Shadow's Oath

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

w

Chapter 36: Hak

Just as Damion was about to ask Jedrick to tell him more about the myths of the North, the main door of the banquet hall swung open.

Until now, only the side doors had been used during the banquet.

These were the doors used by servants to bring food and drink.

The main door that Damion had entered through when he first arrived had remained shut ever since, never opening even once.

It was simply too large and cumbersome to move, and the creaking sound it made was unpleasantly loud.

But now, that door was opening.

An old man stepped inside.

His attire was markedly different from the other Geron people.

Instead of a hat or helmet, he wore the stripped hide of a wolf’s head on one side of his head.

One of his shoulders was draped with what appeared to be the pelt of a bear, while the other shoulder was bare, exposed to the air.

His lower body was covered by a piece of leather so short it barely concealed his modesty.

In truth, it was more accurate to say it “covered” rather than “clothed” him.

With his gaunt legs, the old man made his way to the central bonfire.

Other drunken Geron men noticed him and moved to block his path.

Even Damion could sense the tension, so there was no way the vigilant Triton knights could miss it.

They simultaneously shifted into a stance to draw their swords.

One of the elders shouted something.

His voice was low, and it was spoken in the Geron tongue, making it incomprehensible.

But Damion could tell what the man was being called; not only the elder, but the other Geron men, too, were shouting a similar name.

“Hak!”

Damion faintly recalled an explanation Jedrick had given him.

In Geron villages, there is usually one shaman who represents the people.

Male shamans are called Hak, and female shamans are called Hag.

Some villages have both, while others may have only one.

In the village of Elum, both a Hak and a Hag existed, and the name of the Hak was...

‘Maraka!’

Everyone was shouting at him, saying something.

It seemed like a warning, a threat, or perhaps an attempt to stop him.

‘So, this must be the unpredictable incident my father was worried about.’

Maraka did not resist as the Geron men tried to restrain him.

If pushed, he stumbled; if grabbed, he allowed himself to be shaken.

Yet, the old man’s gaze was fixed on Damion from across the bonfire.

Maraka reached into a pouch at his waist.

When he withdrew his hand, it was clutching a handful of powder.

At this, the surrounding elders gasped in shock and hurriedly stepped back.

“Shadow! Guard the prince!”

For the first time, Terdin, who had been sitting silently by the fire, spoke sharply.

When Maraka had appeared, Terdin had been reclining in one of the central seats around the bonfire.

He was, of anyone present, the person most threatened by the Geron people, yet he had been eating leisurely, listening to the elders’ conversations, and casually observing the hall.

But the moment the old shaman tossed the powder into the bonfire, Terdin leapt to his feet.

The powder burst into flames, forming strange shapes in the air.

At first, it looked like a distorted sphere, but soon the shape became more defined.

It looked like a palm, or perhaps a black-winged bird.

It was not the black smoke of roasting meat.

Maraka raised his voice and drew something from his waist.

It was a dagger.

Its hilt was unusual. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

From a distance, it was difficult to see clearly, as it was dark in color, but it looked less like a blade and more like a branch bristling with thorns.

The Hak cut his own palm with the dagger.

Blood flowed from his hand, and he plunged it into the pouch as he chanted incomprehensible words.

His bloodshot eyes were red, as if they might bleed themselves.

When Maraka withdrew his hand from the pouch, it was coated in bloodied powder.

Gripping the dagger with his powdered hand, he threw it toward Damion.

‘Good heavens, is he trying to hit me with that dagger?’

Some of the Triton knights rushed into the chaos, and one managed to grab Maraka’s hand and pin him down.

But the dagger had already been thrown.

Clang.

The dagger fell to the floor.

That was all.

The throw was far too weak to have been intended to strike Damion.

It barely made it past the bonfire, landing six or seven steps away on a stone seat.

Even if it had reached Damion, his armor would have stopped it.

If he had been alert, he could have dodged it easily.

The only thing disconcerting about the dagger was its mysterious powder and bloodstains.

The dagger slid a little closer to Damion across the stone floor.

Even then, someone stopped it with their foot.

It was Shadow.

He picked up the dagger and naturally positioned himself in front of Damion.

The situation was already under control.

Two elders were holding Maraka’s arms down, shouting at him.

A Triton knight had drawn his sword and was pointing it at the shaman.

Perhaps because the tension had briefly subsided, the knights were more agitated than ever.

Some seemed ready to strike the shaman down on their own authority.

Among the Geron men drinking leisurely near the wall, especially the Batu warriors, several stepped forward.

Knights and Batu warriors mingled near the bonfire.

Though both sides were trying to stop the old shaman, the noise and the fiery glow of the bonfire made it look as if a brawl might break out at any moment.

This place was like a beehive where a single mistake could lead to disaster.

Both the Geron warriors and the knights were young men eager to show off their skills and strength.

Damion shouted.

“Everyone, stop!”

Almost simultaneously, Ikarum shouted as well, likely saying the same thing.

The Triton knights stopped, and so did the Batu warriors.

They were just short of physical conflict.

The two elders continued to hold Maraka down, refusing to let go.

But his mouth was not bound, so the Hak kept shouting.

“What is he saying now?”

Damion asked.

“I… I don’t know.”

Jedrick replied.

"What?"

"It's not our language."

At that moment, Ikarum shouted angrily. It sounded like a name.

"Albo!"

Immediately, one of the Batu warriors approached and grabbed Hak's nape.

As the two elders holding the shaman's arms stepped back, a man named Albo pressed Hak's neck to the ground with one hand.

The shaman elder was pinned to the stone floor, unable to breathe or move.

Albo extended his hand to the Triton knight, shouting something that sounded like a demand for a sword.

The Triton knight turned his gaze to the prince, silently asking if he should comply.

Prince Damion, caught off guard by the sudden situation, looked to Jedrick.

Jedrick quickly translated.

"The Ikarum chieftain has declared that Hak’s insult will be repaid with death."

Damion hesitated, glancing at Ikarum.

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

w

'What am I supposed to do? Do I already have the authority to pass judgment as a conqueror?'

Someday, when he became the ruler of this land, such judgments would indeed fall to him.

He had prepared himself for this responsibility and was willing to take it.

If Triton's ancient laws required the king to personally execute a criminal, he was ready for that too.

But he hadn't expected the moment to come like this—so suddenly and so chaotically.

Damion realized he wasn't the only one taken aback.

Even General Terdin was at a loss, simply staring at the prince without offering advice.

Could such an act take place during a feast?

Should he stop it for now?

Or let it proceed?

On reflection, the chieftain had already delivered an immediate judgment.

The sentence was decided; now it was merely a question of execution.

Should he comply?

If he stopped it, Ikarum's authority would be undermined, but letting it proceed could have grave consequences.

As Damion hesitated for a moment, Albo nearly snatched the knight's sword.

Then Charlon shouted.

"Stop!"

The noisy banquet hall fell silent in an instant.

"What did that man just say that warrants his death?"

At Charlon's words, Damion regained his composure and asked,

"What did the elder just say? Jedrick mentioned it wasn’t in their language. And what about the powder he threw into the fire? I must know what he intended before we proceed with an execution."

When Jedrick translated his words, Ikarum looked back and forth between Charlon and Damion with a face full of anger.

Then he muttered something briefly, and Jedrick quickly relayed it.

"He says it doesn’t matter. The fact that this man has shed his own blood and uttered words of a curse is reason enough for death."

"I’m asking specifically about the curse he uttered."

Damion emphasized again.

Ikarum appeared both angry and troubled.

Jedrick hesitated to translate the elder's words, clearly uncertain.

"He spoke not in their language but in an ancient tongue mixed with ritual terms, which makes it difficult to convey directly."

What difficulty could there be?

Surely, it was a curse against the conquerors of his village and the killers of his king.

Damion began to regain his composure.

"Tell them this clearly: whatever words he spoke will not break our agreement or place any responsibility on the Ikarum chieftain. Assure them of this."

Though still visibly angry, Ikarum could not refuse Damion's request.

He instructed one of the elders to explain.

The elder, hesitant and wary, spoke to Jedrick, who eventually conveyed the message to Damion after a lengthy process:

"The curse says: 'The restless spirits of Mantum will linger in this hall and descend upon the barbarian conquerors from the south. The curse will kill all of you. A bloodstorm from the north will engulf everyone...'"

Maintaining a composed face, Damion pointed at the fire.

"And the bloodletting and powder—what were they for?"

"It appears to have been a ritual to summon spirits,"

Jedrick replied.

Damion scoffed.

"I don’t believe in such superstitions. What do you think, Lady Charlon?"

He assumed Charlon might be frightened by the commotion, but her expression was calmer than anyone else’s in the room.

"I, too, have never seen people die from mere rituals. We came here as conquerors, killing and trampling over them. Despite the peaceful negotiations, it's not surprising for someone to lash out with such curses. More importantly, one cannot execute someone for a few words."

"Jedrick, I wonder if you can relay such elegant words into Geronese,"

Damion said confidently.

Jedrick did his best to translate appropriately.

Ikarum asked several times for confirmation, visibly displeased as he received the interpretation.

Jedrick translated Ikarum’s response.

"But no punishment at all would be unacceptable. Throwing a blade during a feast for guests is inexcusable."

"Then let me ask: what is your procedure for such matters? Surely, you don’t have a custom of executing someone on the spot without a trial?"

Ikarum replied, and Jedrick translated.

"We hold a village trial to resolve such issues."

"I’ve heard of these trials—public gatherings in the village square. Then let it be so."

"The trial will take place at sunrise tomorrow. We do not hold trials at night; the gods must witness them."

"So do we,"

Damion replied, refraining from joking about his own land’s judges simply being off duty.

"I permit it. May justice be fair."

Damion spoke as if bidding farewell in advance, for he had no intention of intervening or even observing the trial.

After all, he planned to leave this place once the feast ended.

Whether the trial occurred tomorrow or next month made no difference to him.

He also didn’t care about the outcome.

As long as it happened out of his sight, he had no intention of interfering, even if Hak Maraka was executed.

Once Damion made his decision, Albo and two Geron warriors escorted Hak Maraka out of the banquet hall.

Maraka muttered something as he left, but it was barely audible.

‘Summoning spirits to cast a curse?’

Damion scoffed.

‘I don’t believe in such nonsense. Paying attention to every little ritual like that would make ruling this land impossible.’

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

w