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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Jjescus]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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Chapter 23: The King's Summons
It was a large tent unlike anything seen before.
Guards stood not only at the entrance but also to the left, right, and rear.
Over ten torches blazed brightly, making the area around the tent as bright as day.
If Mantum had stayed in such a tent, Ram wouldn’t have been able to even attempt an assassination.
The king sat on an iron throne.
Even General Terdin, during meetings, had to make do with a small wooden chair, and most commanders or knights found it hard to get a seat at all.
This throne must have been brought directly from the capital.
Did they really bring this heavy thing all the way here?
Just for the king to sit on?
Even though it was night and time to rest, the king was heavily armed, as if he could step onto the battlefield at any moment.
His armor reflected the flames of the bonfire burning in the center of the tent, glowing like gold.
With the right helmet, he could probably withstand a rain of arrows.
To the king’s left stood three unidentified individuals, while to his right was Bishop Aikob, clad in a white clerical robe.
Behind the king stood two young male attendants, holding a pitcher and a plate of food respectively.
At the very back was a massive bed—so large that one could only wonder how they had brought it here.
Perhaps they had transported its parts and assembled it on-site?
Prince Damion was nowhere to be seen.
The man seated closest to the king was Count Vadio, who stared at Ram with a haughty expression.
Ram didn’t know the proper etiquette for addressing a king.
He bowed and knelt on one knee as he would before Baron Selken and waited.
“State your name.”
The command came not from the king but from Bishop Aikob.
His voice was not as deep as Ram had expected.
As the archbishop, the highest-ranking clergyman in the Triton Kingdom, his voice did not seem particularly divine.
Still, being an authority figure, Ram obediently complied.
“My name is Shadow.”
“Your real name! Raise your head and answer properly!”
Ram raised his head as instructed.
Bishop Aikob, his face lined with wrinkles and a stern expression, glared down at him.
Ram answered submissively.
“My name is Shadow. I have no other name. The name ‘Stuga’ was given to me by the chieftain of the Geron tribe, and in their language, it also means ‘Shadow.’”
“You insolent—!”
As Bishop Aikob tried to press for another answer, the king waved his hand dismissively.
“That name is unimportant.”
The king reached out his hand, and the attendant holding the plate presented it.
On the plate was a piece of cheese, which the king speared with a fork and ate in one bite.
The attendant stood silently, holding the plate, and only after the king set the fork down did the attendant retrieve it and step back to place it on a small table.
Meanwhile, Count Vadio whispered something to Bishop Aikob.
Ram heard every word.
“Let me handle this. Is that alright?”
The bishop stepped back in response.
Count Vadio began.
“I heard you were a slave. Is that true?”
Recalling General Terdin’s advice, Ram answered truthfully.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“I also heard you came following a boy named Jenri, the son of Lord Ashua Selken of Laorn. Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And that you killed the king of the barbarians. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is.”
When Ram responded immediately, Count Vadio hesitated, seemingly caught off guard.
Other courtiers began murmuring.
“You killed him? With your own hands?”
Vadio pressed for confirmation.
“Yes.”
“The king of the barbarians?”
“Specifically, Mantum.”
“What is Mantum?”
Asked Bishop Aikob.
“The barbarians have no king. They consist of several tribes led by chieftains, and those chieftains are led by a grand chieftain. Among them, one exceptional individual is known as—”
“Enough.”
The king cut him off with a wave of his hand, looking displeased.
Then, for the first time, the king spoke directly to Ram.
“Regardless, it’s true that you killed the king of the barbarians?”
“Yes.”
“What reward did Terdin give you?”
“…He promised to free me from slavery.”
The king laughed.
“For an achievement that could’ve earned you a castle, he settled it with that small favor?”
“That was my request—”
“I’ll ask you a question. If you don’t answer immediately, I’ll have your head on the spot.”
The king rose from the iron throne.
All the courtiers took a step back in unison.
The king drew a heavy sword from its sheath and placed the cold blade against Ram’s neck.
The chill of the metal sent a shiver down Ram’s spine.
“Tell me, in this state, could you kill me?”
Ram knew from experience that giving an honest answer in such situations only made things worse.
“No one here could kill Your Majesty.”
“Then it seems you’ll have to die.”
Without warning, the king raised his sword and swung it at Ram’s neck.
Ram held his breath, bracing himself for the moment his head would roll.
He had heard that one could still see for a few seconds after being decapitated, and the thought of such a grisly sight terrified him.
But the blade didn’t sever his neck.
It only nicked the skin, drawing a trickle of blood that ran down his neck.
The king laughed.
“I see your loyalty and fear. But your answer still doesn’t satisfy me. I’ll ask again: could you kill me?”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“Even if I ordered you to?”
“I was taught to disobey such orders.”
“Then I’ll rephrase the question. Raise your head.”
Ram raised his head.
The king, now wearing his helmet, planted the tip of his sword on the ground.
His presence was even more imposing than Mantum’s on the battlefield.
“Let’s say I’m not the king. If an enemy commander stood before you, clad in armor like this and armed with such a sword, could you kill him?”
“That would depend on the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?”
“I’d need proof that he’s truly the enemy commander.”
“Proof?”
“I can’t risk killing the wrong person.”
“That’s quite complicated. Fine, let’s say you have proof. What else would you need?”
“A weapon.”
“Fair enough. What kind of weapon?”
Ram scanned the area and pointed to the fork the attendant had set down earlier.
“A blade about that length would suffice.”
“Not a larger weapon?”
“With armor like that, a thinner weapon is better. A spike would be ideal.”
“And how would you use it?”
“Judging by the lack of chainmail covering the neck, I’d aim between the helmet and the armor.”
“If he were wearing chainmail?”
“Then I’d target the helmet’s openings. Even a stab to the eye is often fatal. A thinner, longer weapon would still be best.”
“And you think I’d just stand still and let you do that?”
“That’s why it must be done without detection.”
“And how would you manage that?”
“I’d move silently.”
The king gestured to the attendant holding the plate.
“Take that fork and kill this boy. Do it just as you described.”
“Do you mean for me to actually kill him?”
Ram asked.
The boy, calm until now, widened his eyes in shock as he realized the king’s intent.
The king burst out laughing.
“Stop just short of killing him. He’s a favorite of mine.”
Ram hesitated, still kneeling.
He questioned why he was being asked to do this.
Then again, if the wizard’s words were true, the reasoning was clear.
There was no need to do it well.
Ram walked over, picked up the fork, and placed it against the boy’s neck.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Jjescus]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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The boy, petrified with fear, didn’t resist.
A moment later, Ram handed the fork back to him.
“I’ve done as commanded.”
Ram bowed his head.
“That’s all?”
“Is more required? If so, I’d have no choice but to kill the boy.”
Ram had just pressed a fork against the throat of the prisoner.
If he applied even a finger’s pressure further, the person would die.
Beyond that, he wasn’t sure what else to demonstrate.
The knight beside the king was closely observing Ram’s actions.
He whispered something to the king.
Though Ram had his head bowed, he knew the knight approached the king, whispered, and even caught the content of the conversation.
“From the way he walks and moves his wrist, it’s clear he’s trained in swordsmanship. However, he’s deliberately minimizing his movements, so I can’t say much beyond that.”
The knight’s observation was accurate.
Ram was minimizing his movements—there was no reason to make them larger.
The king exhaled heavily through his nose.
“Very well. That’s how it is, then?”
The king spoke indifferently.
When Ram had first entered, the king’s tone carried a trace of curiosity, but now it was filled with disappointment.
“You may leave.”
Upon the king’s command, Ram obeyed and left the tent.
Behind him, murmurs filled the air.
Most of the whispers revolved around variations of: “That boy killed Mantum? Really? Why didn’t General Terdin mention this?”
Ram couldn’t make sense of the situation.
What did Kura mean by his words?
Why had he come to tell the king about this in the first place?
It didn’t seem like the matter would end here.
Even back in his quarters, Ram couldn’t rest.
At any moment, Kura might come to ask what had transpired with the king, or a knight might appear to order him to see the king again.
Ram spent most of the night sleepless.
At the crack of dawn, he decided to seek out Terdin.
He wanted to tell the general what had happened the previous day.
But General Terdin was engaged in a meeting with the king from early morning.
Attendees included the officials from yesterday, Bishop Aikob and Count Vadio.
Ram couldn’t linger outside such a high-level meeting.
Returning to his usual post near Jedrick’s quarters, Ram resolved to wait until lunchtime for an opportunity to meet the general.
However, Terdin spent lunch in yet another meeting.
When not in meetings, Terdin was always accompanied by either a royal knight, Count Vadio, or Bishop Aikob.
It was only natural for people to gather around a general who had led them to victory.
But to Ram, it felt as though someone was deliberately preventing him from meeting the general.
Another late night came, and Ram was forced to postpone the meeting yet again.
In the meantime, Ram patrolled Jedrick’s quarters.
The army’s soldiers had strict orders not to provoke the Geron tribal leader.
Even without orders, no one dared approach Jedrick’s quarters.
So strict vigilance wasn’t necessary—until the king’s soldiers arrived.
The king’s soldiers would stray from their designated zones, coming near Jedrick’s quarters to satisfy their curiosity about the “barbarian king.”
Each time, the guards brandished their spears threateningly, but Terdin’s authority didn’t seem to carry weight with the king’s soldiers.
Tensions occasionally flared between the two sides.
Such incidents could put Jedrick in danger.
Ram maintained constant vigilance, even through the night.
Some soldiers used the cover of darkness to sneak closer for a glimpse of Jedrick.
Tonight’s intruder seemed to be one of them—but this was no ordinary soldier.
It was one of the king’s royal guards.
Not the one who had summoned Ram yesterday—this one was more imposing, with a fiercer gaze and a clear aura of authority.
Ram instantly recognized him as the knight who had stood beside the king in the tent the previous day.
‘The one who analyzed my movements and reported to the king.’
Although two other guards stood nearby, Ram felt uneasy.
If this royal guard demanded to see Jedrick and refused to back down, what could he do?
If force was necessary, a fight might break out—not a matter of winning or losing, but of whether a fight should happen at all.
‘If only I could ask General Terdin.’
The two guards belatedly recognized the royal guard and saluted him.
“Captain Claive, what brings you here at this late hour?”
Claive barely acknowledged them with a nod before striding directly to Ram.
He loomed close, his heavy armor nearly brushing Ram’s face.
“Follow me.”
“What is this about?”
Ram asked politely.
“It’s an order.”
“Whose order?”
“Don’t ask questions. If I give an order, it’s obviously from the king. Now stop talking and follow me.”
Claive’s intimidating demeanor left Ram with no choice.
Even the other guards nudged Ram forward.
“Go on. Leave this to us.”
Reluctantly, Ram followed.
Claive led him far from the army’s camp, into a deserted grassland.
Under the thick darkness, visible only by moonlight, there was no one else around.
Claive drew his sword.
But he wasn’t alone.
Ram could hear three more men hidden in the bushes.
They unsheathed their swords almost in unison with Claive.
“What is this about?”
Ram asked again.
Claive responded with a swift, sharp slash.
His attack was far superior to anything Ram’s swordsmanship instructor, Boti, had ever shown him.
It bore the precision of someone honed by real combat.
The three hidden men moved in, surrounding Ram in a coordinated attack.
Facing four opponents, Ram had no choice but to draw his own sword.
Escape seemed impossible—the presence of horses nearby indicated they were prepared to pursue him if he ran.
Even defending himself was a struggle.
He narrowly managed to avoid being fully surrounded, constantly adjusting his position.
The royal guards, however, kept pressuring him, trying to box him in.
‘There’s another one.’
Someone else was hiding completely, silent save for their breathing.
‘The king.’
It made sense.
If these were the king’s royal guards, the king’s presence wasn’t surprising.
But in this situation, it felt strange.
‘Is he testing me? Like how Baron Selken told Zenri to stare death in the face?’
But this wasn’t a simple test.
The royal guards were clearly aiming for his vital points.
Why?
Was this punishment for his failure to meet the king’s expectations yesterday?
Would the king truly execute him over that?
If so, why not declare it outright?
One word from the king, and Ram would bow his head without protest.
Executioners could finish it with a single axe stroke.
Why bring him to such a remote place and kill him this way?
Ram was confused.
He wanted to say something, to ask why, but he couldn’t find the words.
There seemed no way out of this situation.
‘Should I just die?’
One option remained.
It was so obvious that even after considering it, Ram hesitated.
He flipped his sword in reverse grip and crouched low into the bushes, disappearing into the shadows.
In this moonlit darkness, it wasn’t hard to vanish.
Even if the enemy could see him, he could still hide.
The wind masked sounds, and the shadows provided ample cover.
Ram hesitated again.
Could he really do it?
These were royal guards—elite warriors of the highest rank.
Could he really do this against them?
Standing in the bushes, the answer was “no.”
But crouching in the darkness, his assassin instincts awakened, and the answer became “yes.”
It was the only way to survive.
He had to kill all four of them.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Jjescus]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Join our Discord for release updates!w
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