Shadow's Oath

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Chapter 46: Tanu

“…Tanu was the youngest of the children born to Raham, the supreme god. But since the older sibling gods had already taken control of everything in the world, Tanu was left with nothing to do.

I say ‘he,’ but whether Tanu was male or female is unclear—people tell the story differently.

Since Tanu had no task, no space to settle, and no purpose, he wandered aimlessly. Finally, he demanded a role from his father, Raham. Raham, having already distributed all responsibilities, had nothing left to give. After much thought, Raham gave Tanu the role of governing shadows.

Tanu eagerly became the god of shadows and tried to rule them. But, of course, shadows were bound to other objects, moving only as those objects did, without any real utility.

The other sibling gods mocked Tanu. They ridiculed him, saying his task was fake and his position meaningless, and laughed at how he seemed pleased with such a trivial role.

Tanu grew angry. In his fury, he collected all the shadows. Without shadows, living beings lost vitality and became incapable of doing anything.

Raham, enraged, led the sibling gods to kill Tanu.

But Krena intervened. As a mother, she couldn’t bear to see her child destroyed. Tanu, too, was persuaded by her plea. In exchange for returning the shadows, he demanded life as payment—a sort of rental fee. From then on, once the value of a life’s time was spent, the shadow would be returned to Tanu.

That is death.

Every living thing with a shadow will someday die. That is the core of our mythology. And for this reason, Tanu became not only the god of shadows but also the god of death.

The issue was the shadows of the gods. Naturally, the gods had shadows, which meant they, too, would have to return their shadows to Tanu eventually. But the gods were unwilling to part with their shadows.

For gods, who saw immortality as their birthright, death was an unacceptable condition.

Raham twisted threads of fire, forged from Akamantum’s flames, with threads of ice, woven from Ablim’s river, and used the resulting cord to stitch their shadows to their bodies. The other gods followed suit upon seeing this.

Tanu waited. He believed that with time, the gods would eventually return their shadows and come to him. Then, finally, he would have the family he longed for. In the dark and shadowy realm that he alone inhabited, he waited and waited for his siblings to arrive.

But no one came.

Confused, Tanu eventually realized the truth.

He was furious.

Very furious, I imagine.

All he had ever wanted was family, but he believed his family had betrayed him. Imagine how deep his rage must have been.

Tanu tore pieces of his own shadow and placed them inside serpent eggs, nurturing them. As the god of shadows, he could endlessly regenerate the shadows he lost.

He kept repeating the process, tearing off his shadow and filling the eggs with it.

Eventually, the eggs became full of shadow and hatched on their own.

A serpent made entirely of shadow emerged.

Its name was Malarhatu.

Born from consuming Tanu’s shadow, the serpent was insatiable for shadows, especially those of the gods. It was created for that very purpose.

The serpent now grows underground, devouring the shadowless humans it encounters. One day, when it grows large enough to consume even the shadows of the gods, it will rise to the surface and devour the gods’ shadows.

A world without gods will collapse.

That is how we believe the world will end…”

Ram, who had been holding back a question the whole time, finally asked,

“So does Tanu need someone to die in order to continue living?”

Although Ram spoke in Southern dialect, perhaps to maintain the flow of the story, Jedrick answered in Geron’s language.

“Tanu was born from Raham’s affair with a mortal woman, so he did not inherit the power of immortality.”

Jedrick gazed into the flames of the fire, which flared brightly as they caught on the dry wood, and continued,

“That’s why he is so diligent about collecting shadows. The more shadows he gathers, the longer he can live.”

“But didn’t you say earlier that Krena considered Tanu her child? That wouldn’t make him Krena’s child, based on what you just said.”

“Krena forgives all. She sees all things in the world as her children. Even when her husband fathered a child through infidelity, she treated the child no differently.

Of course, Raham was punished for his actions. But Krena still raised Tanu as her own. If she hadn’t, Raham and Tanu would have waged war against each other.

While Tanu would have ultimately lost, the aftermath of the war would have destroyed humanity. Krena foresaw this and intervened to prevent it.”

Jedrick’s eyes reflected the firelight, drawing Ram in with their depth and brilliance.

Unlike other Gerons, his face was smooth and unblemished, his neatly braided hair tidy, and the clothes of a tribal leader, which seemed better suited to someone much older, fit him well.

Compared to Ikarum, who looked every inch a hardened warrior born and raised on the battlefield, Jedrick, his brother, seemed more like an aristocratic young noble who had grown up in the comfort of a mansion.

Speaking in Geron’s language, Jedrick’s voice resonated more profoundly than when he spoke in Triton’s tongue.

“You look troubled. Did Olga say something to you? Is that why you went to Terdin? And now you’re asking me this because you haven’t found your answers?”

He was sharp.

But he didn’t flaunt his intelligence.

The villagers’ reactions said it all.

Despite his position as the tribe’s leader, the villagers didn’t respect Jedrick.

To them, Ikarum was the true heir to the Mantum lineage, not ‘Jeje.’

“I simply wanted to speak with someone, and you’re the only person I could talk to,”

Ram replied.

“You just wanted to talk? That’s amusing. To think I mean that much to you.”

“I know. I shouldn’t feel this way toward you. I don’t deserve it. I… killed your father…”

“Stop!”

Jedrick’s expression hardened.

“I told you not to say that.”

Ram, for the first time, defied Jedrick’s words.

“Why didn’t you tell Ikarum?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I apologize, but I overheard your conversation with him. You know who ‘that person’ is—the one Ikarum seeks. Why didn’t you tell him? Why did you say you didn’t know?”

“I told you to stop!”

Jedrick’s gaze darted around. E

ven though they spoke in Geron’s language and guards were stationed outside the banquet hall, there were ears everywhere.

So Ram spoke softly.

“If you had told Ikarum and he had taken me away, I would have gone willingly.”

“You would have died.”

“And if my death could save you, it would have been a meaningful sacrifice.”

“Are you saying ‘I should have let myself die?’ Stop talking nonsense! Don’t say ‘a meaningful sacrifice’ again! Every life has value. So…”

“Not all lives hold the same value. I’m nothing, after all…”

Ram chuckled but didn’t smile, finding the act itself awkward.

“Olga said I am Tanu.”

“Olga said that?”

“Yes, and Maraka, too. The King of Shadows? It’s so absurd it’s laughable. I’m just General Terdin’s shadow. The prince’s shadow. A shadow that Tanu will eventually claim. If Tanu appeared now to take my shadow and that made your life better, it would be worth it.”

Jedrick let out a bitter laugh.

“What do you know about me? Do you think I’m better than you?”

“Yes. You’re a good person, Jedrick. For your tribe. For your brother. A person who sacrifices themselves for others is a good person, far better than someone like me.”

Jedrick’s face twisted in dismay.

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s simple. I may not understand Geron customs and hierarchies, but the position of Elhorn doesn’t seem low. It’s significant. Yet the villagers don’t treat you that way. Even the other Ehodins, who likely nominated you as Elhorn, don’t show you respect. While your customs may differ, basic etiquette should remain consistent. And yet, there’s none of that.”

Jedrick fed more firewood into the flames.

Whether to stoke the fire or mask their conversation’s voices with its crackling, Ram couldn’t tell.

“You said yourself—you came to see who killed Mantum, to watch how they died… Yet you haven’t shown interest in who or how since then. If you were following Ikarum’s plan, you’d still be searching. But you’re not.”

“...That’s true. I haven’t searched.”

“You came here to die. To serve as a hostage, so General Terdin would focus on you while Ikarum rallied the tribe and rebuilt the village. How’s my reasoning?”

“Not entirely correct. But… mostly right…”

Jedrick glanced at Ram, his eyes widening in surprise.

“You… Why are you crying?”

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Ram hadn’t realized it until Jedrick spoke.

He made no effort to wipe the tears away.

“You’re a good person, Jedrick. If my death could save you, I’d be glad. In my broken Geron, this is the best I can say: I care for you, Jedrick. As much as I care for Prince Damion and General Terdin. I want you to live.”

Jedrick reached out to wipe the tears from Ram’s face.

“You still have more to say, don’t you? But you can’t say it, can you?”

Ram nodded.

“Then don’t say it. Even if the ‘thing’ you did is what I suspect, I won’t blame you. I care for you, too. For Damion, for Charlon. But we must never speak of this again. Do you understand? Let’s not have this conversation ever again.”

Jedrick closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them.

“Go to sleep. There’s much to do tomorrow.”

"Yes."

That was the reply, but Ram had no intention of sleeping.

If something were to happen, it would happen tonight.

He couldn't afford to fall asleep at such a time.

He deliberately sat in front of the fire to stay awake, but he couldn’t hold out.

The warmth of the fire didn’t help either.

Ram fell asleep sitting upright.

In his dream, Ram’s hands were covered in blood.

The familiar sensation of holding a sword told him what he had done.

He had killed someone.

But who?

He couldn’t remember.

Was there an assassination order?

Who gave the order?

Ram groped in the darkness.

He touched a cold corpse.

‘Did I kill them?’

He couldn’t even tell who it was.

The sound of wet footsteps approached.

Someone was walking toward him with a lantern.

Each step left muddy footprints.

They were barefoot.

There was a rotten stench.

A ghoul?

In the North, there was a legend about corpses that came back to life and ate the living. Nôv(el)B\\jnn

That’s why cursed bodies were not to be buried but burned instead.

But recently, Ram had buried someone who might have been cursed.

He couldn’t risk the smoke from burning them drawing attention.

The one approaching Ram was Zenri.

His eyes had been eaten away by worms, leaving black holes, and maggots crawled out of a hole in his cheek.

Though Zenli had no tongue, he spoke.

“You did as you were told, didn’t you?”

Zenli raised the lantern.

Ram looked down.

The corpse with its throat slit was Damion.

Another body lay nearby—it was Jedrick.

And yet another—Charlon.

The clean cuts on their bodies confirmed they were Ram’s handiwork.

Ram tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Zenri laughed.

“The next target is Terdin. Then Ikarum, and after that, King Gallant. And still, it won’t end.”

Zenri grabbed Ram’s shoulder, reeking of decay, and shouted,

“You’re my slave. Even though I’m dead, that hasn’t changed. You’ll serve me for the rest of your life.”

Zenri began to sing:

“Tanu.

Tanu.

Tanu.

You must kill to keep living.”

Ram woke from the dream.

Although he had screamed in the dream, he hadn’t made a sound in reality.

Not even his breathing was audible.

It was a habit, especially now when someone was approaching.

He looked around.

Jedrick was also curled up, sleeping with his arms crossed.

He seemed to be having a nightmare, his face contorting in pain as he twitched.

Ram closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, focusing on the sound.

He sharpened his senses to distinguish dream from reality.

Someone was indeed approaching.

Two knights should have been guarding the main door, and there were also two stationed by the service door used for food deliveries.

Around ten more knights patrolled the banquet hall’s perimeter.

Who could possibly get past all that?

Could it just be a knight on patrol checking something?

But the footsteps were suspicious.

They weren’t walking softly to avoid waking those asleep.

Rather, they were deliberately masking their footsteps.

Ram’s trained hearing could discern the difference.

He reached for his dagger.

The knights had confiscated his longsword, but they had left behind Maraka’s dagger, which was within arm’s reach.

Still, he didn’t grab it, wanting to gauge the intruder's intent.

‘If they draw a blade, then I’ll act.’

Then he realized his mistake.

What if the blade was already drawn?

He had planned to react to the sound of a blade being unsheathed, but what if the attack came without that sound?

The intruder suddenly quickened their steps when they were about three strides away.

They didn’t run but moved swiftly while still keeping their steps quiet.

‘An assassination.’

In that case, they would go for the neck.

They wouldn’t target the torso, which was protected by leather armor.

And an assassin wouldn’t try to decapitate someone with a greatsword.

They’d use a dagger to stab the neck or cut an artery from behind.

If it were an assassination, they’d cover the mouth first.

Two approaches were possible:

Cover the mouth first, then stab.

Or stab first, then cover the mouth.

A skilled assassin would choose the latter.

When the intruder was directly behind him, Ram suddenly turned to the side.

His guess was correct.

The intruder had intended to stab the back of his neck and missed, stumbling forward.

They quickly recovered, gripping their dagger in reverse and aiming for Ram’s throat.

Ram blocked their wrist with his forearm and grabbed Maraka’s dagger.

He had picked it up while dodging earlier.

Without hesitation, Ram drove the dagger into their neck.

After the attacker collapsed, Ram realized how dazed he had been.

He hadn’t even identified the intruder.

He had only acted on instinct to survive, focused solely on defense and counterattack, not even considering calling for help.

The attacker clutched the dagger in their neck, staggering before collapsing.

Even in the dim firelight, Ram could see their wide, staring eyes.

They tried to say something, but the words never came.

Only then did Ram notice the black bandage over one eye, with the other glaring at him.

The attacker eventually stopped moving.

Ram had seen many die this way and knew no one survived such injuries, even with immediate treatment.

The attacker was dead.

Though the fire was nearly out, Ram quickly recognized them.

He had to confirm if what he saw was true.

It was.

“Prince Damion! Prince Damion!”

Ram shouted, unsure what else to do.

Jedrick was the first to wake, startled by the sight of the dead man.

One of the knights guarding the door rushed in, gasping at the scene.

It took longer for Damion to arrive, and until then, no one present could speak.

The man Ram had killed was none other than Claive, the Captain of the King’s Guard.

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