Shadow's Oath

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 62: Confession

The four waited for something to happen.

They strained their ears to catch any sound in the cave, darting their eyes between the torch-lit areas and the patches of sunlight.

Nothing happened, even after a long time.

Ram’s keen hearing detected no sound other than the chatter of soldiers sharing meals outside the cave.

“Is it over?”

Damion stepped away from the stone table and let out a hollow laugh.

“It’s a good thing Aikob isn’t here. If he were, he’d definitely be bragging, ‘Nothing happened thanks to me! It’s proof that only our god exists!’”

“You don’t seem particularly pious, Prince Damion.”

“It’s not about lacking faith. I just don’t follow Aikob. You’ve seen the man. Who would want to follow someone like that?”

Jedrick gave a faint smile.

“I think I understand what you mean.”

“Shall we head out, then? If Aikob asks, we’ll say it was too boring inside, so we burned some powder, got tired of waiting, and came back out. Sound good...?”

Damion trailed off as he looked at Charlon.

She was staring intently upward, her head tilted back.

Damion followed her gaze.

Reddish smoke from the burned powder continued to rise through the hole in the ceiling, floating skyward.

“What is it, Charlon?”

“Just a moment.”

Charlon closed her eyes and spoke again.

“Let’s stay here for a little longer.”

She swayed her head slowly, as though listening to an inaudible melody.

Her emerald hair seemed to sway as if caught in a breeze, though there was none.

It was a breathtaking sight.

Ram had never found noblewomen beautiful, no matter how extravagantly dressed. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

He could judge the quality and fit of their clothing and muster polite praise when asked, but he had never felt genuine admiration.

Charlon, however, inspired an effortless awe.

Even Ram, typically reserved, was captivated.

The two men, by contrast, seemed completely entranced.

Charlon, her eyes still closed, began to speak.

“I feel like we didn’t just come here by chance. Sure, Aikob forced us here—dragged us against our will. But, honestly, I wanted to come here. From the moment Olga mentioned it, I felt drawn to this place. No, maybe I came to the North just to end up here. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? That couldn’t be true.”

The three men listened in silence.

“We just threw powder into the fire, burned red powder, and drank blood. Why did we do that? We wanted to confirm it was meaningless, that’s why. But why should it be meaningless? There’s no one here to accuse us of practicing some evil heresy.”

Charlon opened her eyes and continued,

“What if it’s okay for this to mean something?”

Damion, dazed, snapped to attention and asked,

“Mean something? Are you saying we should give some significance to drinking blood just now?”

Charlon took Damion’s hand.

Then she took Jedrick’s.

“Look. When we get married, we exchange rings. When a child is born, we kiss their cheek. To seal a union, we kiss on the lips. To show respect, we kiss the back of the hand. When knights swear loyalty, they kneel before their lord, who touches a sword to their shoulder. What does any of that mean? Is it some kind of spectacle to say, ‘Look! I could have killed you, but I didn’t—be grateful!’? In some places, knights even kiss their lord’s feet in complete submission. Strictly speaking, these are all just rituals, aren’t they? Yet knights who swear loyalty often betray their lords. And knights who were once enemies in battle can become comrades who protect each other in the next.”

Charlon looked at each of the men in turn, her voice growing firmer.

“We assign meaning to these insignificant acts. Just now, we drank blood together. Is that really insignificant? Why should drinking blood be such a big deal?”

“Sure, yesterday we ate sausages made with pig’s blood. Same thing. Once it’s in your stomach, it’s all the same.”

Jedrick’s comment made Charlon laugh.

“You’re right. It’s nothing. And at the same time, it’s everything. If we decide it’s meaningful, it becomes meaningful. We said we wouldn’t harm each other, but words are just words. A knight who swears loyalty can still kill their king. But if we believe in each other and decide this ritual has meaning, then it becomes real.”

Charlon pulled the men’s hands closer to her face and spoke with conviction.

“Let’s make this ritual real.”

Her voice held them spellbound.

“In Born’s tradition, when people share secrets in a private, sacred place like this, their souls are said to become connected. Why don’t we share our secrets here? The ones we want to hide the most. What do you think?”

Jedrick broke the silence first.

“What does that accomplish? Bowing during a loyalty oath is at least...”

“That’s a good idea,”

Damion interrupted.

“That would build more trust in our promise not to harm each other, wouldn’t it? Don’t you agree, Jedrick?”

Jedrick frowned, clearly annoyed, but Damion silenced him with a sharp glance.

With a sigh, Jedrick relented.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Damion then turned to Ram, who hesitated.

“I’m not sure I should hear secrets from people like you.”

“Stop hedging. Yes or no, that’s all I want to hear.”

Damion gave Ram the same stern look he’d given Jedrick, holding out his hand.

Ram hesitated, unsure without a direct order.

But Charlon waited with a smile, and Jedrick didn’t object, though he seemed exasperated.

“All right,”

Ram finally said, taking Damion’s hand, then Jedrick’s.

The four stood in a circle around the table, holding hands.

The lingering scent of burned powder, oil, and wood smoke filled the air.

“I’ll start.”

Damion cleared his throat and began.

“I once set fire to a sanctuary under Aikob’s care.”

Charlon gasped.

“I asked for secrets, not confessions of crimes!”

“Let me explain. I was ten years old. I wanted to make the solar cross shine brighter, so I set candles beneath it. I thought it’d look beautiful to line up a hundred candles. I even made sure they wouldn’t tip over. But... I put them too close to the cross.”

“A wooden cross?”

Jedrick asked.

“An old one, brought from sacred ground. Completely dry. It caught fire instantly, and the flames spread to the mural on the wall. I’d gone to fetch more candles, so no one saw me. By the time I returned, the cross was ablaze, and people were throwing water on it. I ran away as soon as I saw it.”

“Did you confess?”

Jedrick asked.

Damion shook his head.

“Even now, Aikob curses that ‘arsonist’ to hell whenever it comes up. How could I confess? This is the first time I’ve ever spoken about it.”

“That’s truly a secret to take to your grave,”

Charlon said with wide eyes.

“Please do.”

“With pleasure.”

Charlon began her story next.

"My turn, then. I actually once had a man I promised to marry."

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Damion was startled.

"You had a fiancé?"

"It was when I was ten."

Damion visibly relaxed.

Charlon laughed, though her expression turned slightly bitter as she continued.

"He was the son of the man who tended the castle gardens. That day, he looked so handsome planting roses with his gloves on that I couldn’t help myself—I proposed to him. I said, ‘Marry me!’ just like that. I must have been overly direct because he ran away. Who wouldn’t be scared? The eldest daughter of House Vormont suddenly rushing at him with a proposal—anyone would have been terrified. But the next day, the boy must have changed his mind. He came to me holding flowers and said he’d accept my proposal. But I was so embarrassed that I denied ever saying such a thing. My father was furious. I smoothed it over by claiming it was all a joke, but it almost turned into a disaster. The boy was nearly executed for insulting me. Luckily, he’s living well now. I heard his wife is expecting, and he’s officially inherited the gardening duties. My thoughtless joke almost ruined an ordinary man’s life."

"Please, don’t play such pranks on me,"

Damion said with mock seriousness, making everyone laugh.

Except for Ram.

He couldn’t laugh.

[PR/N: Cursed with knowledge 💀]

Jedrick then shared his story.

"I’ve never been in a duel. I’ve never killed anyone."

Damion waited for him to continue, but when Jedrick didn’t say more, he grew indignant.

"That’s it?"

"That’s it. Why?"

"That’s all? We’ve shared genuinely embarrassing and dangerous secrets, and that’s what you’ve got?"

Jedrick replied with emphasis.

"For a Geronian man, this is a big secret. To have reached my age without killing even a single wolf is deeply shameful. In my village, the only person who knows this is my brother, Ikarum. Even my father assumes I’ve killed at least one man in battle. Telling you all, especially as outsiders, is a massive blow to my pride."

"We’re no longer outsiders! What’s that word Charlon used? It’s like our souls are connected now!"

Damion raised his voice.

Charlon shook the hands of the two men she held.

"Wonderful. I feel like we’re growing closer and closer. Now, Stuga, it’s your turn."

Three pairs of eyes turned to Ram.

At that moment, all three of them widened in shock.

Ram didn’t immediately realize why they were looking at him like that.

"Why... why are you crying?"

Damion asked in a surprised voice.

Only then did Ram notice the tears streaming down his cheeks.

But he didn’t wipe them away.

He couldn’t.

His hands were holding Damion and Jedrick’s hands, and he couldn’t lift them.

He could have let go for a moment to wipe his tears, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t bear to let go of these hands he might never hold again.

He could have wiped his tears and then rejoined their grasp, but he didn’t want to break the connection.

Charlon had called it the connection of souls.

‘I can’t escape my past.’

That thought had lingered ever since Aikob sent him a warning by leveraging his weaknesses.

‘General Terdin said I could leave my past behind, but that’s easier said than done.’

He had always known this.

Still, he had hoped Terdin’s words would be true.

That didn’t mean he was disappointed in Terdin.

Nor was he disappointed in his current circumstances.

Not long ago, he had been a slave.

Now, he served as a steward to the Prince of Triton.

The eldest daughter of Vormont, the Elhorn of Geron—they were under his protection.

And now he was holding hands with the three of them, sharing secrets.

How could he feel disappointed?

Even if only for a fleeting moment... he could imagine living in a world without status or class.

That fleeting illusion was enough.

He wished this moment could last forever. But he knew it wouldn’t.

‘The moment my blade pierced Claive’s eye, it became impossible.’

Ram knew this bond wouldn’t last.

He shed tears for the happiness brought by that brief illusion and for the sadness of losing it so quickly.

He knew he had to confess everything in this moment.

"My name is Ram. I was a slave of Baron Selken..."

The others had already been shocked when he said his name, so they didn’t react further.

Even the word "slave" didn’t bring contempt to their eyes—only curiosity as they awaited the rest of his story.

That made him even more nervous.

‘Our souls are being connected.’

It didn’t matter if this ritual was real or fake.

It didn’t matter if it was a superstition or just a game Charlon had made up on the spot.

Ram approached it with sincerity.

If he gave his all, it felt like he could truly connect with them.

Even if it was only his own illusion, it didn’t change how he felt.

This illusion of connection was precious to him.

Ram confessed.

"...I’m the one who killed Adian Mantum."

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

THIS CHAPTER UPLOAD FIRST AT NOVELBIN.COM