Shadow Oath

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Chapter 32: Astian

Astian arrived while Ram was eating alone on the grassy field.

It was less than half a day since Jedrick had warned him.

"The evenings here don’t begin with a crimson sunset draping the western sky like red silk. Instead, it starts with a dull gray sky, like my faded old handkerchief,"

Astian remarked.

Ram usually avoided the other soldiers during meals, carrying his bowl to a secluded area far away.

Only then would he remove his helmet, and even while eating, he tried his best not to take off his hood.

So, when Astian approached and sat beside him, Ram kept his head low and maintained a servile posture.

“Yes, but on clear days, the sunsets can glow red, just like in the rest of the southern lands.”

“And does the landscape here also lack even a single bird flying toward the sunset?”

“Occasionally, you might see white swans flying north to south or vice versa.”

“Look up at me.”

Ram obeyed.

Astian smiled brightly, revealing teeth so white that Ram had rarely seen their like, even among men during the war.

“A man who speaks like you is rare, even among the knights of both Born and Triton combined. You seem well-versed in poetry. Where did you learn it?”

The baroness often ordered him to read poetry, scolding him if he faltered.

He had to practice extensively.

Sometimes, she made him sing along with the songs of minstrels.

When he couldn’t sing, he just read the lyrics aloud instead.

But he couldn’t admit this truthfully.

“I enjoy following the songs of minstrels.”

“You must have had a fine poet by your side.”

Had Jedrick not warned him beforehand, Ram might have poured out his story to Astian without a second thought.

That’s how friendly and approachable Astian seemed, skillfully drawing out Ram’s goodwill with an air of sincerity.

And, just as Jedrick had cautioned, Astian naturally steered the conversation so that the other party would talk first.

‘A slave should never speak until their master asks a direct question. Just remember that.’

Ram repeated this advice to himself.

“My father speaks highly of you,”

Astian said as he sat down beside him, holding his own bowl of food.

“He says he has gained a reliable bodyguard.”

“Such words are too kind, Sir Knight.”

When in doubt about someone's title, addressing them as "Sir Knight" was usually a safe bet, based on Ram’s experience.

Even if they were merely a squire or a servant of common origin, they generally appreciated it.

And if the title was incorrect, they would correct him—or not.

But Astian didn’t like this approach.

“Call me Captain of the Knights.”

Though his tone remained gentle, there was an edge hidden within it.

Ram quickly corrected himself.

“Yes, Captain Astian.”

To his knowledge, the royal knight order was divided into five groups, ranked by importance, and Astian belonged to the lowest among them.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

“I also heard your efforts saved our army,”

Astian said, softening his tone.

“I’m not sure what I did, Captain. I merely focus on diligently carrying out errands.”

“Silence fortified by humility raises one’s value without unnecessary noise. Every little task you’ve done must have boosted the army’s morale. Otherwise, how could a mere soldier have had an audience with His Majesty?”

Astian dipped his bread into his soup, taking a slow bite as he waited for Ram’s reply.

Each deliberate motion carried the patience of a serpent sizing up its prey, though so subtly that Ram wouldn’t have noticed without Jedrick’s prior warning.

Once again, Ram resisted the urge to admit he had met the king.

Astian didn’t directly ask what they had discussed, allowing the awkward silence to stretch.

Both men continued eating.

“I like secrets,”

Astian eventually said.

“Pardon?”

“My father doesn’t share military secrets with me outright. But he doesn’t exactly hide them, either. Somewhere in between, I find clues in his words and piece things together. It’s my little game. I imagine you’ve overheard much about General Terdin’s plans?”

“Whether I’ve overheard much or little, I wouldn’t know, Captain. I was strictly ordered to keep anything I saw or heard to myself.”

“I imagine His Majesty also forbade you from speaking of the royal command you were given?”

Ram almost said “yes” but caught himself.

‘He knows I’ve been given a royal command?’

Astian studied him closely, while Ram avoided his gaze.

“Shall I piece together the puzzle of your secrets? I’d play this game with my father, but he’s too busy negotiating with the Elum tribe. It wouldn’t be right to interrupt him just for a father-son chat.”

“You two seem quite close,”

Ram said, trying to change the subject.

“I wouldn’t say that, but we’ve never fought bitterly, either.”

Astian smiled wryly.

“His Majesty tasked you with something related to my father, didn’t he?”

Ram realized he had fallen into a trap.

If he said yes, he would confirm that he had been given a royal command.

If he said no, Astian would press him on the lie.

Remaining silent was equally impossible; Astian had a way of making silence unbearable.

“I’m sorry, Captain. I cannot speak on that matter.”

Astian looked disappointed, though his smile remained.

“That’s all right. That’s how it should be. A shadow should have no mouth. You’re doing well.”

Astian stood, picking up his bowl.

Every movement—from holding the bowl level to brushing off his cloak—was so deliberate it felt more like a set of practiced gestures than simple manners.

It felt less like courtesy and more like a silent demand for Ram to speak further.

“I must have inconvenienced you. Sorry to disturb your meal.”

“No, not at all.”

“Well, I’ll see you later,”

Astian said, walking away.

“Safe travels, Captain.”

As Astian took a few steps, he turned back.

“Ah, one more thing. The wizard mentioned that some kind of curse is attached to you. Is that true?”

Ram returned to his servile posture.

“I’m afraid I cannot comment on that either.”

“Ah, another mistake on my part,”

Astian said with a chuckle.

“I did tell you shadows shouldn’t have mouths!”

With that, he left.

Ram felt uneasy.

Watching Astian’s confident back, Ram knew he hadn’t truly left empty-handed.

Despite Ram saying almost nothing, Astian had gleaned whatever information he wanted.

‘What did I say? What mistake did I make?’

His appetite was gone.

Anxiety sprouted within him, growing wild and suffocating.

Early the next day, soldiers, including Ram, were given time to rest before departing for the Elum tribe’s village.

Though relieved of his duties for the day, Ram couldn’t shake his unease.

It wasn’t until he returned to his tent that he discovered the source of his anxiety: the wizard was waiting for him.

It was Kura, the younger-seeming one.

Kura said nothing at first, and Ram mirrored his silence.

The unspoken questions were too heavy to voice.

After a moment, Kura broke the silence.

His voice, as soft as it had been during their first meetings, felt reassuring amid Ram’s turmoil.

“If you hear me, just nod.”

Ram nodded.

“Did the king directly order you to assassinate someone?”

Ram nodded again.

“Do you intend to carry it out?”

Ram shook his head.

“If you don’t, you’ll die. A royal command is absolute. No matter how skilled you are with a sword, you cannot evade a royal decree for your death.”

Ram nodded.

“Even so, you won’t do it?”

Ram nodded again.

The wizard hesitated before continuing.

“I know what you’re worried about.”

Ram himself didn’t know what he was worried about.

“I’ll tell you a way. When you go to the tribal village tomorrow, you’ll have the chance to acquire a tribal dagger. Wait for a moment when Iliam is alone. Strike then. You’re skilled at leaving no evidence. Leave the dagger by the body. The tribes will bear the blame. The prince will avenge the general’s death by burning their village, ensuring no evidence remains. If the prince doesn’t act, the king will. They’ll cover it up, and you’ll fulfill the royal command without suspicion falling on you. At worst, you’ll be blamed for failing to protect the general, not for killing him.”

Ram broke his silence.

“I thought you only offered advice. Why are you directly involving yourself this time?”

“There was a prophecy. Iliam will bring this country to ruin.”

Ram wasn’t shocked.

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The idea was too surreal.

A prediction of tomorrow’s bread rations would have surprised him more.

“It’s a grander prophecy than the ones about Ran, I’ll admit. But isn’t it against the nature of wizards to interfere in such matters?”

“Then Iliam will bring down the Elder Tower,”

The wizard continued, his voice trembling with fear.

“That’s only the beginning. Conqueror Iliam will destroy the Arkian Empire and summon darkness the world has never known. Black flames will consume the continent and the seas, and the sky will be shrouded in darkness.”

“I don’t believe in such superstitions.”

“It’s not superstition; it’s prophecy.”

“To me, they’re the same.”

Ram drew his sword.

“You seem to have forgotten who I am. I am the shadow of General Terdin. A shadow doesn’t betray its master.”

“You don’t seem eager to meet Ran.”

“There’s no one I want to meet more right now. When this is all over, I’d throw away everything I have just to see her. But not like this. If Ran is still the person I know, she wouldn’t welcome me with open arms after I’ve done something like this.”

Kura gave a bitter smile.

“If only you hadn’t been born a slave, but of royal blood, this war might never have happened. And if you were of Terdin’s bloodline, the one marked for assassination wouldn’t have been Iliam—it would’ve been you.”

Ram didn’t bother pointing his sword at Kura.

He had never needed to threaten his targets.

Once chosen, they never even knew what hit them.

“This time, you won’t escape. Come with me to the General. And explain this prophecy of yours.”

“Wizards don’t get captured. We remain where we must and go where we should.”

“Then I’ll subdue you and take you myself.”

Ram lunged, his blade aimed for Kura’s neck.

He had no intention of killing—just wounding enough to incapacitate and bring him to General Terdin.

But the wizard swept his cloak, covering Ram’s face.

Suddenly, darkness engulfed Ram—not just the kind from a piece of cloth, but an all-encompassing shroud of blackness.

“Stay calm. It’s fake. Your sight’s gone, but not your other senses.”

Ram shut his eyes entirely, focusing his other senses—touch, smell, hearing—on finding his target.

He had tracked and struck down countless targets in the dark, predicting their movements.

It was how he had survived this long.

He swung his sword.

He felt the edge graze flesh.

When the darkness lifted and the tent came back into view, there was nothing.

His blade bore no blood, but that didn’t mean he had missed.

Fast strikes often left no trace on the blade.

But there was the scent—blood.

He had hit something.

He just didn’t know what or where.

Ram burst out of the tent.

Outside, soldiers moved busily, preparing for the next day’s campaign.

The ground was a chaotic mess of footprints, blending those made moments ago with those from days past.

Ram ran toward the wizard’s tent, faster than he thought himself capable of.

Whether it was his urgency or desperation making him feel this way, he reached it in what seemed like only two breaths.

He entered the tent, sword drawn.

The wizard was gone.

Both the young wizard, Kura, and the elder, Kaimule, were missing.

In their place was a single scarecrow, dressed exactly like Kura.

Ram picked it up.

The neck had been severed about two finger-widths deep.

“Did I strike even a scarecrow? Is this what I cut?”

He instinctively compared his blade to the cut.

But matching the marks didn’t tell him anything.

“Who was I talking to?”

Ram felt disoriented.

The tent was so clean that it left no trace of the wizards ever having been there.

Had he wandered into the wrong tent?

No, this tent’s location was too distinctive to confuse.

“When did it become fake?”

Was the Kura they met with General Terdin real?

Was Kura in the tent that night also fake?

Why had Kura’s voice seemed so quiet?

“Maybe Kaimule controlled a scarecrow like a puppet. They say master puppeteers can make dolls speak as if alive without moving their own lips…”

Ram shook his head.

No matter how skilled, it couldn’t have been this convincing.

“Iliam will…”

The scarecrow in his hands spoke, its eyes glowing red.

It wasn’t an illusion.

It was on fire.

“…die.”

Ram, startled, threw the scarecrow.

The flaming scarecrow landed and began spinning in a grotesque dance.

Its arms waved above its head, and its legs stretched and stamped in exaggerated motions.

Ram could almost hear music in his mind.

“…remember Ran…”

The scarecrow’s dance slowed, the flames extinguished, leaving no burn marks on the tent fabric.

Only a pile of ash remained, light enough to scatter in the breeze.

Earlier, Ram had run the fastest he’d ever run.

Now, he walked slower than ever.

General Terdin was returning to his quarters, having finished inspecting the preparations for the next day’s campaign.

Beside him was Astian.

Ram stopped in his tracks.

Terdin noticed him and raised a hand.

“Why are you awake and wandering around?”

Ram opened his mouth to answer but hesitated.

Blood trickled down Astian’s neck—at the exact spot where the scarecrow had been slashed.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Astian asked, smiling warmly, the same thoughtful smile as always.

Ram couldn’t answer.

Astian’s voice grew melodious as he teased him.

“A beast of the meadow, exposed all day to the sun, grows tired at a mere glance from a human. I’ve had too many meetings and walked too much today. If you have something to say, speak and free me from your gaze.”

The General chuckled, chiding his son.

“Tired, yet you still speak in such rhythm, my son.”

Ram managed to lift a trembling finger, pointing at Astian.

“Your neck…”

Astian, only then noticing, touched his neck and wiped the blood onto his trousers.

Terdin saw the wound and frowned.

“That’s a deep cut. How did that happen?”

“Oh, I must have nicked myself earlier while cutting some netting for the supplies. Didn’t even notice.”

“That’s not a scratch…”

Terdin moved to inspect it, but Astian gently deflected his concern.

“Father, I appreciate the worry, but the soldiers are watching. As much as you see me as lacking, I’m still a captain of a knightly order.”

Terdin reluctantly withdrew his hand.

“Fine. But get it treated immediately. A sword cut is never trivial. I’ve seen too many of them to—”

“Father!”

“Hmph. Very well. I’ll rest now.”

As Terdin turned away, Astian pointed to Ram.

“Father’s shadow seems to have something to say.”

Terdin turned back, but Ram shook his head.

“No, General. I was just passing by. I’ll retire as well.”

Astian smiled kindly and asked again.

“Are you sure you had nothing to say to me?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

Astian’s smile lingered, but Ram couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.

He turned away, resisting the urge to check if Astian was still watching, and walked straight back to his quarters.

‘When Kura spoke earlier, he kept calling the General either Terdin or ‘General’…’

Ram’s hand still carried the ashes of the burned scarecrow.

‘But this time, he named Iliam specifically. He had to, because there are two people with the Terdin name on this battlefield.’

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