Shadow Oath

Chapter 25. Prince Demion

Prince Demion spotted his father walking back to the camp late at night.

Four royal guards followed closely behind him.

“Where have you been at this late hour?”

Demion asked in the most cordial and respectful tone he could muster.

“Just went for a night stroll.”

At least his father didn’t dismiss him with a curt answer, but his tone was rough.

A night stroll?

Hardly. Yet, it wasn’t the atmosphere to probe further.

The men trailing behind him all wore somber expressions.

Most notably, Captain Clave, at the very back, pressed one hand over an eye, breathing heavily.

It was unclear whether he was angry or simply exhausted.

“Are you all right, Captain Clave?”

“Nothing happened.”

Clave swiftly brushed past, his shoulder nearly colliding with Demion’s as he hurried along.

Even at such close proximity, it was impossible to tell if the substance on his hand was mud or blood. But one thing was certain—something had happened.

‘You call that nothing? What a straightforward answer, my friend.’

None of the royal guards were close to Demion.

They were knights sworn solely to the king, heeding no other commands.

They had no superior ranks above them nor subordinates below.

Even within the capital, they existed separately from other royal knights.

They held no authority but were granted the privilege to disregard everyone but the king. This ensured that in the event of a rebellion, they could reject orders from higher ranks.

Even within General Terrdin’s army, they operated independently.

Naturally, they did not take orders from General Terrdin either. So, silence toward the prince was well within their rights.

Though curious about the situation, Demion refrained from asking further for that very reason.

His father, in any case, wouldn’t answer unless he initiated a conversation himself. He wasn’t one to show affection, even toward his treasured firstborn, Prince Ramuel. In that sense, at least, he was fair, so Demion never felt jealous.

‘I have more pressing matters to attend to.’

Demion waited until his father entered the massive, distant tent, then moved. His destination was Archbishop Aikop’s personal supply storage.

The army had two general supply tents, one for his father, and three solely for Aikop’s personal belongings.

“Your Highness, what brings you here at this late hour?”

The man managing the tent was not a military supply officer or royal administrator but a priest personally brought by Aikop. Even this late, the priest was impeccably dressed in his robes, showing no signs of drowsiness. He was as imposing as a royal guard.

“I’ve come to take a bottle of wine.”

As Demion attempted to enter the tent, the priest naturally stepped forward, blocking his way.

“You’ll need the archbishop’s permission.”

The priest smiled as if relishing the most fulfilling task in the world.

“He’s surely asleep at this hour. I can’t disturb him for that. I’ll fetch his approval tomorrow—just let me take one bottle now.”

Demion spoke with a smile, but the priest maintained his own.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Your Highness.”

“Oh, come now. I’ll take responsibility—”

“The entire royal court knows you’ve never taken responsibility for such things, Your Highness.”

“When have I ever—”

At that moment, Aikop’s voice came from behind.

“What’s going on here?”

Demion bit his lip but quickly replaced his expression with a polite smile, bowing to Aikop.

“Late-night prayer is difficult without focus. You’ve always said, Archbishop, that wine alone can aid in such concentration. That’s exactly how I feel right now.”

Aikop chuckled heartily.

“To think you remember your prayers even while away, Prince Demion. Indeed, you are the perfect ruler for this heathen land. But rather than rely on wine, why not join me directly in prayer?”

“How could I take your rest, Archbishop? A single bottle of wine will suffice—”

Even as Demion spoke, Aikop was already heading to his tent.

Demion let out a huff.

That old man—couldn’t he just stay in his sanctuary?

‘Then again, if he’s here, the wine must be as well.’

Demion reluctantly followed him into the tent.

Aikop waited as usual, stiff and solemn.

When Demion stood before him, the archbishop gestured with his head.

Demion removed his upper garments. His emaciated body shivered as it met the frigid northern air.

He didn’t dare ask for a blanket against the cold. If he did, Aikop would undoubtedly launch into an hour-long sermon about how faith blooms in suffering, citing saints who endured the blizzards unclothed.

Fortunately, a woolen rug covered the floor. The strange patterns on it suggested it was imported from a heathen land.

Demion knelt on the rug, lowering his head beneath the sun-cross, the symbol of their faith.

Aikop always stood in front of the cross, obscuring it. It often felt like he was praying to Aikop rather than to God.

Being shirtless added to his discomfort.

If this unsettled him as a man, how much worse must it be for women?

Women also prayed unclothed before the sun-cross, but they did so in private rooms or accompanied by nuns.

This method of prayer in seclusion fueled numerous rumors accusing Aikop of indecent acts toward young noblewomen.

Of course, anyone spreading such rumors faced trials and punishments akin to murder charges, so no one dared voice them openly, especially not before clergy.

Even the prince was no exception. He knew the rumors weren’t baseless but chose to remain silent.

After completing three prayers, Demion was finally allowed to dress.

“Well done, Your Highness.”

Aikop sat in a grand chair larger than himself, carved from hardwood and adorned with engravings symbolizing the miracles of saints.

It rivaled the iron throne of Demion’s father in grandeur.

‘Why did he insist on joining this expedition? Isn’t it the chancellor’s duty to protect the throne in the king’s absence? This would have been the perfect chance to extort more from the merchants.’

Aikop stared at Demion as if to ask why he was still there.

Demion thought of a way to take the wine but instead deflected with a new topic.

“Have you heard? They say a trumpet sounded from the sky when the king of the Geran tribe died.”

Aikop’s face immediately soured.

“Do not call them the Geran tribe—call them savages. Granting them the name they desire leads to granting them what they desire. Names are important. A name holds its soul.”

It was the preamble to another lecture.

“Yes, I’ll remember that.”

Demion hurriedly tried to pacify him, but it was too late.

“As a future ruler of this land, keep this in mind, Your Highness. Never consider these savages as humans like us. See them as beasts, or even beneath that. If they wish to be treated as human, they must first follow our God. Never forget that your task here is to spread the word of God to this land as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Archbishop. Now, please rest well.”

As Demion turned to leave, thinking his attempt had backfired, Aikop unexpectedly answered his earlier question.

“I heard about that trumpet sound upon arriving. The soldiers wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Really? What explanation did you give them? Please, share it with me. What could cause such a sound from the heavens? Surely it wasn’t the trumpet of doom?”

Aikop chuckled.

“All things are explained by God’s providence. If it were His trumpet, wouldn’t the signs of the end be evident? Is the earth splitting, fire raining from the sky, or are we clergy being taken up to heaven?”

Aikop gestured as if to survey the surroundings.

“No.”

“Then it’s nothing.”

“Couldn’t it be a divine message, heralding some revelation?”

“We must discern between the devil’s temptations and God’s revelations. Perhaps the soldiers were merely deluded, hearing things en masse.”

“General Terrdin heard it too?”

“In my view, generals are no different. Only clergymen like me can hear the truth and discern it. If the sound echoes once more and I hear it again, only then will I be able to say anything about it. Not that it would happen, but until then, you have nothing to worry about, Your Highness.”

Demion stopped himself from asking what Aikop thought of the soldiers’ belief that the sound might be the voice of the Gerans’ war god.

‘If I do, I’ll be stuck listening to a sermon until sunrise.’

Demion simply nodded with a smile.

“Oh, and I heard you met the barbarian chieftain.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you meet him?”

Aikop’s tone was sharp.

“Well…”

Demion quickly thought of a response that could save him from the ‘whip-yourself-and-recite-a-prayer-hundred-times’ punishment.

“To convey the words of God to the barbarians, wouldn’t I first need to inspire their king? It’s a task that requires patience, so I thought I’d show my face as a start.”

“What did you think of him?”

“It’ll take a long time.”

“Of course it will.”

“I’ll also need a bottle of wine.”

“You’re not thinking of giving wine to the barbarians, are you?”

“I thought it might be interesting to show them how superior the wine we call the drink of God is compared to their mead.”

After a moment’s thought, Aikop nodded solemnly.

“You wish to test if their cheap tongues can appreciate the profound taste.”

“Exactly.”

“Then take one bottle.”

“Thank you.”

“But not the wine on the bottom shelf. That one is a precious bottle I intend to offer on the altar.”

Aikop handed him a certificate bearing his signature.

The moment Demion received the certificate, he turned swiftly.

“Oh, Your Highness.”

“Yes?”

Demion shrank back as though caught in some wrongdoing.

“Congratulations on your engagement.”

“Engagement? What do you mean?”

“Oh dear. I may have spoken too soon. I assumed His Majesty had already informed you! Well, I’ll say no more so that you may be pleasantly surprised. That’s all I’ll reveal.”

Aikop raised a finger to his lips and winked.

It was a ghastly sight, but curiosity got the better of Demion.

The fact that Aikop brought it up so eagerly meant he was willing to divulge more.

“Could you at least give me a hint?”

Demion asked with a desperate expression, and Aikop replied as though he had no choice.

“Then I’ll give you just one word—Bormont. Not a word more.”

Demion smiled and bowed.

“Thank you.”

As soon as he left the tent, Demion spat on the ground.

“Engagement? Bormont?”

He headed back to the supply tent, waving the certificate in front of the stern priest he had dealt with earlier.

“I’ll take a bottle of wine.”

The priest examined the certificate with a strict gaze before guiding Demion inside. Pointing at two wine crates, he asked, “Which one will you take?”

Demion pointed to the lower crate.

“The bottom one.”

“Are you sure? That’s meant for the altar…”

Demion emphasized again.

“The bottom one.”

The priest tilted his head in confusion, mumbling something like, “That can’t be right,” but couldn’t disregard the authorization.

He eventually opened the lower crate.

“An engagement I know nothing about?”

Names of prominent families raced through Demion’s mind.

The Duke of Borne, Rancis Bormont, had three children.

His first wife bore him a son, Ruseph.

After her death, his second wife gave birth to twins—a daughter, Charlon, born first, and a son, Aduer, born second.

“So, my fiancée must be Charlon Bormont.”

The Bormont family had been enemies of the Kingdom of Triton a decade ago, engaging in war.

It was General Terrdin who had ended that war.

The defeated Bormont family had to pay hefty reparations, cede territories, and send their firstborn, Ruseph, as a hostage.

Since then, the Gallant and Bormont families had coexisted without further conflict.

Trade gradually increased, and there were no diplomatic disputes. But that didn’t mean relations had improved.

Even now, the mention of Borne stirred anger among soldiers.

Ten years wasn’t long enough to forget fallen comrades.

The same could be said for the other side.

And now, out of the blue, the only daughter of the Bormont family was marrying Demion, the second son—not even the first?

Clutching the wine bottle, Demion looked toward his father’s tent, still brightly lit as if it were midday.

“So, Father used me as part of some deal?”