust to share such a secret?