Shadow Oath

Chapter 10: The Curse

Terrdin did not mention the curse at all until Jedric was confined to the designated barracks.

He seemed indifferent to Ram’s death.

This left Ram feeling disappointed and surprised at himself for harboring such emotions. Even when Baron Selkon disregarded him, he had never felt this way.

Terrdin stood for a moment, gazing in the direction of the Scara Plain from which they had just come, lost in thought.

After a long pause, he spoke as if making a decision.

“I should visit the magicians.”

Assuming Terrdin meant for him to stay behind, Ram stood still.

Terrdin, however, gestured irritably for him to follow.

Only then did Ram comply.

Terrdin deliberately avoided cutting through the center of the barracks and instead walked along its outskirts in a circular route.

The allied camp’s barracks were divided by rank and status, with lower-ranking soldiers prohibited from entering areas designated for higher-ranking officers.

This was why Ram had struggled to obtain a leather pouch to carry Mantum’s head.

Naturally, General Terrdin didn’t need to invoke his authority to cross these boundaries. However, if he passed through the center, soldiers at work would have to stop and salute him hurriedly.

Soldiers eating their meals would have to halt mid-bite, regardless of whether their porridge cooled.

Cooks would cease their preparations even if their dishes burned, and healers would pause their care, even if a soldier’s life hung in the balance.

Ram had experienced this himself countless times.

Whenever the military command appeared, even resting soldiers had to leap to attention.

Count Badio, for instance, relished such occasions, frequently making his presence known, much to the disdain of the troops.

Terrdin, on the other hand, had never appeared in the lower-ranked soldiers’ quarters.

Ram had assumed this was because Terrdin disdained associating with such subordinates, but now he realized it was because Terrdin went out of his way to avoid causing unnecessary disruption.

“Did you understand everything said during the negotiations earlier?”

Terrdin asked as they walked.

Ram wasn’t accustomed to being asked questions by his master.

At first, he would dismissively respond with “no.” But he soon realized that Terrdin’s questions weren’t mere idle chatter; they were a pastime to stave off boredom.

From then on, Ram began answering honestly.

“I’m not familiar with the term ‘Elhorn.’”

“Even those fluent in Geran’s language don’t fully grasp that term. Conversely, I don’t know much Geran, but I am familiar with such words.”

Terrdin continued with a chuckle.

“The Gerans refer to the leader of a village, essentially a chieftain, as ‘Ehodin.’ While there are many villages in the north, not all have an Ehodin. Only ten tribes, representing ten villages, have Ehodin leaders. These ten Ehodins collectively select a high chieftain, referred to as ‘Elhorn,’ during times of great importance. It’s not a permanent position. The Elhorn is chosen only when all villages must unite for a significant matter. In our language, it roughly translates to ‘High Chieftain.’”

“I thought the Gerans called their representative ‘Mantum.’”

“That ties into their mythology and is a bit more complicated. An Elhorn isn’t exclusively elected for war. They may also be chosen during major famines requiring food distribution or when punishing an entire village. However, when foreign invasions like ours occur…”

Terrdin smiled bitterly as he uttered the word “ours.”

“…they give the Elhorn the title ‘Mantum,’ named after their god of war. I don’t fully understand this myself, so when you have the opportunity, ask that young Elhorn. Also, if you need to translate these terms for someone like Badio, who might dislike hearing foreign words, just use ‘Chieftain’ and ‘High Chieftain’ in our language.”

“Yes, General. I think it might be helpful to teach that Elhorn to use the terms ‘Chieftain’ and ‘High Chieftain’ himself.”

“That’s a good idea. Although the boy doesn’t seem like one to speak much…”

“There’s one more thing I’d like to ask.”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s less of a question and more of a doubt—a suspicion, perhaps.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Isn’t he too young to be a High Chieftain?”

“What part of that makes you suspicious?”

Terrdin’s tone was probing.

“The Gerans value combat above all else. At least, that’s my understanding. I’ve heard they refuse to serve those who haven’t fought. But that young High Chieftain doesn’t appear to have any battle experience. His arms, legs, and face bear no scars. I’ve also heard that even those without scars will deliberately inflict them on themselves as a mark of honor. To see such a clean-skinned, young boy elevated to High Chieftain feels odd—like a deception.”

“How did you come to such a conclusion?”

“I apologize.”

“I’m not reprimanding you. I’m impressed. I’ve commanded countless slaves and soldiers, but slaves, in particular, don’t tend to think like that. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say they can’t. Even regular soldiers rarely think that way. That’s why I asked how you came to such an observation.”

Ram remained unsure whether Terrdin was praising or scolding him.

“I wasn’t trying to overthink it.”

“I know. Your suspicion stems from a very simple principle. Still, arriving at such an idea is remarkable. Speaking it aloud, however, is an entirely different matter. Did Baron Selkon teach you much?”

“My former master rarely taught me directly. However, he often took me along, so I learned by observing other nobles’ lives.”

Terrdin let out an intrigued hum.

“Your suspicion mirrors my own. The Gerans don’t accept anyone as a Chieftain without war experience. Even the son of a Chieftain must start as a low-ranking soldier and survive numerous battles to prove himself. If leading the tribal alliance as a High Chieftain, the standards would naturally be even higher. Only someone like Adian, who repeatedly repelled the Triton Kingdom’s army and even the Empire’s forces, could truly deserve the title ‘Mantum.’”

“Then, he’s a fake?”

“There’s definitely some hidden agenda at play.”

“So, you accepted it despite knowing that?”

“Whether I knowingly accepted it or had no other choice is debatable. Could I have simply told him, ‘You seem fake, so go back home’?”

The magicians’ tent was located at the far end of the commanders’ section, at the safest point farthest from the enemy.

Ram had patrolled there a few times but had never realized it was where the magicians resided.

Like others, he imagined magicians lurking in shadows, transformed into ravens or frogs.

“Between us, I don’t like magicians,” Terrdin said, lowering his voice as they neared the tent.

“They’re here only to boost morale. At least they’re honest. After one victory long ago, I asked them what they had accomplished, and they replied, ‘We did nothing.’ That’s why they’re here again.”

The logic was hard to follow.

“They admitted to doing nothing, and you still brought them along?”

“If they say they did nothing in a war where everyone scrambles to claim credit, that means they’re capable of something extraordinary. Overseeing troops from countless nobles makes such nuances clear—whether someone’s honesty stems from genuine confidence or empty bravado.”

“Then, about magic…”

Ram hesitated, unsure if it was appropriate to ask. However, seeing Terrdin’s expectant gaze, he rushed to finish his question.

“Does magic really exist?”

At the same time, he was also asking if curses were real.

“What do you think?”

Terrdin turned the question back to him.

“Young Master Zenri used to complain during battles about not seeing any magicians. He’d yell about how meteors, blazing forests, or frozen rivers would make war much easier.”

“I didn’t ask for your master’s opinion.”

“Yes, I’ve heard such comments hundreds of times, but I’ve never believed them.”

Ram recalled the time Baron Selkon had ordered him to assassinate a witch.

Even then, he had wondered if she truly possessed magical powers.

He never found out.

He had never failed to strike before his opponent could retaliate.

Terrdin nodded.

“Let’s see what those who may or may not wield magic have to say about your curse, which may or may not exist.”

Terrdin entered the magicians’ tent.

Reluctantly, Ram followed.

Bursting into the tent, Terrdin shouted, “Magicians!”

There were two magicians: one elderly and one young.

“If I recall correctly, you warned me about something at the start of this war. What was it?”

The magicians, unhurried despite Terrdin’s urgency, first bowed respectfully.

“We should start by explaining our role. Do you have time for that?” asked the elder magician.

“There’s enough time, but not by your standards,” Terrdin replied.

“Please, have a seat.”

The elder magician brought out one chair and addressed Ram.

“You may leave now.”

Ram looked to Terrdin for instructions.

“He’s my shadow. Let him stay.”

“Do not use the term ‘shadow’ lightly here. In lands steeped in curses and spirits, even a single word carries great weight.”

“Don’t use the word ‘warning’ lightly in front of me.”

It was the first time Ram had seen Terrdin this sharp.

“Can I share military secrets in front of him?” the magician asked for confirmation.

“He can hear everything.”

The elder magician gestured for the younger one to act.

The younger magician nodded and fetched two sacks filled with powders.

The elder magician took a handful from each sack and scattered the contents in a circular pattern on the earthen floor.

One was colored ash; the other was crushed stone.

The powders mingled midair before settling slowly to the ground.

The magician watched the powders settle with what felt like excessive patience.

“The Gerans use dozens of tools for their curses, but these two powders are central. I’ve kept them since this war began to understand our enemy better.”

Terrdin, uninterested, glanced at the powders and asked, “What can you do with them?”

His tone sounded less like a question and more like a jab at their usefulness.

“I’ve heard they’re used for death curses, but I don’t know how they work or if they even exist.”

Terrdin exhaled loudly.

“You magicians always claim ignorance.”

“That’s true. But ignorance is the starting point for observation and research.”

“Not knowing to know… I like that idea. So, have you figured anything out?”

“Unfortunately, nothing about these powders.”

The elder magician stirred the powders again, letting them rise into the air.

The mixture seemed to draw patterns before settling.

Ram watched in wonder, while Terrdin waved the dust away impatiently.

“We cannot cast spells powerful enough to change the tide of a war. The enemy’s sorcerers are no different. But there is one critical distinction: they can kill with magic.”

“Can’t you?”

“It’s both forbidden and beyond our capabilities.”

“Won’t the soldiers be disappointed to hear that?”

“We’ve told them repeatedly. Still, they come asking if we can kill their enemies or Mantum. Even a noble once made such a request.”

“A noble?”

Terrdin frowned.

“Who?”

“Count Badio.”

“And what did you say?”

“The same thing we tell everyone—we can’t kill. He left angry, not because we couldn’t, but because he thought we were refusing to.”

Terrdin scratched his neck.

“The enemy sorcerers, though—they can kill?”

“Yes. Death curses exist.”

In a voice feigning nonchalance but laden with intensity, Terrdin asked, “So, can you confirm? Can curses kill?”

“There are many ways to do it…”

The elder magician nodded slowly, repeatedly.

“Yes. They can.”