Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 56: Confession (1)

Aikob sat on a small wooden chair in the cramped tent, looking down at the slave before asking,

“What is your name?”

“Stuga.”

“I’m asking for your real name.”

“I was called ‘Shadow’ by General Terdin and ‘Stuga’ by His Highness the Prince. In Geron’s tongue, ‘Stuga’ also means shadow.”

‘This slave again with his nonsense.’

Aikob hadn’t forgotten how the man refused to answer his interrogation before the king.

If he had asked him earlier in Damion’s presence, he would have undoubtedly given the same answer, humiliating Aikob in front of both father and son.

Bringing him here, under the guise of confession and away from prying eyes, had been a wise choice.

Yet, he regretted not being able to use the solemn atmosphere of a cathedral in the capital.

Such places made intimidation easier, with the angelic hymns of the choir, walls adorned with sacred art, a ceiling watched over by painted angels, and stained glass windows casting resplendent light.

Even the screens for ‘pretending not to look at the other’s face’ served their purpose.

But here, none of that existed.

The tent in the main camp had at least been decorated to some extent.

But this hastily set-up temporary camp lacked even a simple solar cross.

‘Wasn’t he the baron’s slave?’

Ashua Selken. Not an unfamiliar name.

The lord of the Laorn region, bald, and a devout believer known for his piety.

Many priests in that diocese were known to Aikob.

If he passed along the message, “Selken’s slave dares to defy the archbishop,” Aikob wondered how quickly the baron would send an executioner for this man.

He calculated how much pressure that alone might apply to the slave.

But looking at the submissive figure kneeling with head bowed, Aikob felt no need to go that far.

‘Why waste such effort on someone like this?’

For the next few minutes, this man belonged entirely to the archbishop.

This was his sacred time, bestowed by God, during which none in this land could defy him.

“It’s time for confession. Confess your sins.”

The slave hesitated, bowing his head before forcing himself to speak.

“I can’t.”

Aikob burst into laughter.

It would have been less absurd if some beggar had walked into the cathedral and demanded tithes from him.

“Do you realize how blasphemous your words are?”

Stammering, the slave replied,

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I don’t really understand what confession is. I don’t know the process or what I’m supposed to do… or even what it entails.”

“Have you never been to a sanctuary?”

“I’ve accompanied my master a few times, but I never went inside. I’ve heard of people going to confess but never learned what it involves.”

“You don’t even know the prayers?”

“I’ve never been taught.”

“How irreverent. Prayer requires no teaching; it’s innate. Have you never even prayed in gratitude to God?”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Humans who do not pray are no better than beasts. That’s why slaves like you are treated as less than human. If you were not taught, you should have begged to be taught.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Did it never occur to you to think about listening to the word of God?”

“It didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Aikob laughed again, this time in relief.

‘This one will be easy to manipulate.’

It was now time to draw out sensitive information.

If the slave proved as stubborn as before, it might take a while.

Aikob had prepared for a battle of wills to break him.

But there was no need anymore.

This man was a slave conditioned to obedience.

“This place may be humble, but the seat I occupy makes it a sanctuary. Here, only you, I, and God are present. God sees and hears everything. By the authority bestowed upon me by God, I command you: speak everything. I wish to hear only the truth.”

Aikob explained in a kindly tone.

“Everything? I don’t quite understand….”

The slave mumbled in a troubled voice.

Aikob changed his approach.

Simple words for a simple mind.

“Tell me exactly what happened when Captain Claive tried to kill you.”

Speaking as though to a child, he continued gently,

“I need to know what crime you committed—though it must be murder—to determine whether I can grant you absolution. If God declares you guilty, I will have no choice but to take you to His Majesty for punishment. If God declares you innocent, even if His Majesty orders your death, I can protect you.”

In case even this explanation was unclear, Aikob added,

“By my oath to God, I cannot reveal anything you confess here to anyone else. Your secrets will remain safe with me until the moment I stand before God. Do you understand?”

The slave responded obediently,

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then begin your confession.”

Slowly, the slave began to recount the events.

The incident was far simpler than Aikob had feared.

The prince and princess had fallen asleep in the chamber within the grand hall.

The slave and a young barbarian boy had fallen asleep in the hall itself.

The knights on guard were stationed outside the hall.

Claive entered the hall, surprising the slave, who managed to evade the attack, fight back, and kill him.

The prince then moved Claive’s body outside to cover up the situation.

At that moment, a volcano erupted….

The slave’s account ended there.

Aikob already knew what happened next.

One of the knights who had moved the body had sought him out for confession as soon as he arrived at the camp.

The stories matched perfectly.

‘So Claive really is dead… after all his confidence.’

Two days prior, Claive had come to Aikob for confession.

He had confessed his desire to kill the slave who had taken his eye but hesitated because killing him would leave no one to fulfill the king’s orders.

The king wanted the slave to kill Terdin.

Aikob wasn’t entirely sure what Gallant was planning.

When Gallant had summoned the slave and questioned him about assassination techniques, Aikob had guessed it was an assassination mission.

But he didn’t know the target—or even if assassination was truly the goal.

Something was being concealed.

What was being hidden?

The concealment itself was hidden, making it difficult to probe.

Gallant had started keeping secrets after a mage named Zea visited Elder tower.

Gallant had plotted something with Zea but shared nothing about their discussions.

Aikob wanted to uncover it.

And for that, Claive would be the key.

With just that one sentence, Aikob learned what schemes King Gallant was plotting with the mage Zea.

Now, it was time to uncover the hidden intent behind them.

“So, you mean to kill the one carrying out His Majesty's mission, Captain Claive?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then you’re abandoning your most important duty.”

“I know. I wanted to ask what I should do.”

Claive groaned in agony as he asked.

For Aikob, the answer was simple.

“If you accomplish both tasks, at least you won’t be turning away from the role the gods have given you.”

[Translator - Night]

[Proofreader - Gun]

“Both tasks?”

“If the man is nothing more than a slave, then for the captain of the king’s guard, killing a single slave should be a forgivable offense.”

“Then His Majesty’s mission…”

“You already know what His Majesty’s mission is, don’t you?”

“Then the guilt will fall on me…”

Claive spoke, gripped by fear.

Aikob offered a hint.

“Shift that guilt to the one who was meant to bear it.”

Claive was a sharp knight, one who had risen to his current position thanks to his perceptiveness.

Naturally, he understood everything from that brief hint and accepted.

The slave could be killed.

Carry out the task in place of the slave.

Frame the slave for the deed...

Once Aikob confirmed that Claive had secretly left King Gallant’s side and departed for Elum Village, he began preparing to leave as well.

In the barbarian village, Terdin would die.

The soldiers would be shocked—how could the great general perish when the war was already over?

The barbarians would be terrified—they had surrendered, yet the enemy general had died in their village!

Both sides would be thrown into chaos.

That was when Aikob would appear.

Who else but the archbishop could mourn the death of the great general of the Triton Kingdom and offer prayers to the gods for his forgiveness?

Who else could clean up this mess?

The people would marvel once again at Aikob’s brilliance.

Amazing, how does he always show up at just the right time?

Next to Terdin’s lifeless body, the sword of the slave named Stuga would undoubtedly be found.

Better yet, if that sword were lodged in Terdin’s chest, it would be even more convincing.

That detail was up to Claive.

The murderer would already have been slain by Claive’s hand.

Aikob would then hear Claive’s confession.

The archbishop would absolve the captain of his sins.

Having already confessed, Claive would not face trial under anyone’s orders.

The rest was simple.

Aikob would dismiss the case, proclaiming that “the murderer killed Terdin, and Claive eliminated the murderer.”

A simple matter.

But things went awry.

Claive himself was killed.

‘The best knight of the royal guard couldn’t even kill a mere slave and ended up dead instead?’

Aikob lamented.

At the same time, he was impressed.

‘Though I didn’t see it myself, this slave killed Claive. I think I understand why Gallant named this slave as Terdin’s assassin. But it’s strange. Did he know about this strength from the start? How? Did Terdin tell him? That can’t be!’Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Gradually, curiosity about the slave grew in Aikob.

He had ended the war by killing the barbarian chieftain.

Stealing Claive’s eyes and killing him was not just luck.

When Aikob had first dragged this slave to the confession booth, he had been looking for a way to exploit the slave’s weaknesses and eliminate him.

By forcing the slave to confess to murder and subtly informing King Gallant, Aikob could achieve his goal with ease.

He had used this method to kill anyone who became a target—nobles, royals, lords, knights, peasants.

Anyone.

A single slave was no exception.

Conversely, this method could also be used to recruit anyone to his side.

Anyone.

A single slave could easily be taken.

“I’ve heard your confession well, Stuga.”

Aikob placed his hand on the slave’s head.

He felt as if his hand were being sullied.

Annoying as it was, he was glad he had brought holy water.

“I could simply absolve you of your sins or punish you, but let’s give it some time.”

It would be a waste to kill someone this skilled.

For someone capable of killing anyone, the possibilities were endless.

His talent was essential to the church.

No, to Aikob specifically.

‘If he can kill the barbarian king in the midst of enemy lines, surely he can kill a king in the heart of the royal palace.’

Removing his hand, Aikob said:

“You may return to the prince’s side. Needless to say, everything we’ve discussed here must remain confidential.”

“Yes, Archbishop.”

Watching the slave’s dry, withered back disappear beyond the tent, Aikob made up his mind once more.

‘I must have this one for myself.’

[Translator - Night]

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