Shadow Oath

Chapter 42: Hagra Olga

‘Is this how it works?’

Demion quickly grasped the methods this "witch" named Olga used to control people.

There were many ways to deceive people, but the principle was always the same.

Strike where they least expect it.

‘She spoke as if she had foreseen our arrival, but it's clear she obtained the information beforehand. And by speaking as if her predictions couldn't possibly be wrong, she creates a sense of mystique.’

It wasn’t a bad feeling. Considering that everyone opposed the night outing, this much entertainment was deserved.

After saying, "You’re not guests, are you?" Olga fixed her gaze on Stuga and stood still, as if frozen.

As Demion debated whether to call her name, Jedric shouted.

“Hagra Olga! We’re just here to hear some interesting stories, so don’t start with the ominous ones. The prince is here.”

Olga shook her head, flaunting her voluminous silver hair.

“My, where’s my mind? My apologies. When I fall into my thoughts, I lose track of myself.”

Olga gestured at the lidded teacups placed in front of Demion, Jedric, and Charlon.

“Well, have some tea first.”

“It wouldn’t be polite as guests, but we won’t drink it.”

Demion spoke, expressing as much regret as possible.

“I hope you understand that due to certain events today, I cannot eat or drink just anything.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t pour the tea.”

Demion belatedly lifted the lid of his cup. It was empty.

Charlon’s cup was also empty.

‘Oh, so she’s twisting things again in this way?’

Demion marveled again.

Jedric also opened the lid. His cup was filled with a black liquid. Sniffing it, he said.

“If no one else is drinking, I can’t drink mine alone.”

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

“What is it?”

“A blend of herbs, roots, and dried flowers good for colds. You catch a cold every year, so you need to drink one cup daily starting now.”

“Does that mean I must come every day?”

“Of course. You’re the only one who can keep me company during my confinement.”

“What about Dulam?”

“He only runs errands for me occasionally.”

“Isn’t running errands for someone in confinement against the rules?”

“Let it slide. It’s just delivering a letter or fetching a few herbs.”

Without suspicion, Jedric sipped the tea and nodded in satisfaction.

Charlon, amused, held up her empty cup. Pretending to drink, she brought the cup to her nose and smiled gently.

“Wow, it smells so fragrant, as if I actually drank tea.”

Demion also sniffed the empty cup. As Charlon said, the aroma was delightful. It would have been worth drinking if the tea had been served.

“I wasn’t planning to take the tea, but now that you didn’t offer, it feels disappointing. Is this part of the prophecy, Hagra?”

Demion asked.

Olga responded with a gentle smile.

“Rather than a prophecy, it’s a precaution. While Hagra is sometimes revered without merit, we’re also often unfairly blamed. For example, if the tea I served today caused stomachaches tomorrow, it would undoubtedly be my fault.”

“Wouldn’t that be obvious?”

“Don’t you recall the boar meat at tonight’s feast? Was the fish skewer from this morning freshly caught? Do you know how long the mead-filled horn cups have gone unwashed? Geran people believe alcohol cleans everything, so it’s customary not to wash their cups.”

Demion was at a loss for words. His lower abdomen even felt faintly uneasy.

Charlon frowned and rubbed her belly, seemingly having similar thoughts.

‘But how does she know so accurately what we ate at tonight’s feast? And how did she know we were even having a banquet?’

Now that he thought about it, knowing who arrived before the door was opened wasn’t a simple trick either. Demion had assumed she heard the visitors from the noise they made, but from this confined state, she couldn’t have known unless someone informed her. Looking around, there was only one window, nailed shut per confinement principles, making it impossible to see outside.

Could the man named Dulam, guarding outside, have informed her? Based on his earlier behavior, it didn’t seem likely that he would have kindly explained the situation to her. He also didn’t seem eloquent enough to explain clearly.

‘No, what am I doing falling into a trap of my own thoughts like this?’

“Enough, Olga.”

Jedric scolded her, as if a grandson reprimanding his grandmother. Though, in appearance, they looked more like siblings.

“What have I done? Anyway, what story did you come here wanting to hear?”

Olga asked nonchalantly.

Demion tried to sound as dignified as possible.

“Today, your Hark attempted and failed to curse me. I want to know exactly what kind of curse he tried.”

“Did Maraka do something to His Highness?”

Demion felt a bit relieved at Olga’s question.

‘So there are things she doesn’t know.’

Although, that was natural.

“Hark suddenly intruded during the feast and tried to cast some kind of curse...”

Jedric explained in detail the events involving Hark at the banquet. At the end, he gestured toward Stuga.

“Show her the dagger.”

Stuga placed the dagger on the table.

While Olga had listened gravely to the story, she burst into laughter upon seeing the blood-stained dagger.

“Maraka always boasted that his curses never failed. Foolish old man.”

Her voice carried an unmistakable tone of delight.

Fearless, Olga picked up the dagger, which even the chieftain and elders feared to be in the same room with. It looked strange upon closer inspection.

With skillful movements, she ran her fingers over the blade and tip before placing it back on the table.

When Stuga had told him the story, Demion wondered if there was indeed something ominous about the dagger. But in Olga’s hands, it looked like nothing more than a fruit knife.

“But failing at the most important curse comes with consequences.”

“What’s the most important curse?”

“A protection spell. It wasn’t even Maraka’s area of expertise. Yet his pride probably wouldn’t let him bear the responsibility. So, he likely sought a way to die first. Instead of actually harming the prince, he aimed to make it look like he was trying.”

“Are you saying he did it deliberately to get himself executed?”

Demion asked.

“Maraka is a rigid old man. Think back to the banquet. I didn’t see it, so Your Highness must recall it yourself. How was it? Wasn’t it the perfect setting for Maraka to display his loyalty to Mantum?”

“A so-called honorable place to die.”

“Just a guess. Or it might have been on Ikahm’s orders. Perhaps something like, ‘Harm the prince. If you fail, I’ll cover it up and smooth things over by having you executed.’”

Jedric shouted in anger.

“Watch your words, Olga. Ikahm isn’t the type to act rashly. If the prince misunderstands...”

“I know how carefully you’re managing the situation, Jeje. But outlining all possibilities can prevent misunderstandings.”

Olga calmly explained, gesturing toward Demion with her eyes.

"If Your Highness reaches such a conclusion alone, the doubt arising from it may spiral into an uncontrollable misunderstanding. But if I speak of the potential for misunderstanding beforehand, Your Highness will instead shift attention to another suspicion. Isn’t that so, Your Highness?"

"I never entertained such doubts in the first place, so there’s nothing to worry about, Hagra Olga."

Demion began to find Hagra increasingly likable.

However, he did not let this feeling show and maintained a stern tone.

"I have another question. What was the powder that Hark threw into the fire? Did it hold any magical significance?"

"That is likely nothing significant."

"Can you be certain? The powder flared up spectacularly. Normally, such a reaction would indicate gunpowder, poison, or perhaps..."

Demion trailed off, unable to think of another example.

Olga waited calmly for Demion to continue, then replied.

"Even if poison was mixed in, the elders sitting nearby would have perished first, not Your Highness seated farther away."

Charlon interjected swiftly.

"They said it was a curse to summon vengeful spirits."

"What sort of curse?"

Olga asked in a gentle voice.

"It was spoken in an ancient language, and an elder named Saom interpreted it. It went something like this: ‘Mantum's vengeful spirits haunt this banquet hall and will engulf the southern barbarians who claim to be conquerors. This curse will kill you all. A bloody wind blowing from the north will cover everyone.’"

Demion was startled.

‘She remembered all of that? Even in that chaotic situation?’

Olga looked at Charlon with extraordinary kindness and said.

"Throwing powder stained with blood into the fire cannot summon an evil spirit or cast a curse. If Hark truly intended to curse Your Highness..."

Olga gestured at the dagger on the table and drew a line across her neck with her finger.

"He would have slit his own throat instead of his palm. To kill someone with a curse, at least an equivalent life must be offered."

Demion, wanting to shield Charlon from the brutality of the conversation, gently stroked the back of her hand. Yet, she did not react. She seemed entirely unaware of his touch, wholly absorbed in the story.

Demion cleared his throat and said.

"Then does this mean Hark Maraka poses no further threat to us?"

"As long as he is properly restrained. Either keep him confined, as I am... or if you are truly concerned..."

Olga shrugged, avoiding mention of the word "death."

Demion nodded. He tried to appear composed but felt he had failed.

"If I am to rule this place in the future, I must know how to handle Harks and Hagras, whom the Geran people hold in high regard. I would like your advice on this."

"Your Highness already possesses the most essential quality of a ruler."

Olga stood and returned with a small pouch. From inside, came a pleasing rattling sound.

What she took out was a flat stone, slightly larger than a thumbnail, resembling a coin.

"This is a rune, an ancient magical character I primarily use for divination."

As Olga placed stones with engraved letters on the table one by one, she continued.

"Interpreting the ancient characters of runes to foresee people’s futures—this is my craft."

"Can you divine a person’s fate with those? If so, I’d like to try it myself."

Charlon asked.

Demion immediately reached out his hand.

"Do not seek to know your fate so lightly, Charlon."

Charlon, so engrossed, flinched at Demion's words, though he had not spoken loudly.

"If my words startled you, I apologize."

"No, it’s fine, Your Highness."

Demion gestured apologetically and continued.

"As General Terrdin often advises me, do not listen to fate. The moment you hear it, you become bound by the 'words themselves' and resign yourself to a destiny that is not yet determined."

"I thought Triton’s great general was only skilled in strategy, but he’s wise as well."

Olga smiled and gently clasped Jedric's hand as she spoke.

"Our Mantum heard two destinies simultaneously: his defeat and his victory. He chose victory but was defeated. Does that mean my prediction of his defeat was correct? Not necessarily. Conversely, had he heeded my words and halted the war, he would not have been defeated. In that case, I would have been wrong."

"Then why make such a prediction? Didn’t you foresee that you would end up confined here for making it?"

Demion asked carefully, ensuring his words were not mocking.

"In truth, I did not make a prediction."

"You told Mantum he would die, did you not?"

"I did."

"And that was not a prophecy?"

"It was not. At least, not the kind of prophecy you imagine. I did not cast runes, toss powder into fire, or inhale smoke to hear the gods’ voice before saying those words."

"Then what were those words?"

Olga said something Demion never expected to hear from a shaman.

"It was a tactical forecast."