Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 35: The Grand Banquet Hall

As Damion entered the banquet hall, the first thing he noticed was the stifling heat from the torches.

Dozens of torches lined the walls, but the hall was still dimly lit, perhaps due to the lack of natural light.

In the reddish glow of the flames, the Geronians stood widely dispersed on either side.

Though Triton soldiers guarded both the entrance and the hall, Damion couldn't shake the feeling of stepping into the lair of the Geronians.

He was tense, and the harder he tried not to be, the stiffer his body became.

He hadn’t even removed his helmet yet.

He had tried to take it off but couldn't summon the courage.

The thought of someone—driven mad by vengeance—hurling an axe at him had stayed his hand multiple times.

To the Geronians, Damion was the conqueror who had killed Mantum and forcibly disarmed their village.

‘Geronian berserkers are said to keep fighting even after their heads are severed, aren’t they? If someone like that charges at me blindly, will the Triton knights here be able to stop them? If something like that happens, will I still be able to protect Charlon?’

Damion glanced to his side.

Charlon was removing her hood.

She then swept her green hair back as if to flaunt it to the Geronians.

The Vormont family had a legend about being descendants of ancient fairies.

Just the sight of their green hair, said to be proof of this lineage, inspired awe and reverence in people.

Damion was no exception.

Half the reason he had fallen in love with her at first sight was because of her hair.

‘The Geronians will feel the same. That mysterious aura will be a weapon.’

Summoning courage, Damion finally managed to remove his helmet.

In the center of the banquet hall, a massive bonfire blazed as tall as a person.

As Damion walked past the roaring flames, the floor rose slightly by a single step.

This elevated area took up about one-fifth of the entire hall and served as the head table.

At the end of this space stood a large stone chair where the tribal chief sat.

Next to it was a smaller, ornate wooden chair carved with floral patterns, which looked diminutive in comparison.

An older man seated at the head table gestured to the stone chair.

Damion sat there, and then the man gestured Charlon toward the carved wooden chair.

From this vantage point, Damion found himself staring at the roaring bonfire at the center of the hall.

Ten Geronians stood in a circle around the flames.

They were the chiefs and elders of two other villages—Meios of the Nark tribe, Rocher of the Olmon tribe—and ten elders whose names were already starting to blur in Damion's mind.

Rather than trying to remember their names, Damion focused on Ikarum.

His appearance resembled Jedrick, but his aura was entirely different.

Jedrick’s gaze held an openness and a willingness to understand others.

He didn’t hide his love for his tribe or his anger toward the southern man who had killed his father.

This made him approachable and easy to talk to.

But Ikarum’s eyes showed no such emotions.

There was no anger, only the spirit of a warrior seeking a worthy opponent.

‘Now I understand why Father didn’t want to attend this banquet. It looked like he was graciously stepping aside to let his son, the future ruler, take charge. But he was just scared. He dislikes unpredictability, and this place is brimming with uncertainty.’

Terdin had said Ikarum didn’t seem to view the war as a loss.

To him, it was merely a pause.

But burning the village, killing the warriors, enslaving the women, and taking the children as hostages—as Count Vadio had suggested—was not an option.

Even if it were, it wouldn’t make the Geronians compliant.

Not unless they were annihilated.

Geronian warriors didn’t fear dying in battle.

Their mythology held that warriors who died in combat were taken by the god of war to serve as his soldiers.

Conversely, what they feared most was dying outside the battlefield.

To die of illness or old age was disgraceful.

Only women who bore and raised children were forgiven for such deaths.

‘Should I be grateful Ikarum didn’t throw himself into the fire to offer his body to the god of war upon seeing me? He seems to be biding his time for now. My job is to ensure that ‘later’ never comes.’

Ikarum stepped away from the bonfire and approached Damion.

It was a predetermined protocol, yet the royal knights tensed and stepped forward.

Damion, however, paid more attention to the shadow's position.

The shadow stood slightly behind and to the right of Damion’s chair.

Ideally, Damion would have placed him between himself and Charlon, but doing so would have put him conspicuously at the center.

Ikarum spoke in Geronian, and Jedrick translated.

It was a message of welcome, expressing gratitude for sparing their lives, accepting their surrender, and incorporating them into the Triton Kingdom.

Despite his rough tone and fierce expression, Ikarum was surprisingly courteous.

‘That must be thanks to General Terdin’s skillful negotiations. After all, I’m the only one who can grant them mercy. If Count Vadio had taken charge of this land, the Elum tribespeople wouldn’t have escaped slaughter. Knowing that, they won’t dare harm me.’

Damion steeled his resolve.

The other chiefs also greeted him respectfully, one by one.

Each time, Jedrick translated their words with deference, and Damion slowly began to relax.

“They’ve prepared food and drink for Your Highness,”

Jedrick translated.

Damion raised his hand in acknowledgment.

“Thank them.”

As Jedrick relayed his words, servants began bringing in the food.

Whole roasted pigs, skewered vegetables, baskets of grilled fish, and barrels of liquor were carried in.

When a cork was pulled from one of the barrels, a brown liquid spilled out, its aroma pleasant but its foamy appearance murky.

Ikarum poured the liquor into a horned cup and personally handed it to Damion, then to Charlon.

Damion’s horned cup was nearly the length of his forearm, while Charlon’s was about the length of a handspan.

The sharp-ended cups looked menacing, but Charlon showed no sign of dislike.

‘She’s an extraordinary woman.’

At first, he had been captivated by her beauty, but as time passed, her every action drew him in.

Her knowledge was impressive, her confidence admirable.

‘If we had met outside the context of this political marriage, things might have been better. My feelings might have reached her more naturally. Or if she had been sent as a hostage ten years ago instead of Rusef, we could have grown closer more easily.’

Damion remembered when Rusef had been taken as a hostage a decade ago.

Even at a young age, his beauty had drawn the attention of many royal women.

At sixteen, his looks had blossomed even more, so much so that noblemen petitioned to restrict Rusef’s outings, claiming it was improper for a hostage from a defeated nation to roam the palace freely.

But if Charlon had been the hostage instead of Rusef?

Her life wouldn’t have been easy.

And Damion would likely never have had the "opportunity" to approach her.

"Now is the perfect time."

A royal knight approached Damion and whispered.

“All the food has been inspected. You can eat without worry.”

“You’ve done well.”

Damion raised his horned cup to drink, partly to reassure Charlon.

But just as he brought it to his lips, Ikarum shouted something in Geronian.

Jedrick quickly translated.

“To our new king!”

The Geronians gathered in the banquet hall shouted the phrase in unison.

Damion hurriedly lowered the cup, spilling some liquor on his chin and clothes.

He cleared his throat and raised the cup again.

“I promise you peace and prosperity.”

Jedrick relayed the words in Geronian.

The Geronians let out a beast-like cry and drank their liquor in one gulp.

Seeing this, Damion felt compelled to empty his cup as well.

Beside him, Charlon also drained her cup in a single go, to his astonishment.

He had thought her too young and refined to drink so boldly, yet the sixteen-year-old had finished the strong drink in one shot, while Damion had planned to sip it in three tries.

The Geronians laughed and shouted something.

Damion turned slightly to Jedrick.

“What are they saying?”

“They’re saying, ‘The king and queen have emptied their cups.’”

“And why is that so amusing?”

“It’s a saying in our culture that signifies, ‘The deal is sealed.’”

Damion chuckled and nodded, then looked at Charlon.

“How does it taste? It must be quite an adjustment to go from wine to mead.”

“The smell is strong, and it catches in my throat. Not to my liking,”

Charlon said, maintaining a polite smile while delivering her critique.

“Perhaps the first thing we should do here is plant vineyards or establish a trade route for wine delivery.”

“I agree.”

Damion laughed, and Charlon gave him a soundless smile.

She looked so beautiful in that moment.

Like the heroes in the tales of his ancestors, Damion felt he could go to war for a woman like her.

He scanned the banquet hall again.

Before coming here, many commanders, royal knights, archbishops, and lords had warned him that this might be a trap.

But so far, the situation didn’t seem to support that fear.

Given the Geronians’ warlike nature, there was always a chance someone might act recklessly for Mantum’s revenge.

But it wasn’t something to be overly concerned about.

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‘I’m still wearing armor. And if they target anyone, it’ll be me, not Charlon. I have ten royal knights guarding me. Regardless of the banquet’s atmosphere, they’re keeping a watchful eye on the Geronians, ready to kill everyone here if necessary—or destroy the entire village. It’s the Geronians who should be afraid, not me.’

Damion decided to trust the royal knights who had protected him this far and would continue to do so. Still, his thoughts turned to someone else.

“Shadow.”

No matter how softly Damion called, the shadow would appear.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Are you keeping watch?”

“Yes.”

Using the noise as a cover, Damion whispered even more quietly.

“Do you think there might be someone targeting me?”

Yet the shadow understood him perfectly.

“Not at the moment.”

“If someone suddenly charges at me, can you stop them?”

“If they’re slower than an arrow, I can.”

‘So as long as no one shoots an arrow, I’ll be fine?’

Damion refrained from making such a joke.

“Keep an eye out. Especially on Charlon.”

“I’ll watch both of you.”

A few rounds of drinks passed, followed by a meal, and music began to play.

The beautiful tunes, composed of unfamiliar notes played on instruments never seen before, brought a sense of calm.

Perhaps due to the alcohol, Charlon talked quite a bit.

“I wonder how many sacrifices were made for this meal. How many pigs were slaughtered, how many chickens? Are they prepared for the coming winter while serving such food?”

“We take pride in sparing no expense for our guests. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Surprisingly, Jedrick explained.

Moments ago, he had been speaking through an interpreter, but now his tone was as formal as when they’d met privately in the tent.

“Hmm, is that so? But that doesn’t mean there were no sacrifices, does it?”

“It’s up to you to repay those sacrifices. If you provide food and supplies to our tribe and the other two tribes, perhaps the remaining seven tribes, who have yet to surrender, will reluctantly follow suit. As you said, we don’t have the supplies or food to survive the winter.”

“The war has brought this upon you, hasn’t it?”

“It has.”

Charlon, after some thought, asked accusingly,

“And why do you call me ‘you’? Shouldn’t you address me as Lady Charlon?”

“Why bother? No one’s listening.”

“I’m listening!”

Damion, caught between the two, worked to calm them down.

“Enough. The two of you need to get along. How can you argue in a banquet arranged for reconciliation?”

Jedrick didn’t respond, and Charlon let out a huff, turning her gaze away.

Jedrick, unaffected, continued his explanation.

“This extravagant meal—extravagant by our standards, anyway—was prepared by the combined efforts of the three tribes.”

Jedrick’s slightly awkward pronunciation in Triton’s language resonated attractively in the noisy banquet hall.

‘Compared to this guy’s voice, mine must sound like a child’s. Even Ikarum, who might appear physically stronger, couldn’t match his voice.’

“In that case, I’d better eat less from now on. The less I eat, the more food will remain for the villagers, won’t it?”

Charlon asked, looking elsewhere.

“We want our guests to eat their fill and feel there’s no lack.”

“Then I must already be rude. I’m so full I’d have to loosen my belt to eat more.”

“That’s because you drank too much mead. Drink less and eat more.”

“And why’s that?”

Charlon retorted.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Because it’s a waste for someone like you, who doesn’t even appreciate the taste, to drink it.”

“How can you assume I don’t appreciate the taste?”

“You said it’s too strong and gets stuck in your throat, didn’t you? If it’s not to your taste, you don’t have to drink it.”

Jedrick downed his drink in one gulp.

Charlon huffed again, clearly angry but unsure how to suppress her feelings.

Concerned their argument might escalate, Damion awkwardly coughed and asked for more wine.

Charlon, determined to outdo Jedrick, drank more mead, and Jedrick, in turn, matched her.

‘Hmm? Wait a moment.’

A storm of emotions rose within him, pounding at his heart.

His chest thudded as if struck by a hammer.

‘What’s happening? Did I drink too much?’

Damion lowered the horned cup he had been about to lift to his lips.

Charlon spoke again, challenging Jedrick.

“Last time we met, you said you’d never meet me again. What do you have to say now that we’re here together?”

“What can I do?”

“Are you saying you’re here against your will?”

“It’s my duty.”

“Fine. Then let me help you fulfill that duty. Who are those people over there? Explain quickly.”

Charlon pointed to someone beyond the firewood.

“Who?”

Jedrick, unbothered, looked past where Charlon was gesturing.

Damion felt as though her pointing hand and Jedrick’s gaze somehow connected.

A hand and a gaze—it wasn’t even hand-holding, yet why did it feel like this?

“The men standing behind the chiefs and elders. You wouldn’t let just anyone into this banquet, would you? The men who shouted earlier, ‘The king has emptied his cup.’”

“They’re the Batu.”

“Batu?”

“The term comes from Barsatu. Ever heard of warriors who keep fighting even after losing their heads?”

“Berserkers! I’ve heard of them!”

“That’s Barsatu. The most outstanding warriors representing the tribes are called Batu. They serve as commanders during wars and now work to persuade their troops.”

“Persuade them?”

“Not all Geronians would willingly submit to those they fought so fiercely. Persuasion must start at the top.”

“Is that advice from Chief Jedrick to the prince?”

Charlon placed a hand lightly on Damion’s arm, indicating this was a conversation for the three of them.

Damion appreciated the small gesture of inclusion.

Jedrick nodded.

“It’s also General Terdin’s perspective.”

“How humble of you.”

“We honor our tradition of never harming a guest we’ve invited and hosted. Even an enemy who shares drinks and meals with us can expect at least a year of peace.”

“Then why do you keep fighting with me?”

“Is this even a fight?”

“Hmph.”

“......”

“Fine, let’s move on. How do you guarantee that promise?”

“It’s an oath sworn to Akamantum, the god of war. It cannot be broken.”

“Isn’t the god of war named Mantum?”

“In our mythology, Akamantum once descended to the mortal world in human form and was called Mantum during that time.”

“That sounds interesting. Can you tell me the full story sometime?”

“Whenever you want.”

Charlon quickly turned to Damion and said,

“Of course, the prince must join us too.”

Damion cleared his throat and said,

“I’d like to hear the story as well.”

He realized he was scowling and corrected himself.

‘They’re just discussing Geronian culture. Charlon is learning what she needs to know as a future ruler here. I should have been the one to ask about this and share it with Charlon. There’s no reason for me to frown at such a fascinating story.’

To calm himself, Damion gulped down the mead.

Forcing it down made him cough, and in that moment, he recognized the feelings stirring inside him.

‘Good grief, I’m jealous!’

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