Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 42: Hag Olga

‘So, this is how she operates?’

Damion quickly grasped the method this "witch" named Olga used to manipulate people.

There are many ways to mesmerize others, but the principle is always the same:

Catch them off guard.

‘She spoke as if she foresaw our arrival, but it’s obvious she had obtained information in advance. Then she makes statements as though her predictions are infallible, creating an aura of mystique.’

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

For an outing at night, which everyone would oppose, this level of entertainment felt justified.

After saying, ‘You’re not my guest, are you?’

Olga remained still, her gaze fixed on Stuga, as if frozen in place.

Just as Damion was about to call out to her, Jedrick shouted,

“Hag Olga! We’re only here to hear an amusing story, so spare us the ominous talk. The prince is present.”

Olga swayed her luxuriant silver hair, shaking her head.

“Oh, my mind wandered. Forgive me. Once I get lost in thought, I sometimes forget myself.”

She gestured at the lidded teacups placed in front of Damion, Jedrick, and Charlon.

“Please, have some tea.”n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“It’s not polite as a guest, but we’ll decline,”

Damion said, carefully expressing an apologetic tone.

“We’ve had a rough day and can’t take just anything in. I hope you understand.”

“I do. That’s why, in truth, I didn’t serve any tea.”

Damion belatedly lifted the lid of his cup—it was empty.

Charlon’s teacup was also empty.

‘Oh, so she adds another twist like this?’

Damion admired her once again.

Jedrick opened his lid, revealing a teacup filled with black liquid.

He sniffed it and commented,

“Since no one else is drinking, I won’t drink alone.”

“That’s not tea, Jeje. And you don’t have a choice—you’ll drink it.”

“What is it?”

“A concoction of medicinal herbs, roots, and dried flowers that’s good for colds. You catch one every year, so you’ll need to drink a cup every day starting now.”

“Does that mean I have to visit daily?”

“Of course. You’re the only one who can keep me company on days I’m stuck here.”

“What about Dulam?”

“He only runs errands for me occasionally.”

“Isn’t it against the rules for someone under confinement to have errands run?”

“That much should be forgiven. It’s just a few letters and requests for herbs.”

Jedrick drank without suspicion, slurping it down.

He nodded in satisfaction.

Charlon, amused, raised her empty cup.

She pretended to drink, sniffed it, and smiled softly.

“Wow, it smells as if I’ve actually had tea.”

Damion also sniffed his empty teacup.

As Charlon had said, the fragrance was delightful.

It seemed like tea worth drinking.

“I wasn’t planning to accept tea, but not being served feels disappointing. Is this part of your prophecy, Hag?”

Damion asked.

Olga replied with a gentle smile.

“Not so much prophecy as self-preservation. Hags sometimes receive undeserved respect, but often face unwarranted blame. For instance, if you’d drunk my tea and had a stomachache tomorrow, it would undoubtedly be my fault.”

“And wouldn’t that be fair?”

“Do you not recall the boar meat you had at dinner? Was the fish skewer caught fresh this morning? Do you know how long the horned cups of mead have gone unwashed? The Geronians believe alcohol cleans everything, so they never wash their cups.”

Damion was at a loss for words.

His lower stomach even began to feel uneasy.

Charlon furrowed her brows and rubbed her belly as well, seemingly sharing his thoughts.

‘But how does she know exactly what we ate at the banquet? For that matter, how did she even know there was a banquet?’

It wasn’t a simple trick to deduce visitors before they entered.

Damion had thought she might’ve overheard the commotion, but confined as she was, she shouldn’t have known who was visiting without being informed.

The room had only one window, nailed shut, likely as a part of her confinement.

Had Dulam, the man guarding outside, informed her?

Judging by his earlier demeanor, he didn’t seem the type to kindly explain the situation.

Nor did he appear capable of providing such precise details.

‘No, I mustn’t fall into her trap like this.’

“Enough, Olga,”

Jedrick scolded, like a grandson scolding his grandmother.

Though, outwardly, they looked more like siblings.

“What have I done? More importantly, what brings you here?”

Olga asked calmly.

Damion tried to sound stern.

“Today, one of your haks attempted to curse me but failed. I want to know what spell he tried to cast.”

“Did Maraka do something to the prince?”

Olga inquired, seemingly surprised.

Damion felt relieved at her question.

‘So she doesn’t know everything.’

It was natural she wouldn’t know, but still reassuring.

“During the banquet, a Hak suddenly intruded and tried to cast a curse…”

Jedrick recounted the events involving the Hak’s intrusion in detail.

At the end, he motioned to Stuga and said,

“Show her the knife.”

Stuga placed a bloodstained dagger on the table.

Olga, who had been listening seriously, burst into laughter upon seeing the weapon.

“Maraka always bragged that his curses never failed. What a foolish old man.”

Her voice was filled with unconcealed delight.

Olga casually held Maraka's dagger in her hand, the very one that the tribal chief and elders were too afraid to even share the same space with.

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No matter how often it was seen, it was still an odd blade.

With deft movements, she ran her fingers along the blade and the tip, then placed it back on the table.

When Damion had first heard Stuga's story, he suspected there might indeed be something extraordinary about the dagger.

However, in Olga’s hands, it seemed no more than a fruit knife.

“But since he failed at the most significant spell, he must bear the responsibility, mustn’t he?”

“The most significant spell?”

“The protective spell. It wasn’t even Hak's area of expertise. But given his pride, he likely didn’t want to shoulder the blame. So, he chose the path of death before that. Not to truly harm Your Highness with some grand spell, but to make it appear as though he had tried.”

“Are you saying he deliberately acted that way to be executed?”

Damion asked.

“Maraka is an extremely dogmatic old man. Think back to the banquet. I wasn’t there, so Your Highness must recall it yourself. How was it? Wasn’t it the perfect atmosphere for Maraka to display his loyalty to Mantum?”

“You mean it was, as they say, a ‘good place to die.’”

“That’s just a guess. Or perhaps he acted on Ikarum's orders. Harm the prince, and if you fail, I’ll cover it up by having you executed…”

Jedrick shouted angrily,

“Refrain from making such dangerous remarks, Olga. Ikarum is not someone who would act recklessly. And if the prince misunderstands…”

“I know how cautious you are in handling the situation, Jeje. But we must lay out all possibilities to prevent misunderstandings from arising.”

Olga explained calmly, pointing at Damion with her gaze.

“If His Highness were to come to such conclusions on his own, the suspicion born then would escalate into an uncontrollable misunderstanding. But if I bring up the potential for misunderstanding myself, the prince will instead direct his suspicions elsewhere. Isn’t that so, Your Highness?”

“I had no such suspicions to begin with, so there’s no need to worry, Hag Olga.”

Damion was beginning to like Hag.

But he couldn’t show his feelings, so he maintained his stern tone.

“I have another question. What was the powder that Hak threw into the fire? Did it have any magical significance?”

“It likely wasn’t anything significant.”

“Are you certain? The powder glowed brightly. If that’s the case, it might have been gunpowder, poison, or even…”

Damion trailed off, unable to provide another example.

Olga waited patiently for Damion to continue before responding.

“Even if poison had been mixed in, the elders sitting closer would have died first, not Your Highness seated further away.”

Charlon interjected quickly,

“But they said it was a curse to summon vengeful spirits!”

“What kind of curse?”

Olga asked kindly.

“It was spoken in an ancient tongue, and Elder Sao interpreted it roughly as follows: Mantum’s vengeful spirit roams this banquet hall and will attack the southern barbarians who call themselves conquerors. This curse will kill you all. The blood wind blowing from the north will cover everyone…”

Damion flinched.

'She remembered that? In such chaos?’

Olga looked at Charlon with particular kindness and said,

“Throwing blood-soaked powder alone cannot summon a spirit or invoke a curse. If Hak had truly intended to harm Your Highness with a curse…”

Olga pointed at the dagger on the table and mimed slitting her own throat with her finger.

“He wouldn’t have cut his palm but his throat. To cast a curse that kills someone, at minimum, a life of equal value must be offered.”

Damion gently brushed the back of Charlon’s hand, wanting to shield her from the gruesome topic.

But she didn’t even flinch, too engrossed in the conversation to notice his touch.

Clearing his throat, Damion asked,

“So, there’s no chance that Hak Maraka will harm us further?”

“As long as he’s properly restrained, right? Lock him up as I was… or, if you’re still concerned…”

Without uttering the word 'death,' Olga merely shrugged.

Damion nodded, trying to appear composed but failing.

“If I am to rule this place moving forward, I’ll need the wisdom to handle the Haks and Hags, who are vital to the Geronians. I’d like your advice on that.”

“You already possess the most crucial quality of a ruler, Your Highness.”

Olga stood up and returned with a small pouch.

The soft clinking sound it made was pleasant.

She took out flat, coin-sized stones slightly larger than a thumbnail.

“These are called runes, ancient magical symbols I use for divination.”

Placing them on the table one by one, Olga continued,

“I interpret ancient rune inscriptions to predict people’s futures. That’s my craft.”

“Can you foretell a person’s fate with those? If so, I’d like to try,”

Charlon asked.

Damion immediately held up a hand.

“Do not be so quick to seek out your destiny, Charlon.”

Charlon was so engrossed she jumped in surprise, even though Damion hadn’t spoken loudly.

“If I startled you, I apologize”

“No, it’s fine, Your Highness.”

Damion gestured apologetically and said,

“As General Terdin always tells me, never seek to know your fate. The moment you hear it, you become bound to “the words themselves,” accepting a fate that hasn’t even been determined yet.”

“Triton’s great general is not only strategic but also wise,”

Olga said with a smile, gently holding Jedrick’s hand as she added,

“Our Mantum heard two fates simultaneously: his defeat and his victory. He chose victory but was defeated. So, was I correct in predicting his defeat? No. If he had heeded my words and stopped the war, he wouldn’t have been defeated. In that case, I would have been wrong.”

“Then why make such a prophecy? Didn’t you foresee that you’d end up imprisoned here because of it?”

Damion asked cautiously, trying not to sound mocking.

'In truth, it wasn’t a prophecy at all.”

“But you said Mantum would die?”

“I did.”

“And that wasn’t a prophecy?”

“It wasn’t. At least, not the kind of prophecy you’re imagining. I didn’t cast runes for that statement, nor did I throw powders into the fire or inhale smoke to hear the voice of the gods.”

“Then what was it?”

Olga uttered a word Damion never expected from the mouth of a shaman.

“A tactical prediction.”

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