Shadow Oath

Chapter 2: Ram

“There’s something I’ve always been curious about. Why does Father call you a death-bringing slave?”

Zenri asked.

“Because many people around me tend to die,” Ram replied.

“How many, exactly?”

“I’m not sure. Whenever someone near me dies, people say my misfortune brought about their death.”

“Superstition, huh? Isn’t it?”

“That’s what they say.”

“Is it some kind of curse?”

“That’s also what they say.”

“You always talk like that, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard that said about me quite often.”

“Are you mocking me right now?”

“No, Young Master.”

Ram responded politely, but Zenri felt his irritation boiling.

‘He is mocking me.’

Zenri stared at him.

The boy was always bowing his head to Zenri, so all Zenri could see was the top of his head.

It was a sight Zenri was very familiar with.

‘Is he hiding an annoyed expression right now?’

Zenri shouted.

“Lift your head.”

The boy immediately obeyed and raised his head.

In the darkness, illuminated only by moonlight, his expression was hard to make out.

Even his facial features were unclear.

Zenri had never paid enough attention to remember what the boy looked like, even now as he observed him.

But one thing was certain: it was an unpleasant face.

A slave should look broken or defective in some way, yet this boy had none of that.

His teeth were straight, with no gaps or missing spots.

That was impossible for a slave—he must have stolen food to maintain them.

His short, thick black hair was another annoyance.

Unlike Zenri’s father, Sir Selken, who was destined to go bald one day, Zenri’s hairline was secure, but he still found Ram’s hair infuriating.

At least his appearance wasn’t masculine enough to attract women.

His jawline was too thin, making him look weak.

A man’s jaw should be square to be impressive, but this boy’s was triangular.

His eyebrows should have been thick, but they were too thin.

Compared to Zenri’s own perfect appearance, Ram’s lack of any appealing features was pitiful, even laughable.

How could anyone live looking like that?

But then again, he was a slave.

There was one exception, though—his height.

Ram was a whole hand taller than Zenri.

So when standing beside Zenri, he had no choice but to bow his head or kneel.

Even now, Ram knelt on one knee, his head raised.

Zenri tried to read the boy’s expressionless face and tightly pressed lips.

‘He’s insulting me. Mocking me, surely.’

That’s just what slaves do.

And that meant he deserved punishment.

Zenri slapped him.

Ram immediately lowered his head and said, “I apologize.”

Zenri didn’t know what exactly he was apologizing for, but the boy’s submissive attitude made Zenri feel slightly better.

“You’re a revolting thing. Really, the idea of sending someone like you to serve me on the battlefield—Father must be out of his mind.”

Zenri grumbled.

Time was short.

“You’re so stupid, I feel like I have to explain this one more time.”

Zenri felt a pang of self-loathing for having to state the obvious, but what choice did he have?

Slaves were dumb, and it took time to teach them anything.

“Our kingdom of Triton was invaded a hundred years ago…”

He hesitated.

Was it two hundred years?

That seemed right.

But what did it matter? A slave wouldn’t know history anyway.

“…by those barbarians. And at the time, the great King Perrinto…”

Was it Perrinto? Or Perriant?

“…fought valiantly to the death, but we lost two northern islands and the Crescent Grasslands. Now, the greatest general in Triton’s history, General Terdin, is waging war to drive out those barbarians—the Geran.”

Or was it Geraon?

What did it matter? The boy wouldn’t know.

Zenri cleared his throat.

“Are you following so far?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong answer.”

Ram quickly corrected himself.

“I’m trying to understand.”

“That’s better. You people are slaves for a reason. Because you’re lazy and don’t try, you’ll always work beneath others. Status is sacred, bestowed by the gods and maintained through effort. Do you understand?”

“Thank you for teaching me.”

“Now, tell me, how long have we been on this battlefield?”

“About three months and fifteen days.”

“So, just under a hundred days, right?”

“…Yes?”

“Ah! I forgot—you can’t count.”

“…I’m sorry. I haven’t learned how to calculate numbers yet.”

“A month has thirty days. Fifteen days is half a month. If you add thirty three times, then add fifteen, what does that make?”

“…I’m not sure. It feels like it’s just under a hundred days.”

“Good. Now, how many battles have we been in during that time?”

“Three small battles, and one large battle a week ago.”

The last one had been truly massive.

All of their forces and all of the enemy’s forces had clashed.

Even the elite troops that had been kept in reserve were deployed.

As a noble soldier, Zenri had been stationed at the rear, but even there, the enemy had poured in.

“How many of those filthy barbarians did I kill?”

Ram hesitated.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“Uh, well…”

Ram fumbled his words awkwardly, looking confused and unsure.

It was infuriating.

“If you killed an enemy, whose credit would it be?”

Zenri gave him a hint, reluctantly.

Finally, Ram understood and answered.

“It would be your credit, Young Master.”

“Then how many did I kill?”

“Around fifteen, I believe.”

“Despite that many kills, what kind of recognition did I receive?”

“None.”

“Exactly! None!”

Zenri, his excitement rising, continued speaking.

“Killing a few enemy grunts won’t earn you glory. It won’t win the war! Even if I cut down one or two enemy leaders, it’s not enough for my efforts to be recognized. Winning a skirmish or two won’t end this war either. I need to return to my estate—there’s too much to do!”

His father had plenty to pass down to Zenri, his only son.

The fifth-largest estate in the Kingdom of Triton, Raorn, with its vast lands producing abundant wheat, over a hundred private soldiers, and more than thirty slaves—all of it would be his.

What Zenri was most eager for, however, was marriage.

That was the key to inheriting it all.

Even if he couldn’t take everything immediately, he would start with the eastern lands of Raorn.

The rest would follow once his father passed away.

He hoped that day would come sooner rather than later.

Rumor had it that a stunning beauty from a neighboring estate had already fallen for him.

Zenri wanted to return to display his bravery to her.

He wanted to marry her as quickly as possible.

Of course, he would need to meet the village maidens beforehand.

‘When I return victorious from war, clad in armor and riding my horse, they’ll all be enchanted by me.

Not all of them, but surely a few can be lured into my bed before marriage.’

He was impatient.

“But there’s a way to end this war—one that only I have thought of! It’s simple: kill the barbarian leader, Mantum!”

“Young Master, your voice…”

Ram, visibly uneasy, glanced around.

He resembled a frightened dog, trembling as if he might soil himself at any moment.

“How could no one think of such a straightforward plan? Well, of course, they wouldn’t!”

“Young Master!”

“What now? Why are you looking around like that?”

“It’s too quiet here. I fear our voices might carry.”

“Fool! Look around—there’s no one here. What are you so afraid of?”

Zenri spoke confidently, though he was suddenly reminded of their surroundings.

The area was a desolate field of reeds, with only the faint moonlight piercing the dark night.

They were precisely in the middle ground between the enemy and allied camps.

“Have you discussed this plan with anyone else?”

Ram asked cautiously.

“I have.”

“And what did they say?”

“They laughed at me.”

When Zenri had brought up the idea to other noble youths, knights, and commanders, they had treated him like a lunatic.

It was unavoidable.

As his father always said, extraordinary people were misunderstood by the ordinary.

Even now, the memory filled him with such indignation that he unknowingly shed a tear.

Sixteen years old, and crying—how shameful.

Zenri pretended to gaze at the moon to dry his tears.

“Adian Mantum is the great chieftain who united all the barbarian tribes. I hear even his name, Mantum, comes from the war god they worship. If we kill a man who bears the name of their god, their unity and morale will collapse. The war might not end immediately, but they’ll surrender soon after!”

Mantum was a figure of terror, even among their troops.

Not only did he command from the rear, but he also led charges on the battlefield, swinging his massive battle axe like a thunderbolt.

He cut down armored knights of Triton as though they were mere practice dummies.

Infantry who tried to stab him from beneath his horse were felled like ripe millet.

The kingdom’s greatest knights, hailed as invincible, fell one after another trying to challenge him.

Each time one fell, allied morale plummeted.

If Mantum could be slain, the barbarians would crumble!

“This is why you must bring back Mantum’s head.”

Zenri lowered his voice dramatically.

This was the art of rhetoric.

It wasn’t just about words but about mastering the ebb and flow of tone.

Not that an ignorant slave like Ram could appreciate it.

“The plan is simple.”

Zenri explained it plainly, adjusting to Ram’s level.

“You’ll sneak into the enemy camp and cut off Mantum’s head. You’re good at such things, aren’t you? Even if Father kept it a secret, I know.”

Ram nodded without a word.

“Once you bring me the head, leave the rest to me. See? Simple, isn’t it? Even your thick skull can understand that, right?”

Ram nodded again.

His expression was unreadable—it was unclear whether he didn’t understand or had objections.

To motivate him, Zenri added an incentive.

“Of course, I’ll reward you. You can pick any woman from the village to marry. But not one who’s too pretty. You must remember, you can only marry a woman I choose for you. Among the ones I select, you can pick anyone.”

“Thank you.”

Ram replied in a tone devoid of any expectation for the reward.

Zenri found his lack of enthusiasm displeasing but could do little about it.

Slaves didn’t need rewards.

They should be willing to give their lives for their masters in exchange for a single meal a day.

“When do we cross?”

Zenri asked, weary from walking.

“We need to cross that stream,” Ram said, pointing to a dark, wide body of water.

“That’s a stream? If it’s twenty steps across, it should be called a river! And it looks deep, too.”

“You’ll have to cross it.”

“Where’s the boat?”

“There isn’t one.”

“Did you fail to prepare?”

“I’m sorry. If we used a boat, we might be spotted….”

Zenri raised his hand to slap Ram again but stopped himself.

He remembered.

The battle a week ago had been fought because of this very stream.

A commander had summarized it succinctly:

The war dragged on because of this modestly wide and deep stream.

If it hadn’t existed, the war would’ve ended within half a year, whether by their victory or the enemy’s.

But now, the conflict was entering its third year.

Their army wanted to establish a forward camp beyond the stream to wage battles on the northern plains.

For that, they needed to seize the western ford of the riverbank and use boats to launch a swift northern advance.

Of course, the enemy knew this and had fiercely resisted.

As a result, a massive battle had erupted.

The boats they had brought were burned by enemy fire arrows.

The enemy’s boats were sunk by allied catapults.

Both bridges over the stream had been destroyed long ago.

“Wait! Haven’t you crossed into the enemy camp multiple times before?”

Zenri asked.

“Yes, three times.”

“How did you cross the stream?”

“I swam.”

So that’s why he was always soaking wet at night.

“But I can’t swim. How am I supposed to cross?”

“That’s why I suggest you wait here, Young Master.”

“Wait for what?”

“I’ll go and return with Mantum’s head.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You mean you’ll do the work and return on your own?”

“Yes.”

The boy had altered the plan!

Without asking his master!

Zenri immediately saw through him.

“You scoundrel! You plan to take all the credit for killing Mantum yourself, don’t you?”

Zenri, unable to restrain himself, struck Ram’s cheek once more.

The sharp crack of the slap echoed over the murmuring stream.