Shadow Oath

Chapter 4: Mantum

‘If my son Zenri dies, whether the cause is you, someone else, or a natural disaster, you will die.’

Baron Selkon’s words lingered in Ram’s mind throughout the war.

Zenri liked those words.

Though the Baron also advised his son to be cautious, Zenri’s attention was always focused on Ram.

‘If I don’t die and only get injured, what punishment will this slave face?’

The Baron spoke as if it were obvious.

‘There will be a punishment proportional to the offense.’

After that, Zenri constantly acted as if he wished for something to happen to himself.

It even seemed like he was thinking, ‘This guy can only be punished if I die, so how should I die?’

Even now, it was the same.

Just before entering the Geran encampment, Ram turned back and saw Zenri sticking his head out of the bushes.

If Ram could see him, it meant the enemy could see him too.

Ram gestured desperately for him to hide deeper, but Zenri didn’t listen.

He wasn’t the kind of person who would listen even if spoken to, and it was already too late.

At this moment, being detected by the wolf’s sense of smell was more dangerous than being seen.

Ram decided to just finish quickly and return.

“Let’s end this before the young master gets caught!”

‘The plan has gone awry, but it’s still manageable.’

Ram had spent the last three days researching methods and routes to kill the enemy commander Mantum and escape.

On the first day, he mapped a path to safely reach the Targef River, which the allied soldiers simply called “the creek.”

In other words, he planned a route to avoid allied forces.

On the second day, he identified safe spots to cross the creek and explored how far he could infiltrate the enemy camp beyond it.

He studied where and how frequently guards or wolves patrolled.

On the third day, he located the enemy commander’s tent and determined the best time to enter.

Today was the execution day.

However, Zenri’s insistence on accompanying him rendered the route unsafe.

Convincing Zenri that it was better to go alone was an impossible dream.

Ram had learned only one thing: a slave obeys their master.

The problem was that this young master knew nothing about strategy or warfare.

In three months and fifteen days, just over a hundred days, the number of people Zenri killed in battle was zero.

Zenri didn’t know how to wield a sword properly.

He was lazy in swordsmanship training and barely studied military tactics.

Unlike other noble knights who leaped into the battlefield to gain merit, Zenri screamed and did nothing.

There were soldiers younger than Zenri, who thought he was sixteen but was actually fifteen, and they performed far better.

Standing next to Zenri, Ram struck down Geran soldiers.

In those fights, Ram was more worried about Zenri’s wild sword swings than the enemy’s blades.

Come to think of it, one allied soldier died after being slashed in the back by Zenri’s sword and suffering for two days.

So technically, Zenri had killed one person.

Of course, Ram never mentioned that part.

‘It can’t be helped. If the master says they’ll die, a slave’s duty is to assist, not dissuade.’

The best Ram could do was to act quickly.

Even so, he didn’t rush.

It was currently the guard shift change—ironically, one of the most dangerous times.

Rather than becoming disorganized, the guards were even more alert during the handover.

After two days of observation, Ram found the timing irregular.

There seemed to be no set schedule, or perhaps they deliberately avoided a fixed time.

Two days wasn’t enough to discern a pattern.

Following the plan, Ram circled the forest toward the tents where high-ranking officers stayed.

Strictly speaking, they weren’t officers but had some other designation Ram didn’t know.

Ram wasn’t entirely ignorant of the Geran language.

Before the war started, some Geran merchants visited the Selkon estate, and Ram had learned enough to understand basic words for trading and small talk.

However, military terminology was beyond his grasp.

The Geran tents resembled those of the Kingdom of Triton.

Ram heard they had looted them during last summer’s first war.

Their armor and weapons also bore a striking resemblance, largely due to plunder.

There were thirty-three tents in total.

Ordinary soldiers slept on the ground without even a blanket.

Coughing sounds echoed throughout the camp.

The northern climate wasn’t kind to them either.

It was said that, like last winter, the allied forces would retreat again as winter approached.

The climate didn’t favor fighting for the Gerans.

However, Ram thought the Kingdom of Triton might have an unexpected advantage in winter.

While allied soldiers feared the Gerans’ ferocity and savagery, moments like this revealed their humanity.

They, too, were weary of this prolonged war.

Passing through the camp, Ram narrowly avoided detection by a patrolling soldier with two hunting dogs.

The scent was masked by mud smeared all over his body, and his figure was hidden by lying flat beneath an unlit embankment.

‘Thank goodness they’re just dogs. If they were wolves, I’d be caught.’

Obedient dogs guarded the inner camp, while the disobedient but aggressive wolves patrolled the outskirts.

Ram’s keen hearing allowed him to pick up sounds beyond walls.

He also had excellent vision, particularly at night.

Even a small amount of light enabled him to see clearly at a considerable distance.

Until recently, Ram hadn’t realized others couldn’t see or hear as well as he could.

Hearing the footsteps of distant patrols, Ram moved preemptively, navigating between the tents.

Reaching Mantum’s tent wasn’t difficult.

It was slightly larger than the others but lacked ornate decorations or markings.

Thinking back, even General Terrdin’s tent in the allied camp had no distinctive markings.

That’s why Ram didn’t know where General Terrdin stayed.

On the third day, Ram could have killed Mantum but returned empty-handed per Zenri’s orders.

While regretful at the time, it turned out to be wise—Ram hadn’t brought a leather bag to hold Mantum’s head yesterday.

From this point on, it became a battle of patience.

Mantum was rarely alone, and he barely slept.

He was awake so often that Ram wondered when he ever rested.

Late into the night, Mantum remained under lamplight, writing something.

Whether it was strategic plans or correspondence, Ram couldn’t tell.

It wasn’t parchment and ink with a feathered quill, but Mantum was clearly engrossed in his work.

When killing someone, Ram always thought about their daily life.

Did they ever imagine, upon waking this morning, that they would die by my hands?

Did their family or friends ever think they’d never see them again?

Everything they worked for their entire life would end in a moment—a few pints of blood spilled, a faint breath, a few whispered words of agony—and it was over.

At first, Ram felt no guilt.

‘I was ordered to kill, so I kill,’ was the only thought in his mind.

But after the second and third times, it felt strange.

In those moments, he recalled the magical words his master had taught him.

‘Do as you’re told.’

A slave never questions orders.

That’s what it means to be a slave.

Finally, the time came when Mantum sent his officers away and was left alone.

Ram wanted to wait until Mantum was completely asleep but couldn’t waste time with Zenri waiting.

A guard stood at the front of the tent, so Ram cut through the back with his knife.

The thick leather parted along its grain without much effort.

Quietly, Ram slipped into the tent.

In all his missions, Ram had never been discovered, and this time was no exception.

Inside, Mantum paced back and forth, groaning in frustration.

Muttering faintly, he repeated phrases like, “This won’t do. At this rate, we’ll lose….”

The monstrous figure from the battlefield—wearing a horned helmet, double-layered shoulder armor, demonic claw-like gauntlets, and wielding a giant battle axe—was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, only a weary man with graying hair stood, deeply troubled.

Mantum was slightly over forty, according to Ram’s knowledge.

On the battlefield, he didn’t appear that old, but his white hair made him look older than expected.

His arms were thinner than anticipated, and his legs weren’t particularly thick either.

Ram had dismissed stories of Mantum’s magical armor and axe as nonsense, but seeing him now, he reconsidered.

The final task was to confirm this man was indeed Mantum.

While in battle, killing any enemy sufficed, but assassination was different.

Precision was key.

This principle was ingrained during Ram’s time as a slave.

At a feast with dozens of guests, mixing up drinks or dishes rarely caused problems.

But delivering a specific drink to the wrong person could lead to disaster.

The drink could be a gift of goodwill or a deathly poison.

Even a wrongly delivered empty lunchbox could cause serious misunderstandings.

Thus, identifying the target was crucial.

It was Mantum.

Even after double-checking, the face was undoubtedly Mantum’s.

Having confirmed, Ram began swiftly and silently.

A single groan from Mantum would alert the guard outside, and if they shouted, “Enemy!” it would all be over.

So Ram didn’t declare, “I’m here to kill you,” or ask, “Are you Mantum?”

He approached from behind, covered Mantum’s mouth, and slit his throat.

There was brief resistance.

Ram gently lowered Mantum as his strength ebbed away.

The sound of a body falling was surprisingly loud.

He didn’t pull out the knife to minimize blood loss.

Though it would delay death slightly, avoiding detection was paramount.

There was no further resistance.

Ram confirmed Mantum’s death.

He wasn’t breathing.

His heart had stopped.

Mantum was dead.

Now, Ram had to decapitate him.

Scanning the tent, Ram spotted a suitable axe—it was Mantum’s weapon.

‘Cutting quietly with an axe won’t be easy….’

Ram prepared an escape route in case the guards entered upon hearing the chopping sound.

Imagining the swiftest way to bag Mantum’s head and escape, he swung the axe.

Thunk.

The sound was quieter than expected.

Quickly, Ram bagged Mantum’s head and moved toward his pre-planned exit route, keeping an eye on the tent’s entrance.

The guards outside didn’t react.

They were distant, and the surroundings were already noisy.

Ram had a chance to escape cautiously.

He also took Mantum’s axe.

It would serve as evidence of his accomplishment.

His return route differed from his entry.

Though he worried about the scent of blood, neither hunting dogs nor wolves detected him as he left the camp.

‘It’s over. Now, I just need to take Zenri and….’

Ram froze as he approached Zenri’s hiding spot.

Torches were converging where Zenri was supposed to be.

Ram focused his hearing.

Though far away, he caught the voices of the Gerans in the quiet grasslands.

“What is this guy?”

“Looks like a southerner.”

“What’s a southerner doing here?”

“A scout?”

“Look at his clothes. He’s no scout.”

“We should’ve kept him alive, but… Cox bit his neck too hard.”

“Cox never leaves southerners alive. That’s how he was trained.”

Though he couldn’t see, Ram easily deduced that “Cox” was their wolf.

Cox was still sniffing around.

“What do we do?”

“Let’s at least take the corpse. On a quiet night like this, if we bring back something, we might get an extra loaf of bread tomorrow morning.”

The two burst into laughter, accompanied by Cox’s growls.

Ram wanted to confirm Zenri’s death but couldn’t risk approaching with the wolf nearby.

“What’s going on there?”

“Come here. We found something.”

More Gerans were approaching from another direction.

Ram retreated while lying flat, then crouched low as he ran through the reeds.

Though no one pursued him, Ram ran frantically.

At some point, he feared his master’s voice more than the Geran soldiers chasing him.

‘If Zenri dies, you die too.’