Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 55: The Archbishop

“You should have listened to Ikarum,”

Stuga said, his voice tinged with guilt even for voicing such an opinion.

“You could have died,”

Damion replied, intending to sound concerned but unable to stop his voice from sharpening.

He regretted that he couldn’t maintain his usual cheerful demeanor.

“I’m fine, Your Highness.”

“No matter how confident you are in surviving, I won’t accept such challenges.”

“I meant it’s okay even if I die.”

“Even so, my answer remains the same. You’re willing to fight off hundreds of soldiers to protect me? Fine. Do it. I trust your skills. If you die in the process, it’ll be a tragedy, and my heart will ache, but I’d still accept your sacrifice with gratitude. But risking your life for a meaningless duel? That’s unacceptable.”

“But we must listen to their voices.”

Damion couldn’t shake the memory of the piercing gazes of the Geronians when they left the village.

‘Even Charlon looked at me with worry in her eyes. I didn’t want to appear like that.’

As soon as they arrived at the allied camp, she left with Rusef.

Normally, Charlon would argue, resist, and try to persuade her brother if he tried to take her away.

But this time, all she said was a brief “Let’s go” and a half-hearted “Just a bit longer” in protest.

When Rusef remarked, “Your hair’s a mess. Don’t let the prince see you like that,” she quietly followed him.

Charlon, who never cared much for appearances like other noblewomen, wouldn’t have been swayed by such a comment.

She had needed an excuse to leave.

Damion hadn’t even bid her farewell.

A cold distance hung between them, though they hadn’t quarreled.

“The volcano has erupted. Just as Hag’s prophecy foretold,” n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Stuga said worriedly.

“The volcano erupted because it was time, nothing more. Forget about Akamantum or Raham—they’re just heretical superstitions. If anything, call it the will of our god!”

As Damion said this, he noticed Jedrick descending from the village.

He only now realized that Jedrick hadn’t rejoined them until this moment.

‘I trust him far too much. Normally, I’d never let someone roam so freely… Yet it doesn’t feel strange at all.’

Jedrick walked down the hill and naturally came to Damion’s side.

‘Should I ask where he’s been?’

Many questions arose.

Had he managed to calm the chaotic square?

As a tribal chieftain, had he spoken to the other Ehodin?

Though other tribes’ Ehodin didn’t attend the square trial, they likely weren’t qualified to.

Had he spoken to his brother?

Or had he been sharing secret plans with Hag?

If Count Vadio hears of this, he’ll cause a scene.

But Damion didn’t ask.

Instead, Jedrick spoke first.

“If this is the will of your god, what does it mean?”

“Your hearing’s sharp. You heard that?”

“Your voice is too loud. The other soldiers probably heard it too.”

“Let them.”

“When such things happen, we have Hag interpret them. But this time, Olga is in no condition to perform that role. Do you have someone for that?”

Damion hesitated to answer, but a name came to mind.

“Archbishop Aikob. He’s not in this camp, but we could consult him later at the main encampment…”

Even mentioning Aikob’s name made him feel tired.

Physically, he was exhausted, too, having slept poorly due to nightmares.

‘I can’t govern this place according to our god’s teachings, yet I keep saying things like that. Why? This isn’t like me.’

When had it started?

When Hak Maraka cast powder into the fire?

When he met Hag Olga and heard her prophecy?

When Captain Claive died?

When Ikarum chanted “Arke”?

Damion couldn’t believe all of this had happened in a single night.

“A scout is coming,”

Stuga said, pointing toward the Terdin side.

A soldier who had gone that way earlier was now returning with General Terdin’s lieutenant, heading straight for the prince.

“No, it’s a courier,”

Stuga corrected himself.

“Where’s he from?”

“Probably the main encampment, but I’m not certain.”

The three of them silently awaited the courier’s arrival, each burdened with unspoken thoughts.

The courier gave a brief salute and reported immediately.

“Archbishop Aikob is on his way here.”

It was almost unthinkable, yet somehow not surprising.

In fact, Damion didn’t want to think about it at all.

“What business does he have here? He despises even setting foot on heretical lands.”

“I don’t know the details. I was only instructed to inform you in advance.”

“Understood.”

Damion turned to the lieutenant.

“Prepare to receive the archbishop. Does General Terdin know?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll handle everything. Please rest.”

“Fine.”

With that, Damion collapsed into a sitting position.

He wanted to ask, “Which tent is mine?” and head there himself, but he couldn’t even form the words, let alone move his legs.

Without any warning or sign, he fainted, so quickly that even the swift Stuga couldn’t catch him.

He vaguely heard the voices of Aedun and Jedrick murmuring above him.

They seemed to be asking if he was alright.

He wanted to say he was fine.

Perhaps he did, but he wasn’t sure if the words actually left his lips.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up.

“Are you awake, Your Highness?”

When he opened his eyes, Archbishop Aikob was looking down at him.

‘What? Why…? How is he here?’

For a moment, he thought he had returned to his tent at the main encampment.

But the unfamiliar interior revealed it to be a newly set-up tent near Elum Village.

“How long was I unconscious?”

Damion asked.

“About an hour,”

Aedun answered from beside the archbishop.

Jedrick stood behind him with a worried expression, while Stuga, as always, stood at the back with a neutral face.

‘I’ve started to recognize that expression. That’s his worried face.’

When Damion tried to rise, Aikob stopped him.

“There’s no need to stand on ceremony for me, Your Highness. Stay lying down.”

He’d only wanted to avoid lying alone in a crowded place, but Aikob gently pushed him back, leaving him no choice but to comply.

“What brings you here, Archbishop?”

Damion asked.

“What else? I came as the god willed it.”

Aikob smiled.

“He received an answer in his morning prayers and came here. On the way, he saw the volcano and hurried,”

Aedun added, almost reverently.

‘I don’t see what’s so amazing about that.’

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Damion forced a smile and nodded.

With humble pride, Aikob said,

“I checked, and it seems there are no healers here. I sent the fastest horse to bring someone from the main camp who can treat you.”

“There’s no need for that…”

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ll take care of it. For now, let’s draw some blood. It’s a medical technique I used during my younger days in the monastery. Removing the dead blood from your body will make you feel much better.”

Archbishop Aikob gave his prescription and asked Aedun,

“Do we have tools to draw blood, Lieutenant?”

“I’ll look for them.”

Aedun faithfully left to carry out the Archbishop’s instructions.

“There’s no need to trouble yourself, Archbishop. By the time the healer arrives from so far away, I’ll already be fine. It’s just that I was a bit tense, that’s all.”

“We cannot leave the one destined to rule the North to chance.”

When the Archbishop insisted, Damion glanced at Jedrick.

“Jedrick, isn’t there someone in Elum Village who could be called a doctor?”

Before Jedrick could reply, Aikob spoke first.

“You’re thinking of calling a barbarian doctor? They’d either use wicked sorcery or ineffective medicine, if not outright poison.”

Still, Damion waited for Jedrick’s answer.

Aikob, without so much as looking at Jedrick, continued,

“How is it that this barbarian is allowed to remain freely at your side, Your Highness? He should be tied up, if anything.”

“He is someone I trust.”

“That’s absurd. Bind him at once and keep him away from you. Let me handle this. Guards!”

Aikob shouted, and Damion sprang to his feet.

Though his vision blurred from dizziness, he didn’t stop himself from speaking.

“Stuga, as the Archbishop says, take Jedrick away and imprison him.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Stuga, perceptive as ever, grabbed Jedrick’s arm and escorted him roughly out of the tent, as if to show off to the Archbishop.

The tent was left with just the two of them.

Aikob, smiling with satisfaction, said,

“I heard that the chieftain or whatever of the tribe requested a duel after the volcano erupted. It’s a good thing you refused.”

“Of course.”

Damion answered, though his heart grew heavier.

‘Was it really the right decision?’

Placing a hand on Damion’s head as if bestowing a blessing, Aikob said,

“Today’s events are, in the end, God’s will. You have been entrusted with His word. Spread His teachings here. That way, there will be no need for savage battles over a volcanic eruption. Eradicate these barbaric customs. Make these savages act only according to God’s word.”

‘We are invaders to them. If someone were to conquer us and declare that we must abandon our God, we’d never obey. They feel the same way.’

Instead of saying this, Damion gave the answer Aikob would want to hear.

“Yes. I will never follow their customs and will make them abandon their gods.”

Aikob patted Damion on the shoulder, as though proud of a son.

“That’s the spirit. Now, get some rest.”

Just as he was about to leave the tent, Aikob stopped, as if something had just occurred to him.

“By the way, I heard that Captain Claive is dead.”

‘Who told him that?’

Damion barely managed to suppress his urge to shout at Aikob.

“Who told you that? I instructed everyone to keep it a secret.”

“One of the knights. He confessed during a sacrament, so I can’t reveal who.”

Damion had threatened to execute anyone who revealed the secret, but it had failed.

‘Not even Father could enforce such an order. Especially not against the Archbishop.’

Damion himself had confessed many secrets to Aikob—sometimes as though in sacrament, sometimes asking him to relay messages to God, and sometimes simply seeking advice.

How many others had confided in him?

How many secrets did Aikob hold?

How many weaknesses of others did he control?

“It doesn’t matter who spoke, Your Highness. The fact that the Captain of the Guards was murdered is no trivial matter. If His Majesty finds out, the repercussions could reach you. And the murderer will be executed.”

“I want to avoid execution. It wasn’t his fault.”

Though he didn’t want to, Damion had no choice but to ask Aikob for help—after all, he was the only one who could prevent such a thing.

“Claive tried to kill him first. He only acted in self-defense.”

“Of course. But we must also determine Claive’s motives.”

“Indeed.”

Aikob smiled faintly, like a hunter declaring they had caught their prey.

“Then I must meet ‘the murderer’ myself.”

Damion felt his heart sink.

He returned to his initial question.

Why had the Archbishop come here?

This was a man who would loathe stepping foot on the lands of infidels.

From the moment he woke up in the tent, something had felt off.

Aikob didn’t come here to casually visit a patient.

He was hiding urgency behind a facade of calm.

Behind his smile, he was impatient.

The reason he came to this camp and this tent was because he couldn’t simply wait any longer.

‘He didn’t come to see me.’

The empty words of comfort, the talk of God’s will—it was all a prelude to this question.

“Where is he now?”

As Aikob asked this, Stuga returned, greeted the Archbishop politely, and reported to Damion.

“I’ve imprisoned Chief Jedrick in the tent, as ordered.”

Damion wanted to protect Stuga but couldn’t lie to the Archbishop.

The truth would come out soon anyway—if Aikob didn’t already know.

He probably did.

The knight who had confessed likely named Stuga.

But Aikob wanted to hear it directly from Damion.

‘He’s trying to break me. To make it impossible for me to protect Stuga.’

That was Aikob’s way.

Even King Gallant could not escape it.

“It’s him.”

Damion pointed at Stuga.

Stuga looked at Aikob, puzzled.

“Is it you?”

Aikob spoke in a gentle tone, like a shepherd addressing a faithful lamb, as he commanded,

“Come with me. Confess to me about the murder of Captain Claive.”

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