Shadow Oath

Chapter 1: The Mage of the Elder Tower

“Your Majesty, a mage from ‘the Tower’ has come to visit.”

The chamberlain spoke.

King Fried Gallant was already in a foul mood with just two words.

The Tower? What tower?

There wasn’t just one or two towers in this country!

Arrogant fools.

A mage? What kind of magic?

Do they truly believe they wield magic?

Swindlers.

“What business do they claim to have?”

Fried tried to imbue his voice with as much dignity as possible, concerned his words might betray a hint of fear.

The chamberlain answered in a troubled tone.

“They did not disclose their purpose for the visit.”

“They didn’t reveal the purpose of their visit to the king?”

He recalled his father’s oft-repeated words:

‘One day, I’ll topple every tower they live in and crush every mage under my horse’s hooves without leaving a single one!’

The chamberlain, desperate to show it wasn’t his fault, explained further.

“They said they wished to speak directly to Your Majesty.”

“They’re not here to ask for money again, are they?”

The Tower of Mages demanded gold every year, equivalent to one-tenth of the annual budget.

Not that they specifically requested a tenth—they demanded a sum that always amounted to exactly one-tenth.

If it was a prosperous year, they somehow sensed it and demanded more.

In years of deficits, they didn’t ask for anything at all.

It was said that decades ago, during the reign of the king’s great-great-grandfather, when the treasury was devastated, the mages even brought gifts of gold instead.

“It’s not the new year, so that seems unlikely. Moreover, they had no gifts in hand, so I doubt it.”

Mages only came asking for gold once a year, on New Year’s Day, bringing small gifts with them.

These gifts were never satisfactory.

Last year, they had brought a thick book filled with illustrations of various plants.

Fried had flipped through only two pages before tossing it into the royal library.

Yet, he could not dismiss the mages entirely.

It was because of a deep-seated fear that lay dormant in his instincts.

His father had only ever spoken of crushing them but never attempted to act.

On the contrary, he appeared overly compliant with their words.

None of the previous kings ignored the mages’ advice.

There was only one who did—King Ferrance Gallant, about two hundred years ago.

He had prepared for war to drive the northern barbarians further north, as they continually raided the southern regions.

The mages had advised him against war and urged him to make a peace treaty instead, to prevent further raids.

But Ferrance ignored their advice and waged war, only to lose two northern islands and the vast Crescent Plains.

The mages had warned him again to negotiate, but out of spite, Ferrance personally went to the battlefield, where he died after being split in the head by an axe.

Since then, for two hundred years, the northern barbarians had remained a persistent problem, and the kingdom’s finances had been devastated by constant wars with them.

From that incident onward, no ‘Gallant’ dared to ignore the mages.

Fried Gallant was no exception.

“Let them in.”

“They wish to meet alone.”

The chamberlain glanced at Clave, the captain of the royal guards, standing by the wall.

The captain openly displayed his displeasure and shouted.

“Just let them in. The King of Triton has never met a mage alone!”

“Yes, sir.”

The chamberlain left, and shortly after, the heavy red doors swung open.

The mage was an old man draped in a purple cloak embroidered with golden threads.

In an attempt to be polite, he removed his hood, but even that gesture irritated Fried.

Even envoys of the empire, upon entering this grandly adorned audience chamber with its resplendent decorations and luxurious carpets, would inevitably feel tense.

But this old man looked as relaxed as if he had been invited to a friend’s dinner party.

His white-bearded face and thick gray eyebrows lent an air of dignity to his demeanor.

‘Is meeting this old man alone without anyone to advise me a mistake?’

From the start, Fried could have dismissed him outright.

He could have summoned his ministers and nobles to the council chamber and told the mage to return tomorrow.

He could have agreed to meet but kept him waiting endlessly in the reception room as an insult.

But perhaps, in trying to prove he wasn’t afraid, he had already made a mistake.

“Oh Gallant King of Triton, who eternally illuminates this land. I am Jea, from the Tower.”

The mage spoke.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No, Your Majesty. I’ve only now come, having been preoccupied with pressing matters since your ascension to the throne.”

“So, the mages I’ve seen every New Year were your subordinates, I presume?”

Jea offered a warm smile, like that of a kind old man from the countryside.

With such a smile, one could almost convince a lord to open his granary, believing there must be a good reason behind the request.

“I cannot say I know exactly who visited, but whoever they were, they were not my subordinates. Our Tower holds no hierarchy; we are all equals.”

“You certainly look older than any mage I’ve met before. Does that mean you wield the most powerful magic?”

“I am not the kind of mage Your Majesty imagines to be powerful.”

“You keep mentioning magic, yet I’ve never seen any proof of this so-called power. Even a jester performing at our annual events can pull fire out of his sleeves. How about giving me a little taste of your magic right now?”

Fried deliberately mocked him, but the mage seemed accustomed to such treatment.

“Many misunderstand what we are capable of. We cannot perform the kind of flashy tricks that delight the eye.”

“Then you mean to say you cannot wield fire and water, summon wind and clouds, bring forth rain and thunder, or turn a man into a frog or a sheep into a lion, as the stories claim?”

“We understand the principles of jesters pulling fire from their sleeves, but we cannot imitate their acts, which take years of practice. We know the workings of rain and clouds, but we do not summon them at will. As for frogs and lambs… well…”

The mage made a vague shrug, leaving it unclear whether he was joking or serious.

“Then why should we even call you mages?”

“Many call us mages, but we are merely scholars who study and love to share our teachings. We prefer to be called teachers rather than mages. And those who reach the pinnacle of our discipline are called ‘Senerot,’ an ancient term meaning ‘those who share wisdom.’”

“Then, are you a Senerot?”

“Though I am unworthy, I am addressed as such.”

“Should I address you that way as well?”

“It is a title we use among ourselves. Your Majesty need only call me by my name, and I shall be honored.”

“Very well, Teacher Jea. What brings you here today?”

“When a Senerot appears before someone, it means they have come to share wisdom.”

What arrogance!

Even so, Fried couldn’t laugh at him.

The atmosphere surrounding the mage was strange and heavy.

“Speak.”

“I would like us to be alone.”

At those words, Captain Clave gestured, and the ten knights standing on either side of him simultaneously slammed their spears into the ground.

Boom!

The sound seemed to shake not just the room but the entire castle.

“What are you plotting, mage?”

The captain’s voice thundered even louder than the spears striking the floor.

He was skilled at leveraging his commanding presence.

But the mage wasn’t the one overwhelmed.

It was the captain who was.

Though usually soft-spoken, he relied on his authority to command without raising his voice.

Now, he looked like a cat bristling its fur against a lion.

‘He’s certainly different from the mages who come begging for gold each year.’

Ignoring the commotion, the mage addressed only the king.

“To share wisdom means to exchange it as gifts between one another. It is not as simple as it sounds, Your Majesty. Would you share your wisdom with mere courtiers? No matter how loyal those knights may be, what they hear will eventually leave their lips. If that wisdom spreads to other nobles, what then? Though it may still be called wisdom, it would no longer be ‘the king’s wisdom.’”

“That’s an amusing point, Teacher Jea. My childhood tutors often told me to share the king’s wisdom with the people.”

“Perhaps you misremember their advice. They likely said to share knowledge gained from wisdom.”

The king fell silent, pondering deeply.

Reaching a conclusion was not easy, and acting on it was even harder.

“Everyone, leave.”

At the king’s order, the captain asked with a pale face.

“Are you certain?”

“It would be interesting to see how his magic transforms me. If I turn into a frog, execute me painlessly and do the same to the mage.”

Fried hoped the captain would laugh at his jest, but instead, Clave stared back with a pained expression.

‘He’s genuinely worried it might happen. Didn’t he claim not to believe in magic?’

It took a long time for the captain and the knights to leave the room.

Even their footsteps felt heavy.

The sound of the door closing was ominous.

“Now speak.”

Despite the king’s command, the mage remained silent, gazing somewhere beyond.

It was toward the door.

“If you’re worried about eavesdropping, you may come closer to speak, Teacher Jea.”

Fried spoke challengingly.

It might have been a show of courage to prove he wasn’t intimidated by magic, but it could also have been reckless folly, inviting an assassin to approach.

The mage took five steps closer.

It was a distance well within the reach of a thrown dagger and difficult to react to if the mage lunged.

Fried wore a sword at his waist, but if the other was a skilled assassin, he doubted he could hold out until the knights outside burst in.

Besides, it had been over ten years since he last practiced swordsmanship.

‘Good grief, to worry about being assassinated by an old man like this. I must have grown too soft, far removed from real battles.’

“Now speak.”

Fried urged once again.

It was likely to begin with a lengthy preamble, muddling the topic to divert attention. Then, when the listener dropped their guard, the real message would be slipped in to enforce the mage’s will.

He was familiar with such tactics.

It was always like this.

A mage would likely be even more adept at it.

But this time, it wasn’t.

“Kill General Terrdin.”

Fried prided himself on being able to handle shocking statements, but this was beyond anything he had prepared for.

“I like brevity in discussions, but this is too brief. Not to mention absurd.”

“Brief, yes, but it’s far from absurd.”

“Do you even know who Terrdin is?”

“He’s the hero of this kingdom, the supreme commander of all royal forces, and someone who could claim the throne if he so desired.”

“And you think you can leave this palace unscathed after saying such things?”

“I am but an ordinary old man who values his life. And I am also a loyal subject who treasures Your Majesty’s safety.”

“Then you must know that General Terrdin is one of my most loyal subjects.”

“Of course. General Terrdin would likely take his own life before betraying Your Majesty. If Your Majesty asked me, in the name of the Elder Tower, to name the one person in this entire court who could be trusted, I would unhesitatingly name Terrdin.”

“Then why do you say this?”

“There was a prophecy.”

Fried let out a hollow laugh.

He wanted to end this nonsense quickly and recount it to a jester over a drink.

“Do you know what ridiculous joke a mage told me today? If you tweak it a bit and recite it at the next banquet, the nobles will be rolling in laughter!”

“What prophecy?”

“Even before the prophecy, we mages were concerned that Terrdin’s overwhelming power might one day engulf this kingdom. However, the prophecy we received this time went beyond that. It foretold not only the collapse of this kingdom but also the empire to the south. And so, I came here immediately.”

“How amusing. Didn’t you just say Terrdin is the most trustworthy of my subjects? Why would such a man betray me?”

“Because Your Majesty will betray him first.”

Fried fell silent.

The mage continued.

“The flow of history is making Illiam Terrdin a king. Your Majesty cannot defy this flow. You know this, do you not? That’s why you sent him to the most perilous battlefield, hoping he would perish there.”

“I entrusted a glorious war to reclaim the lands stolen two hundred years ago to my greatest general!”

The king roared, but he felt like a child yelling in front of an overly stern father, pleading his case.

The mage, taking a step forward as if to comfort him, seemed threatening instead.

“If it were truly a glorious war, all of the kingdom’s resources would have been poured into the northern front, and General Terrdin would have been given every possible support. But Your Majesty did not do so. Should he return after failing in battle, you would likely hold him accountable and punish him. Surely, you believe that suppressing the kingdom’s hero is the only way to secure your rule.”

The king felt his breath quicken.

‘So, this is magic. I thought magic was about conjuring fire or stabbing invisible swords into people’s hearts….’

As if reading his mind, the mage stepped back and lowered his head.

“Senerots always offer advice, never commands. It was the same two hundred years ago, and three hundred years before that.”

“Two hundred years ago? You mean King Ferrance. But what about three hundred years ago? Triton wasn’t even a kingdom then.”

The mage only nodded in affirmation, offering no explanation.

Fried Gallant asked in a voice tinged with fear.

“What advice did the mage give three hundred years ago?”

“It was advice regarding a lord named Gallant, who was gathering spears and shields in a land called Triton.”

It was a story he knew, yet had forgotten.

He had tried hard to forget it.

“So, the mages who advised the previous kingdoms are the same ones advising this kingdom?”

“The counsel of the Senerots has always existed. Not only for the kingdom before this one but also the one before that. We merely follow the choices of kings.”

“Does that mean if I do not kill Terrdin, this kingdom will fall?”

“This is as far as I can advise. Senerots can only speak of fragmented futures….”

At that moment, the door opened.

There was only one person in the royal palace who had the authority to forcibly open the doors the king had ordered shut.

“Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion. I am bypassing protocol and entering at once!”

It was Archbishop Aikop.

Fried let out a sigh of relief.

‘You’ve come at just the right time.’

Aikop always took on unpleasant tasks on behalf of the king.

His presence made conversations with imperial envoys smoother and had also filled the kingdom’s coffers after becoming chancellor.

Above all, Aikop was one of the few people unshaken by the mention of mages.

It was also he who had suggested sending Terrdin to war, aligning his advice with the mage’s.

“You say you’re from the Tower? Which tower?”

Aikop entered the chamber with heavy steps.

“You mages always claim to be ‘from the Tower.’ What tower? Do you think all towers in this kingdom are yours?”

The archbishop said what Fried had wanted to but couldn’t, standing boldly before the mage.

In his flowing white priestly robes and high clerical hat, Aikop usually inspired one of two reactions—deference or fear.

But the mage showed neither.

“The Elder Tower, Archbishop Aikop.”

“In the royal palace, you will address me as Chancellor.”

“As you wish, Chancellor Aikop.”

“What is your business here? Is it to demand money again? Since I began managing the royal finances, I’ve been unable to understand on what grounds you claim a tenth of the budget. Explain it now.”

“Since the time of ‘every’ kingdom’s inception, we have received this money. We have never doubted it. If a reason must be given, perhaps tradition?”

“I opened the treasury once for that so-called tradition, but not a second time. If there are no clear grounds or contributions to the royal finances, I will not provide the funds.”

When no reply came, the archbishop raised his voice further.

“All are equal before the divine. Do not delude yourselves into thinking you possess superior abilities. You are nothing more than subjects of His Majesty.”

“We understand, Chancellor Aikop.”

Fried thought the mage was conversing with deference and respect. However, he realized otherwise with the next words.

“Then should the archbishop not also be a subject? If all are equal before the divine, why do you seek to stand above others, even above the king?”

“What did you just say?”

The archbishop’s eyes widened as if he were ready to grab the mage by the collar.

Though it seemed like the two old men might come to blows, the mage’s expression remained calm.

It was a face Fried, in all his years as king, had never seen before.

‘He sees everyone equally. He isn’t showing respect because Aikop is the archbishop but because he respects everyone equally. That’s why he has no fear. It’s the same with me.’

The mage turned his gaze to the king.

“Your Majesty, it is no cause for celebration that the royal treasury is full. Keeping someone who hoards wealth in his so-called sanctuary while squeezing the lifeblood of the people in the position of chancellor will only lead to unrest among your subjects. Soon, local lords dissatisfied with the current tax system will arm those same subjects.”

The archbishop shouted.

“Captain of the Guard! Behead this insolent man immediately! Burn every mage’s tower in the kingdom by day’s end!”

The captain entered promptly, sword already drawn.

Alone, he motioned his hand to signal his ten knights to block the door, ensuring the mage couldn’t escape.

The king could have shouted even then.

‘Stop! Who dares act without my command? The master of this palace is not Archbishop Aikop, but me!’

But he issued no such command.

Something felt off.

‘So, this is what it’s like to be ensnared by magic.’

The captain didn’t wait for Aikop’s order to be repeated. He swung his blade at the mage’s neck.

The blade passed cleanly through, but the mage’s expression remained unchanged, just as it had been when he first entered.

The king had seen countless executions, but there was no spurt of blood this time.

The mage’s body crumbled into fine, glittering dust that scattered across the floor. At first, it looked like sand, but it vanished without a trace.

Everyone in the room, from the captain to the archbishop and the knights, stood with mouths agape.

“A trick! He’s still somewhere inside the palace. Find him!”

The archbishop commanded, and the guards began their search.

The captain stayed behind.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

The king waved him off.

“Leave me for now. Stand guard at the door.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will remain vigilant.”

The door closed once more.

A moment later, the mage Jea spoke.

“Were you surprised, Your Majesty?”

“…Yes.”

The mage had never moved from his spot.

The captain’s sword had struck only an illusion, one that everyone but Fried mistook for the mage.

Only Fried could see the true mage.

From the moment the archbishop had entered the room, his gaze hadn’t aligned with where the real mage stood.

He had been speaking to an empty space, where the illusion had been positioned.

Now, Fried couldn’t even be sure if the person before him was the real mage.

“Is this your magic?”

“Not magic, but a minor illusion. Or perhaps magic in a direction Your Majesty did not anticipate.”

Fried was silent for a while, and the mage patiently waited.

“What must I do?”

The king clutched his head, overwhelmed.

At some point, the mage stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The gesture strangely lightened the burden Fried felt as king.

“The time of the Senerots has ended. Now it is Your Majesty’s time to share wisdom.”

“What wisdom do I have to share?”

“It is what only Your Majesty can do.”

Fried’s mind raced.

Somehow, he had become like a student, striving to answer his teacher’s question.

“What I’m best at… is fighting. I’ve never lost, whether in battle or war!”

The Senerot shook his head.

“No, the best skill is not wisdom. There are many who fight better than Your Majesty.”

Fried wanted to deny it, but he knew it was true.

“Then what?”

“Tell me what you enjoy the most. Do you enjoy fighting itself?”

“I enjoy… no. What I love is… winning.”

Fried looked up at the Senerot and finally found the answer.

“I love winning battles.”

The Senerot smiled with satisfaction, like a teacher pleased with a student’s correct answer.

“Then that is Your Majesty’s wisdom.”

And with that, he disappeared.

No puff of smoke, no glittering dust.

There was only one exit from the room, and the captain guarding the door hadn’t noticed the mage leave.

Fried didn’t even wonder how he had vanished. He was preoccupied with a single question.

‘If he can do all this, killing one man would be child’s play. So why ask me to do it?’

The king called for the captain.

“Clave.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Prepare for a campaign.”

“To where… Your Majesty?”

Clave’s expression showed less confusion and more a frustration with what he perceived as an absurd decision.

“In these circumstances, where else would it be? Northward. I will personally lead reinforcements to support General Terrdin.”