Shadow's Oath - Chapter 4

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HELHEIM SCANS

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]

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Chapter 4: Mantum

"If my son Zenri dies, no matter the cause—be it you, someone else, or even an act of nature—you will die as well."

Baron Selken’s words echoed in Ram’s mind throughout the war.

Zenri liked those words.

Although the baron also advised his son to be cautious, Zenri’s interest lay elsewhere—on Ram.

“What if I don’t die but just get injured? What punishment will this slave receive then?”

The baron responded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“There will be punishment appropriate to the injury.”

From that point onward, Zenri seemed to act recklessly, as if he wanted something to happen to him.

It almost looked like he was pondering how he might die to ensure the slave’s punishment.

Even now, it was no different.

Just before entering the Geronians’ camp, Ram turned around and found Zenri sticking his head out of the bushes.

If Ram could see him, so could the enemy.

Ram motioned frantically for him to hide deeper, but Zenri didn’t listen.

He never did, and by now, it was too late.

Right now, the greater risk wasn’t being seen but being discovered by the wolves’ sharp noses.

Ram decided it was better to act quickly.

Let’s finish this before the young master gets caught!

‘Things have gone off plan, but it’s still manageable.’

Over the past three days, Ram had meticulously studied how to kill the enemy commander, Mantum, and escape.

On the first day, he mapped out a route to safely reach the Targef River—what the soldiers called “the stream.”

This involved avoiding their own troops.

On the second day, he identified the safest crossing point and how far he could infiltrate the enemy camp once he was across.

He observed where the guards and wolves roamed, noting their numbers and patterns.

On the third day, he pinpointed Mantum’s tent and decided the best time to strike.

Today was the day of execution.

But Zenri insisted on coming along, making the route far less secure.

Convincing Zenri to stay behind was a pipe dream.

When the master speaks, the slave obeys—that was the entirety of Ram’s education.

The problem was that this young master knew nothing about strategy or tactics.

In the three months and fifteen days since the war began, Zenri had killed exactly zero people in combat.

He was terrible with a sword, neglected his training, and barely studied warfare.

Unlike other noble-born knights who threw themselves into battle to prove their worth, Zenri did nothing but shout angrily.

Even younger soldiers had made more significant contributions than the fifteen-year-old Zenri, who thought himself sixteen.

Ram, always by Zenri’s side, fought off Geronian soldiers.

His primary concern in battle wasn’t the enemy’s sword but Zenri’s wildly swinging blade.

Come to think of it, an allied soldier had once died two days after Zenri accidentally cut his back.

So technically, Zenri had killed one person.

Of course, Ram never mentioned that.

It can’t be helped.

If the master insists on dying, it’s the slave’s duty to assist.

The best Ram could do was act quickly.

Even so, he did not rush.

It was the guards’ shift-change time—a surprisingly dangerous moment.

Instead of being lax, security was heightened during these periods.

After two days of observation, Ram noticed the timing was irregular.

Either there was no set schedule, or it was deliberately kept unpredictable.

Two days weren’t enough to discern a pattern.

Sticking to the plan, Ram circled through the forest toward the tents housing high-ranking officers.

Technically, they weren’t “officers,” but Ram didn’t know the exact title.

He wasn’t entirely ignorant of the Geronian language.

Before the war, Geronian merchants sometimes visited Baron Selken’s estate.

To facilitate trade, Ram had learned enough to understand basic conversation and bartering terms.

However, military jargon was beyond him.

The Geronian tents were identical to those of the Triton Kingdom.

Reportedly, they had stolen them during last summer’s first war.

Their armor and weapons were also remarkably similar, likely plundered as well.

There were thirty-three tents in total.

The common soldiers slept on the ground without even blankets.

Coughs echoed through the camp.

The northern climate wasn’t kind to them, either.

It was said that when winter came, the Triton forces would retreat, as they had last year.

They couldn’t fight under conditions favorable to the Geronians.

But Ram wondered if winter might actually favor Triton for once.

Despite their reputation for savagery and ferocity, the Geronians were only human.

Like everyone else, they were weary of this drawn-out war.

Passing through the camp was nerve-wracking.

A patrol with two hunting dogs nearly spotted him.

Ram had smeared his body with mud to mask his scent and lay flat in the shadows of an unlit embankment to stay hidden.

‘Good thing they’re dogs. Wolves would’ve found me.’

The obedient dogs stayed within the camp, while the more aggressive but less reliable wolves patrolled the outskirts.

Ram had exceptional hearing, capable of catching sounds from beyond walls.

His vision was sharp too, especially at night. With even a sliver of light, he could see far and clearly.

Until recently, he hadn’t realized most people couldn’t see or hear as well as he could.

Using these senses, Ram evaded the patrols and weaved through the tents.

Reaching Mantum’s tent wasn’t difficult.

It was only slightly larger than the others, with no ornate decorations or symbols.

Thinking back, even General Terdin’s tent in the Triton army lacked such markings.

That was why Ram never knew where Terdin stayed.

Three days ago, Ram had had the chance to kill Mantum but returned empty-handed on Zenri’s orders.

At the time, it felt like a missed opportunity, but in hindsight, it was the right call.

Yesterday, he hadn’t even had a leather pouch to carry Mantum’s head.

Now, it was a waiting game.

Mantum rarely seemed to be alone.

He hardly slept, staying up late to do something under the lamplight—writing, perhaps?

It wasn’t with a quill and ink on parchment, but he was clearly working on something.

Whenever Ram prepared to kill someone, he thought about their daily life.

When they woke up this morning, did they imagine they’d die by his hand today?

Did their family and friends realize they’d never see them again?

Everything they’ve built their whole life ends in this moment, with this single action.

Not even enough blood to fill three glasses of milk, faint breaths, a few pain-filled words that couldn’t escape his lips... and then it was over.

At first, he felt no guilt.

“If ordered to kill, you kill,” and no other thoughts crossed his mind.

But after the second and third time, he began to question it.

When that happened, he recalled the almost magical words his master had taught him:

‘Do as you’re told.’

No questions about the orders.

That is what it means to be a slave.

Finally, the time came when Mantum was alone, after sending away his officers.

Ram wanted to wait longer, aiming for a moment when Mantum was completely asleep.

But with Zenri waiting, he couldn’t delay endlessly.

A soldier stood guard at the front of the tent, so Ram cut through the back with his knife.

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HELHEIM SCANS

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]

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The thick leather was tough, but slicing along the grain made it manageable.

Silently, Ram slipped into the tent.

He had never been caught during a mission, and this time was no different.

Inside, Mantum was pacing back and forth, groaning with frustration.

His muttered words were too faint to make out clearly, but he seemed to repeat phrases like,

“This won’t do. At this rate, we’ll lose…”

The monstrous figure from the battlefield, clad in a horned helmet with dual-layered shoulder armor, wielding a massive war axe in steel claw-like gauntlets—he was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, only a weary man, aged and gray, stood there.

From what Ram knew, Mantum was barely over 40.

He hadn’t looked so aged in the battlefield, but his white hair now made him seem older than expected.

His arms were thinner, and his legs not so sturdy.

When he had first heard rumors that Mantum fought well thanks to magical armor and an enchanted axe cursed by a witch from the Geron tribe, he dismissed them as nonsense.

But now, he began to believe there might be some truth to it.

Ram’s final task was to confirm that this man was truly Mantum.

In battle, killing anyone not on your side was fair game.

But assassination was different.

You had to kill the correct target.

This was a principle he had learned during his days as a slave.

At a banquet attended by dozens, there might not be an issue if the wrong wine or dish was served.

But if a single drink, meant for one specific person, was delivered to the wrong recipient, it could spell disaster.

That drink could be a genuine gift of goodwill—or a poisoned death sentence.

Even something as simple as delivering the wrong empty lunchbox could spark serious misunderstandings.

Accuracy in identifying the target was essential.

This man was Mantum.

Without a doubt.

Ram checked twice, three times to be sure it was Mantum’s face.

Having confirmed, he acted swiftly and silently.

Even a single groan from Mantum could alert the guard outside the tent, and if they shouted “Enemy!” it would be all over.

So Ram neither declared his intent to kill nor asked, ‘Are you Mantum?’

He approached from behind, covered Mantum’s mouth, and slit his throat.

There was brief resistance.

Ram gently laid the weakening Mantum down.

A falling body makes more noise than one might think.

He left the knife in, minimizing the bleeding.

That would mean Mantum took longer to die, but avoiding detection was more important at the moment.

There was no further resistance.

Ram confirmed his death.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

He was dead.

Now, it was time to take the head.

Ram searched the tent and spotted the perfect axe for the task—Mantum’s weapon.

‘Chopping silently with an axe won’t be easy…’

Ram planned an escape route in case the guard entered upon hearing the sound.

He mentally rehearsed the quickest motion of cutting off the head, stuffing it into a sack, and fleeing.

Then he swung the axe.

Thud.

The sound was quieter than expected, but Ram quickly placed Mantum’s head in the sack.

Keeping an eye on the tent entrance, he prepared to move along the preplanned route.

The guards outside showed no reaction.

They were stationed some distance away, and the camp was noisy.

Ram now had the time to leave cautiously.

He also took the axe, thinking it would serve as solid proof of his achievement.

The escape route was different from the entry.

Worried about the smell of blood, Ram moved quickly to avoid being detected by any hunting dogs or wolves in the area.

He managed to leave the camp without incident.

‘It’s done. It’s finally over. All I need to do is return with Zenri…’

Ram froze as he approached where Zenri was supposed to be.

Torches were converging on the spot.

Ram strained his ears.

Though the voices were distant, his sharp hearing picked up the words of the Geron soldiers in the quiet plain.

“What’s this guy?”

“Looks like a Southerner.”

“What’s a Southerner doing here?”

“A scout, maybe?”

“Look at his outfit. He’s no scout.”

“Should’ve kept him alive… but Cox bit his neck too hard.”

“Cox never spares Southerners. That’s how he was trained.”

Though he couldn’t see them, Ram quickly deduced that “Cox” was their wolf.

And Cox was still sniffing around for scents.

“What should we do?”

“Take the body, at least. On a quiet night like this, anything we find will earn us an extra piece of bread tomorrow morning, won’t it?”

The two men laughed, and Ram heard the growling of the wolf.

He wanted to confirm Zenri’s death, but he couldn’t risk getting closer with the wolf nearby.

“What’s going on over there?”

“Come check this out. Found something.”

More Geron soldiers were approaching from another direction.

Ram retreated in a prone position, and once far enough, he crouched and ran through a reed field.

Even though no one pursued him, Ram ran with all his might.

At some point, Ram found himself fearing not the Geron soldiers but his master’s voice.

‘If Zenri dies, so do you.’

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HELHEIM SCANS

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Join our Discord for release updates!w

https://discord.com/invite/dbdMDhzWa2

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