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HELHEIM SCANS
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Chapter 54: The Spy
Jedrick had returned to the grand banquet hall.
The inside was empty.
Not even cleaners were present.
The villagers, including the workers, were all outside in the plaza.
The warriors had no reason to come in here, and the knights from the South had followed Damion back to their temporary campsite.
In the space where only the scent of burnt wood and stale alcohol lingered, Ikarum sat on a chair.
He struck a rather pompous pose, as if he had reclaimed a throne that had been stolen from him.
"What was that stunt earlier?"
Jedrick asked.
"If your task is done, return to your place. Why are you following me?"
Ikarum, resting his chin on his hand propped up by the arm draped over the chair, replied indifferently.
Gone was the man who had roused the knights by shouting "Arke" in the plaza.
His emotional state had not calmed with time—he had never been agitated in the first place.
"In the plaza earlier."
Jedrick asked again.
"Be specific with your questions, Jeje."
"Why 'Arke' in that situation? What were you thinking?"
"You talk as if you weren’t there. The volcano erupted twice, and I followed tradition."
"How convenient. The prince is an outsider; there was no need to declare 'Arke'."
"Did I insist on it alone? The villagers were the first to shout 'Arke.' Didn’t you hear them?"
"You could have refrained. Even during the trial with Rocher of Olomon over the dock rights, the volcano erupted, but Father didn’t declare 'Arke.' He resolved it through negotiation."
"You remember that well for something that happened when you were so young. True, that’s how it went. I must have forgotten about that. Should’ve done the same, but what’s done is done. Go back and explain it well to the conqueror so there’s no misunderstanding."
"No, I need an explanation. I’m not going back until I get one. Speak, Ikarum. You were up to something, weren’t you?"
Under normal circumstances, Jedrick would never have spoken such words.
He had never once raised his voice to his brother or father, nor questioned them.
If they ordered, he obeyed; if they forbade, he refrained.
If it was a command to act, he acted; if it was a command to stop, he stopped.
Occasionally, reasons were given: "Do it like a man." "Step back if you’re going to act like a woman."
But this time, Jedrick didn’t listen.
He wouldn’t let go of the suspicion he harbored about Ikarum’s words and actions until they were resolved!
And Ikarum, too, said something he normally wouldn’t.
"You didn’t tell the whole truth about what happened here yesterday, did you, little brother?"
"What happened yesterday? If you mean Hag..."
"Someone died here this morning, didn’t they?"
Jedrick, already prepared for such a question, responded with a prearranged answer.
"If it’s about that, I can’t say anything. It’s not about betraying my pride as a Geron; it’s just..."
"So someone did die."
Was he fishing for information?
No, he was pretending to fish while already knowing much.
That was the kind of person his brother was.
"Yes."
"Who was it?"
"I said I can’t tell you."
"This morning, I saw the Southerners moving a body from the banquet hall. They tried to cover it up, but the size, the weight, and the way they handled it so delicately—it wasn’t just an object. It must’ve been someone important. But everyone who entered the banquet hall yesterday came out alive. That means the person who died wasn’t one of yesterday’s guests."
Jedrick knew his brother’s memory was exceptional.
Ikarum could take note of the number of people who left for a hunt, and immediately detect if anyone had fallen behind or joined later.
Familiar faces aside, he could flawlessly identify strangers among crowds.
When large groups of more than a hundred raiders attacked and retreated, it was Ikarum who identified who hadn’t made it back.
He memorized the faces of captured slaves so they wouldn’t get mixed with those brought in by raiders from other villages.
No amount of mud smeared on a face could escape his keen eyes, even among groups numbering in the hundreds.
There was no way he wouldn’t be able to distinguish the knights, only about twenty of them, with their neat attire.
"I can’t tell you. But I can assure you this won’t harm our village. It was a political matter among them."
"Then I can say the same to you. This was just an internal political matter on our side."
"Don’t be absurd. You were trying to kill someone during that duel earlier."
Jedrick shouted in frustration, but Ikarum responded calmly.
"You know me well."
"Don’t tell me the target was Prince Damion."
Jedrick warned.
Ikarum laughed.
Then suddenly, he pulled a small vial from his pocket and lightly tossed it toward Jedrick.
His aim was precise, as always.
Even with his eyes closed, Ikarum could hit a squirrel with a hand axe.
But the unexpected move almost caused Jedrick to drop the vial.
The vial was only about the length of two fingers, as thick as a thumb, with a stopper at the end.
It was sleek, well-crafted, and adorned with intricate patterns—a luxury item carelessly thrown, as was Ikarum’s style.
"What’s this?"
"A potion of Hak Maraka."
"What’s it for?"
"What if I was planning to kill Prince Damion?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You just said it yourself, little brother. Don’t tell me you were planning to kill Prince Damion. But what if I did intend to kill him? And what if I succeeded? Would you rejoice at avenging the conqueror or seek revenge for your friend?"
"What nonsense are you spouting now?"
"You’re already becoming one of the Southerners. I can see it on your face. You’ve forgotten Father’s revenge. You’ve broken your promise to me. Have you already forgotten why Elhorn became their hostage?"
"I haven’t forgotten."
“You once told me, didn’t you? That you didn’t know who killed our father.”
“I don’t know.”
“Then who is this slave that the southern noble brat claimed killed Mantum?”
“That noble kid spouted nonsense because of southern pride. There was no such slave in their camp. Or maybe they hid them too well for me to find.”
“That doesn’t seem likely, does it?”
Ikarum spoke as if he already knew everything, while Jedrick struggled to avoid being ensnared.
“What answer are you trying to get by asking the same question over and over?”
“That’s poison crafted by Hak Maraka.”
Ikarum leisurely swung his foot.
Only his eyes glinted sharply in the shadow cast by the obscured sunlight.
His gaze, looking down at Jedrick, was supremely arrogant.
“At first, it causes stomach pain. Soon, the heart begins to ache. Eventually, you feel extremely fatigued, fall asleep, and never wake up again. Even if the healers or doctors over there examine the corpse, they’ll just say the person died from exhaustion and stress.”
Jedrick glared at Ikarum.
“Don’t tell me… you used that poison?”
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“It’s not that I didn’t consider it. If I had slipped it into the food meant only for him during yesterday’s banquet, he would’ve died easily, and we wouldn’t have been falsely accused of anything. Of course, there might’ve been some misunderstandings, but that risk was manageable.”
Ikarum clasped his hands together, tapping his thick, heavy fingers against each other, the sound almost audible.
“But more than anything, finding out who he was took priority. You didn’t tell me. And you didn’t intend to, either.”
“You keep saying he. Who exactly are you talking about?”
“Who do you think? I’m talking about the assassin who killed our father. When I say he, no one else questions it like you do. No one needs an explanation. But you ask.”
Ikarum shifted his gaze to the ceiling and continued.
“I even asked Maraka if there was a way to find out who he was. The moment I mentioned him, Maraka didn’t ask, ‘Who do you mean by he?’ Instead, he immediately said he could use his magic to find out.”
“Magic?”
“And he found out.”
“When?”
Ikarum laughed again.
“See, brother. You’re not curious about who—you’re curious about when. That means you already know who it is.”
“That’s not true! At the banquet, Maraka was caught using magic, and after that, he was always—”
Jedrick stopped mid-sentence.
The magic used at the banquet wasn’t intended to harm the prince!
“It was magic to find out who assassinated Adian Mantum.”
“No, that magic was fake. Even Hak Olga said it was failed magic.”
“How would Hak know? Did she come to the banquet hall and examine the powder Maraka burned? She was just toying with all of you.”
Ikarum slowly lowered his gaze back to Jedrick as he clasped his hands.
“The powder Maraka burned was all fake. It was meant to deceive the other Ehodin and the elders. The real magic was the dagger Maraka threw.”
“The dagger he threw at the prince?”
Jedrick tried hard not to react, but he couldn’t help recalling the face of the person who currently possessed that dagger.
Unlike before, Ikarum now spoke in a relaxed and calm posture.
“This is just my guess, but honestly, I think Maraka threw the dagger at Prince Damion. If the prince caught it, he could claim, ‘Mantum was killed by the hand of a conqueror.’ That way, even if the prince killed Mantum, ‘political reasons’—”
Ikarum chuckled as he said the word “political.”
“—would make it impossible to touch the prince. Maraka would have done his duty while securing his position. He couldn’t protect Adian, but he could claim to have uncovered the one who killed him. But someone completely unexpected picked up the dagger.”
Jedrick remembered Maraka’s distorted expression when Stuga picked up the dagger.
“And he came to me with the dagger, confessing that he possessed it. I had to confirm. What would Hak Olga say if I sent her Maraka’s dagger? Would she dispose of it as a magical weapon? Or would he discard it somewhere? Pass it to someone else? No, the dagger remained in his hand. And this morning, I saw blood on it. Unless he nicked his chin while shaving, it means he stabbed someone. So, brother, I must ask again—who was carried out dead this morning?”
Stuga hadn’t tried to hide the fact that he killed Captain Claive.
The situation had escalated too quickly.
The volcano erupted, leaving no chance to handle the aftermath.
Stuga likely hadn’t even thought to wipe the blood off the dagger.
“I won’t say. I swore by the names of our gods.”
Jedrick had never sworn by the gods to Damion.
But now, invoking their names was the most convenient way out of this predicament.
“Then there’s nothing I can do.”
“So the duel you proposed to the king today wasn’t about targeting Damion…”
“What could I gain from challenging that young prince? Would it soothe me to strangle the neck of that little conqueror with my pinky? No, what I want is vengeance for Adian Mantum—our father.”
“The double eruption of the volcano?”
“If you use coincidence well, it becomes inevitability. If you hide inevitability, it becomes coincidence! Albo was sharp. When I told him vengeance would come someday, he acted without needing further instructions.”
“What if the volcano hadn’t erupted twice?”
Ikarum pointed at Jedrick—or rather, at the vial in Jedrick’s hand.
“Hak Olga always sought those vials among the southern spoils. Despite opposing pillaging, she coveted those vials. That poison was originally created by Olga. She wanted to develop a cure to revive stopped hearts, but it failed. She tried to dispose of it, but Maraka took it and enhanced it. When tested on a condemned criminal, it killed him just as I described.”
Ikarum relaxed his posture again, exuding a mix of leisure and arrogance.
“Prove yourself. Which side are you on? Are you Ehlhorn of the scouts I sent south? Or are you a spy recruited by the prince to monitor us?”
“I…”
Jedrick couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Prove it with the poison.”
Ikarum smirked faintly.
“There’s no need to explain who he is any further, is there?”
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