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Chapter 41: A Brief Excursion
‘Is it really okay to go out? Right in the middle of enemy territory?’
Damion was skeptical at first.
Truth be told, he had been swept up in the mood.
Part of him just wanted to follow Charlon’s lead no matter what.
Another part felt a stubborn determination not to be left out of the conversations between Jedrick and Charlon.
‘Let the two of them go out alone on this night walk? No way!’
But once he stepped outside the banquet hall, he realized it had been the right choice.
The cold northern night wind, which he had previously dismissed as unpleasant, now filled his chest with a refreshing chill.
The desolate plains, illuminated by moonlight and starlight, looked like a beautiful carpet woven from gray and black threads.
Seen from a high hill, the landscape wasn’t as bleak as he had thought.
Jagged rock mountains, barely visible during the day, now stood tall like fortresses guarding the horizon.
‘I’m starting to like this place. Especially with Charlon here with me!’
Seeing Charlon face the northern culture head-on, with even more enthusiasm than he did, gave Damion confidence.
“This is reckless, no matter how you think about it,”
Jedrick said, leading the way.
“Aren’t you the one who said courage like this is what we Geronians love?”
Damion responded smugly.
“That was when we were inside the banquet hall. At the very least, shouldn’t we report something this significant to Terdin?”
Jedrick’s troubled expression gave Damion a small sense of satisfaction.
“They probably already have, right? Isn’t that so?”
Damion directed his question to the knights following them.
One of the ten knights closest to him replied,
“Yes. One of us has gone to report to the General.”
“See? Royal knights are faster to act than anyone else.”
Damion’s confident remark was met with Jedrick’s skeptical retort.
“Have you always been like this?”
“Like what? The knights?”
“No, you.”
“What about me?”
“I thought you were more cautious.”
“I was.”
“And now?”
“Haven’t you ever wanted to break free from your father’s control and do as you please?”
Jedrick didn’t respond, and Damion relished another moment of satisfaction.
A group of Geronians had come out to watch the procession of knights carrying torches.
Some retreated to their homes, but none came closer.
“The danger hasn’t changed, even Ikarum only suggested that Stuga go alone. He didn’t mean for you to accompany him…”
Damion interrupted him to ask Stuga,
“What do you think, Stuga? Does this midnight journey seem dangerous to you?”
In the darkness, Stuga’s expression was unreadable, but he seemed uneasy.
Why?
Stuga rarely showed emotions, so Damion couldn’t be certain.
Still, his response was clear.
“If someone in this village were planning to assassinate Your Highness, they would likely be thrown off by this sudden change of plans rather than see it as an opportunity.”
“You hear that? Even my shadow says so.”
Damion felt relieved and, at the same time, surprised.
‘I just sought Stuga’s approval, didn’t I?’
If Stuga had objected, Damion would have obeyed.
For some reason, he felt Charlon would have done the same.
Hag’s hut was located on the outskirts of the village, about a hundred paces from the entrance at the base of the hill.
It wasn’t so much a house as it was a pit dug into the hillside with a roof and door installed.
A lone Geronian man sat in front of the door, rising slowly when he spotted the prince’s procession.
Even in the darkness, his large stature was apparent.
When Jedrick’s torch illuminated his face, it revealed a man with a missing nose and twisted features, his fangs visible even with his lips closed.
“Stop right there. This place is off-limits. And you brought one of those Southerners with you?”
“Watch your words, Dulam, before being a conqueror, he is our guest. And as Grand Chief, I have the authority to see Hag, who is merely a prisoner.”
“I don’t care who you are. What’s forbidden is forbidden. Step back.”
Dulam made a gesture as if to draw a sword.
The knights behind Damion simultaneously reached for their weapons, the clinking of steel echoing in the quiet night.
However, Dulam had no sword—every weapon in the village had been confiscated.
Upon inspection, he only had an empty sheath, stubbornly holding onto it instead of surrendering it.
Jedrick approached Dulam to restrain the knights’ movements and defuse the man’s hostility.
“I have Ikarum’s permission. You can confirm it.”
“If you’re lying…”
“Didn’t I just say to confirm it?”
“Fine. But if you’re lying, there will be trouble.”
Dulam trudged up the hill with a slightly unsteady gait.
“Don’t mind him, he’s a good man who takes care of his widowed mother. He’s just doing his duty.”
Jedrick walked to the door of the hut.
Before he could knock, a voice spoke from inside, in the Triton language.
“Come in, Grand Chief, Prince, and even the Lady.”
Charlon’s eyes widened in surprise.
“How did they know we were here?”
Damion shrugged as if it were nothing.
“With all the noise we made, they probably peeked out through a window or something.”
Still, he found it surprising.
“But Hag speaks Triton?”
“She learned it from someone.”
Jedrick replied as he opened the door.
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Warm air flowed out.
The place where Hag was confined wasn’t a prison or some desolate place—it was her own home.
Damion whispered to Charlon,
“Just a word of caution—don’t say anything first. Not to witches, nor to people like her. They’re always skilled at deducing what you want to hear and spinning it as if it were a prophecy.”
Charlon smiled as if to reassure him.
“I’m used to this sort of thing. Like I said earlier, there are many famous witches in Born as well. They mostly predict the future and are exceptionally good at telling paying ‘clients’ exactly what they want to hear. I’ve had my fortune told a few times just for fun, but I’ve never taken it seriously.”
Damion gestured to two knights named Ram and Dinton.
“You two follow me. The rest, stand guard outside.”
The other knights obediently stepped back to form a perimeter around the house, though they didn’t hide their dissatisfaction.
Perhaps they were irritated about moving in the middle of the night instead of resting, uneasy about the prince’s dangerous outing, or annoyed at not being selected by Damion.
For safety, Dinton and Ram entered first, followed by Damion, Charlon, and finally Jedrick.
The small room was cluttered with medicine bottles, herbs, clay pots, books, and scrolls scattered everywhere.
A cauldron hung over a charcoal brazier, its water boiling.
A woman was ladling the boiling water into a teacup.
Three lidded cups were already on the table.
With the addition of this freshly filled cup, there were now four.
The air was filled with a complex yet fragrant aroma—a blend of burning firewood, floral scents, tea leaves, spices, freshly baked bread, and strawberry jam.
There was also a faint smell similar to the powder Maraka sprinkled over firewood.
‘It makes sense for a shaman to have powders, I suppose. But I can’t help being suspicious.’
“I apologize for intruding so late, Hag Olga,”
Jedrick said, gesturing toward each individual as he introduced them.
“This is Prince Damion of Triton Kingdom, and this is Lady Charlon Vormont of Born Duchy.”
The Hak, Maraka, was an old man with wrinkled skin.
Naturally, Hag Olga should also be elderly—or so they thought.
But she appeared much younger than expected.
At most, she looked thirty-five, and she could easily pass for someone under thirty.
Her flowing silver hair didn’t suit the harsh image of the North but matched well with her gentle appearance and the cozy atmosphere of the room.
“Yes, I am Olga, the Hag of this village. Please, come in and sit down,”
She said, speaking Triton’s language with nearly perfect pronunciation and intonation.
She gestured toward the small wooden chairs around the table.
As Damion was about to sit, Dinton held him back.
“Please wait a moment, Your Highness.”
Dinton meticulously searched the room.
In the cramped space, his large armored frame knocked over books and shattered a few bottles of medicine, but he showed no sign of remorse.
He stomped heavily on the wooden floor, checking for hidden doors, until the boards cracked under his weight.
Hag Olga watched the scene helplessly, her expression one of sorrow.
Finally, Damion spoke up.
“That’s enough, Dinton. Wait outside.”
“But Your Highness, you just told me to—”
“You’ve inspected thoroughly enough. There’s no need for you to remain here. I trust this place is safe. My shadow will handle the rest.”
Dinton glared at Stuga before bowing.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
As he left, his helmet scraped the top of the doorframe, causing it to warp slightly.
“I apologize on his behalf.”
“It’s all right, Your Highness. Please, have a seat,”
Olga said warmly, gesturing to the round table.
Damion sat opposite Olga, with Jedrick to his left and Charlon to his right.
Though the table seemed oversized for the small house, the three of them were seated so closely that their shoulders almost touched.
Olga took the remaining seat and said,
“Welcome. I’ve been expecting you—Your Highness, Lady, and Jedrick. But first, have some tea...”
As she pushed the lidded cups toward each guest, she suddenly paused, her gaze fixed on Stuga, who was standing behind Damion.
Her eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost.
Damion, startled, turned to look behind him.
Stuga glanced back as well, as if unsure whether she was staring at him or at something behind him.
Of course, all that was behind him was a closed door.
Dinton had ensured it was securely shut, blocking any view of the outside.
“What’s wrong, Hag?”
Damion asked.
Olga, still staring at Stuga, responded,
“I read my fortune today, as I always do. It foretold that I would meet ‘three guests and one.’ So, I prepared four cups of tea. When the door opened and five people entered, I was certain two would leave. One did, but I expected the other to leave as well. Yet, he remains.”
Damion dismissed her concern lightly.
“Don’t worry, Hag. That one is just a shadow. As Jedrick named him, he’s Stuga. A shadow merely follows and does nothing. It behaves as though it doesn’t exist, so there are only four of us here. Your fortune wasn’t wrong, so don’t be embarrassed.”
Damion turned to Stuga and asked,
“Isn’t that right, Stuga?”
“Yes, Your Highness. You may think of me as non-existent, Hag Olga,”
Stuga replied humbly, his tone polite even when dealing with the shaman.
“That’s peculiar,”
Olga muttered, still unconvinced.
“Three guests and one. The three guests are clearly you three. And the one should obviously be me—I can’t leave this place, after all. So, there are only two possibilities. Either I misread my fortune, or...”
She narrowed her eyes and looked directly at Stuga.
“...you are not my guest.”.
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