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[Translator - Jjescus]
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Chapter 16: The Witch's Magic
“The Witch’s Magic? What are you suddenly talking about?”
Terdin paused, halting his attempt to mount his horse.
There wasn’t much time left until the dawn deal with Jedrick.
“Yes, I think the curse that killed Mantum was stopped by that witch's magic. I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
“Can’t you talk about it on the way to the Skara Plains?”
The general looked anxious.
He also looked tired.
Preparing for the king’s arrival was demanding enough; adding this matter to his plate made it almost overwhelming.
This was a task he could have delegated to an Lieutenant, yet Terdin insisted on handling it personally.
“If I talk about it on the way, the Chieftain Jedrick might overhear…”
Ram trailed off, uncertain.
Terdin lowered his voice.
“Now that I think about it, I haven’t really listened to you properly before.”
Terdin looked up at the sky.
“When the king arrives, there’ll be even less time for such things. Come inside for a moment.”
Terdin sat in a chair by the table inside the tent and gestured to another chair for Ram.
“Sit.”
“It’s not a story that takes so long you’d need to sit for it.”
“It shouldn’t be long. But it’s not something to be rushed through either. Start with your story first. Then we’ll discuss the witch’s magic.”
“What kind of story do you mean?”
Ram asked hurriedly, suddenly feeling more anxious.
“Who is your father?”
“Pardon?”
“You have a father, even if you’re from a family of slaves. I want to know about you. Tell me everything.”
“Can I tell you now?”
“As I said, there won’t be another chance if not now.”
After hesitating, Ram spoke.
“My father was likely a serf. My mother was probably the child of serfs too… Can I start from here?”
“Go on.”
“There were two consecutive years of drought, and my father couldn’t meet the required harvest quota. My mother starved to death holding my second and third siblings. My father sold me, his eldest, into slavery to save me. With the money, he built a grave for my mother and the children, then died by their graveside. My father doesn’t have a grave. There was no money, and no one to bury him.”
“You were young. How do you remember all this?”
“I heard it from others. Though faint, I do recall my father crying, and it aligns with the story.”
“Was it then that you ended up with Baron Selken?”
“No. My first owner went bankrupt. I was sold to the baron when I was about ten or eleven.”
“What work did you do at the baron’s estate?”
“I started by carrying sacks of wheat.”
Being weak, he couldn’t carry them well and was often beaten.
Meals consisted of a single piece of bread and a cup of water each day.
he was beaten more often than not.
Only after he started killing people did he finally have days where he wasn’t beaten.
“When did you start killing?”
“At sixteen.”
“How did Baron Selken discover you had such a talent?”
“That day… the slave usually assigned to serve him was sick, so I was tasked with delivering his breakfast. I was worried he might wake, so I walked silently. Fortunately, he was already awake, standing by the window. I stood still until he ordered me to place the food on the table. I didn’t know the protocol.”
Terdin quickly grasped the situation.
“If I know Selken, he probably didn’t notice you at all as you approached, did he?”
“No. I stood there for nearly half an hour. Then he scolded me for not having brought breakfast sooner…”
“And then he realized you were behind him?”
“Yes. At first, he was angry, saying I should have made my presence known. But then he said something strange, something about how I made no sound when moving. Back then, I didn’t understand what he meant. Walking quietly wasn’t considered a special skill—just something you had to do to avoid punishment.”
“And that alone made him train you as an assassin?”
“No. There were other tests.”
“Like what?”
“First, he had me try standing behind him without him noticing while he looked out a window.”
“That doesn’t sound very difficult.”
“It wasn’t. All I did was stand behind him as instructed, matching the direction he turned whenever he did. If he kept turning, so did I.”
“You made sure no one was ever in the direction he looked?”
“Yes. Until he called my name, I stayed where he couldn’t see me.”
“Could you do that with me too?”
“If I memorize your walking patterns, I think I could do it easily.”
Terdin stroked his chin, his expression darkening.
Ram worried he had said something he shouldn’t have.
“Were there any other tests?”
Ram made a shape with his fingers as he explained.
“He handed me a small wooden rod, like the ones used to press sealing wax. He said he’d call Master Zenri into the room and ordered me to press it against his neck without him noticing. I followed the instructions. When Master Zenri entered, I managed to touch his neck with the rod without him realizing.”
When Zenri eventually noticed, he stumbled back, shocked, his face pale as he stared at Ram.
Selken laughed heartily, seemingly satisfied, while paying no attention to his son’s distress.
Zenri, however, didn’t laugh.
The image of his furious, tear-filled, and humiliated face remained etched in Ram’s memory.
Even so, Zenri didn’t retaliate immediately.
On a few occasions, he intentionally repeated similar tasks to torment Ram.
But Ram didn’t find it too difficult; at times, it felt like a brief respite from his usual work.
“Even after you began assassination work, did you remain a slave?”
“Yes. My life got easier, but it didn’t fundamentally change.”
“Probably deliberate, to keep your role as an assassin hidden from others.”
“Yes.”
“I hate to ask, but I must. Did you ever enjoy killing?”
“Not once.”
“Was it difficult?”
“Not particularly.”
“Any guilt?”
“No.”
“Was that life happy?”
“No.”
“Have you ever missed it?”
“Never.”
Ram answered firmly. In his memory, there wasn’t a single moment of happiness, and he never wanted to return to that life.
However, as he spoke, he recalled one fleeting moment of joy.
Her name was Ran.
Slaves’ names were often like that.
Ran lingered around Ram, and he quite liked her.
But he concealed his feelings.
If rumors spread about young male and female slaves having feelings for each other, it could lead to disaster.
Ram had witnessed too many misfortunes befall female slaves, and he wanted to protect Ran from such a fate.
Above all, Ram was a killer.
The meeting of a murderer and an innocent girl was never meant to be.
That was why he didn't approach her even though he understood Ran’s feelings.
Still he couldn’t completely abandon the hope that perhaps, someday, they might meet again.
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Maybe they could meet if there was a day when he no longer killed.
Then, he’d be able to tell her all the things he couldn’t say before.
But one day, Ran disappeared.
Even though they worked in the same castle, it was rare for male and female slaves to cross paths, so he assumed their paths just hadn’t overlapped.
It wasn’t until later that he heard the news.
‘Ran? I think she was sold off a month or two ago. She was a hard worker, so I don’t know why they sold her.’
That was all the information he managed to get from the steward’s offhand comment.
There was nothing he could do about it.
Slaves disappeared like that all the time.
‘If I ever escape this life of slavery, I’ll find her. I’ll tell her that I wanted to meet her too, that even though I’ve done terrible things, I’ve dreamed of doing ordinary things with her. I’ll ask if she ever felt the same, or if it was all just my delusion.’
Ram thought of this fantasy as happiness, but he never told Terdin.
“Well, that’s enough about your past. Let’s talk about the witch’s magic. You say it stopped Mantum’s curse?”
Ram, realizing he had wasted too much time recounting his life story, hurriedly shifted the topic.
“Under orders from my master, I once had to kill a witch. She had supposedly foretold Selken’s death. Perhaps they couldn’t punish her legally, so they secretly sent me to kill her. I was even instructed to burn her body to leave no trace.”
“Burn the witch to ashes? I thought Baron Selken didn’t believe in superstitions. Well, I guess he’s no exception.”
Terdin gestured for him to continue.
“Killing the witch was easy. She made no effort to guard against intruders and lived alone, so there was no one to trace her disappearance.”
“Did the witch really deserve death?”
“At the time, I didn’t know or care whether she was guilty. But this time was different. I said earlier that I don’t feel guilt over killing people, but in this case, I did.”
“So, is this your confession about killing a poor, innocent witch?”
Terdin glanced at the eastern sky, now brightening beyond the barracks.
“Actually, I didn’t kill her.”
Terdin turned back to Ram.
“You didn’t kill her?”
“I think that was the first and only time I disobeyed my master’s orders.”
It pained Ram to speak.
It felt as though he was exposing his deepest flaws.
But he knew he never would if he didn’t say it now.
“And you’re the first person I’ve told this story to.”
“So, what does this have to do with the matter at hand?”
Terdin asked, more out of curiosity than urgency.
“I stopped just before killing her. Instead, I made her an offer. I asked if she could disappear without a trace. My master had ordered me to erase all evidence of her, so there was no need to bring proof of her death. My master had no way to confirm whether a dead person was truly gone. I told her that if she vanished, she could live.”
“That’s a hard offer to refuse.”
“But in return, she gave me something strange.”
“Something strange?”
“She said, ‘You erased my death once, so I will erase your death once in return.’”
“Erase your death?”
“I didn’t understand what she meant until I met those two wizards you introduced me to.”
Ram recalled the scent of the powder they had used—the powder supposedly linked to the death curses of the Geronian shamans.
“She sprinkled me with some powder—five different kinds of powder. It smelled like herbs and flowers. At first, I thought she was casting some kind of spell to kill me. But nothing happened. She just said something like a prophecy. ‘You’ll be called to the north. Death will find you, but I will block it once. Only once. My magic cannot stop a second death.’”
Terdin, who had remained silent for the most part, now looked more serious than ever.
His stillness made Ram nervous, prompting him to speak.
“If what Grand Chief Jedrick says is true, then I survived Mantum’s death curse. Could it be thanks to the magic of that good witch? If so, does that mean the second death curse is still coming?”
Terdin shook his head.
“Both might be lies.”
“Both? What do you mean?”
“I mean both Mantum’s curse and the good witch’s blessing could be lies. I’m not trying to insult the witch’s intentions. But perhaps the best she could do in gratitude for sparing her life was to give you comforting words. Maybe there was no first curse, no second curse, and no protective magic. Your survival in the Geronian camp and your successful assassinations were all because of your own skills. No curse hindered you, and no magic helped you.”
Terdin grasped Ram’s hand.
“Do you understand why I asked about your past? I wanted to change your perspective. I needed to know how you’ve lived to tell you this.”
In Terdin’s firm grasp and gaze, Ram felt a warmth he hadn’t experienced since losing his father—a warmth that had become a distant memory.
“If you were content with your life, I wouldn’t have tried to bring you to ‘this side.’ But you’ve been living in pain, without even realizing it. You need to leave that world. Remember, you don’t have to follow anyone else’s orders anymore.”
Ram suddenly realized that Terdin’s words matched what the good witch had said.
“You believe you must obey your master’s orders, but in truth, you don’t.”
Terdin released Ram’s hand, stood up, and said,
“Let’s assume the good witch’s words were true. The second death that comes for you—survive it with your own strength.”
His warm voice turned chilling.
“From now on, decide how you will serve your ‘Young Master Zenri.’”
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[Translator - Jjescus]
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