A Deep Sleep and the Oath of Submission

When had she last enjoyed a sound sleep? Mirien couldn't even remember. Ever since childhood, venomous snakes had slithered around her, mocking her mistakes, exploiting her weaknesses, and viciously tearing her apart with their malice. The day her mother met a sudden, mysterious death, Mirien became a being who could trust no one. She lived suspecting, doubting, obsessively assuming the worst. Unfortunately, her suspicions were often proven true. She honed her skills desperately. She contracted with the Spirit King, and her father—the previous king—had no choice but to name her his successor.

Once she became queen, she thought, grasping power and force in her hands might make things a little better. But the throne only deepened her isolation. The number of snakes multiplied, and the families who had scorned and oppressed her now feared reprisals from Queen Mirien, plotting endlessly to eliminate her. Assassinations. Poisons. Betrayals. Conspiracies. Spies. Whispers and stealthy footsteps approaching her. From her early years to now, Mirien had never once slept deeply. Deep sleep was death. She believed the moment she fell into true slumber would be the moment she slept forever.

And so her mind and body gradually sickened. The poison from the Angui Flower had spread so rapidly through her body—even as the Spirit King's contractor—precisely because she was already ill. Perhaps that was why Mirien had never felt this languid, peaceful sensation before. The instant she sensed it instinctively as something unnatural, she snapped awake.

Mirien's eyes fluttered open. As she urgently tried to sit up, she realized someone was holding her tightly. She looked up. There was a man. He had removed his coat and was gently wiping the horrific wound on her back.

"Did you sleep well? You slept soundly for three hours straight."

The man spoke calmly. Staring at him, Mirien felt confusion wash over her.

Why... why didn't I die even after falling into such a deep sleep?

That was her first thought upon waking from that peaceful slumber.

I gathered up my coat, soaked in blood and pus from cleaning her wounds. Mirien sat on her throne, staring blankly at my actions.

"Guild Master Cornac knows the antidote recipe. If you need it, I can bring it to you. He said taking the antidote for about three days should heal the wound. There might be... a bit of scarring left, though."

Mirien offered no response to my explanation. She just stared piercingly at me. I met her gaze and gave her a gentle smile.

"Don't you feel a little better now, at least?"

She still kept her lips tightly sealed. Only when I started feeling awkwardly embarrassed did she finally speak.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you kill me? There won't be a better chance than that. If you'd killed me and gone to the five pillar tribe chiefs, they would have rewarded you handsomely. The export of Soul Flame would have resumed too."

"I know."

"You had no reason to save me. It brought you no gain—only the dangerous gamble of me potentially killing you. Why didn't you kill me? Why?"

"How can you say there's no gain? Your Majesty is alive now. And you slept soundly."

"That's my gain, not yours."

"A proper person feels joy when seeing others happy. Don't assume everyone's twisted and wicked."

Mirien rose from her seat and approached me at my words.

"Look straight into my eyes."

I did as she commanded.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"What is it you truly desire?"

"Please resume the export of Soul Flame. I need potions made from that herb to survive."

"Don't spout nonsense! If that was truly all you wanted, you could have let me die and gone straight to the five chiefs! What do you truly desire? Why did you save me?!"

"Once you understand why I saved you, Your Majesty, you'll become a wise ruler. Your relations with the chiefs and other major family heads will smooth over too. Realizing it yourself will be a far better answer than any explanation I could give."

"You...!"

Mirien's voice rose sharply, then fell again. Leaving her in her confusion, I turned to leave.

"I'll take my leave then. I hope my counsel helped. And please, do resume the Soul Flame exports."

As I bowed and moved to go—

"Stop. Wait... just stop."

Mirien grabbed me. She looked at me with an incredibly complex expression.

"Can I... trust you?"

I answered immediately.

"Don't. No one can even trust themselves fully. Sometimes we don't even understand our own hearts—how could we offer trust to others? So don't trust me. Instead—"

"..."

"If your heart ever feels heavy and you need someone to confide in, call for me. It's not just the body that tires. The mind does too. Your Majesty, sometimes the heart needs rest. You must learn how."

At my words, Mirien approached and took my hand. Surprisingly. I hadn't predicted her action.

Startled, I found Mirien leaning in close.

"That's enough. I need your help. I'll trust your words. I'll believe what you said—that the five pillar chiefs hired grand sorcerers to poison me. Help me resolve their issue. If you do, I promise great rewards."

Her future was now unreadable. Like staring into a mirror at myself. It had suddenly grown hazy. Flashes of panic, surprise, and a touch of fear passed through me, but I shook them off. I'd chosen to save her. And now the one I'd saved was asking for my help—with great rewards too. Considering all the hardship since coming here... settling for just resuming Soul Flame exports felt a bit lacking.

"When someone thanks you and offers something, take it unless it's something that'll make you sick. You gotta eat to live. Eat to survive. Too vulgar won't do, but acting all lofty will just suffocate you to death."

Mom's advice shone once more.

"What do you need me to do?"

Mirien smiled at my words. It felt like the first time I'd seen her smile.

"I want to borrow a bit of your influence."

Several hours after the great oracle entered the audience chamber, the queen summoned the five pillar tribe chiefs. The chiefs instinctively sensed something had gone wrong. But they couldn't ignore ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the queen's call. She knew exactly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how to wield her power. Everyone knew how families that subtly defied her orders—claiming illness or family emergencies—had been brutally crushed.

In the end, the five chiefs had no choice but to head to Echoing Castle.

"Even if the great oracle spoke the truth, do you think the queen would believe it so easily?"

"You know how obsessive her paranoia is. Even if he revealed the truth, she's not the type to swallow it whole."

"She might be calling us to verify it."

"And depending on what we say... we could redirect her suspicions to the oracle instead."

An ominous premonition hung over them, but it wasn't hopeless. Clinging to that sliver of possibility, the five entered the audience chamber.

"We pay our respects to Your Majesty."

Inside the audience chamber, the queen sat haughtily on her wooden throne. Expressionless as always, she looked down at the five. She said nothing. The chiefs grew anxious in the silence but tried to remain composed.

"What brings us here, Your Majesty?"

A cautious question. Still, the queen remained silent. But that silence actually reassured the chiefs. If she'd truly believed the oracle's words upon his revelation, she'd have beheaded them the moment they entered. The fact she was just watching meant she didn't trust him. She was suspicious—of him too. The chiefs concluded she doubted the oracle as much as them. The eerie silence stretched on until—

"I've seen it all. You can let me out now."

A unfamiliar voice rang out, and the shadow in one corner of the chamber dissipated, revealing the great oracle. Only then did the queen turn to him, meeting his eyes before speaking.

"Well? Plenty you'd be inconvenienced if exposed?"

"Jaw-droppers. Two chiefs who had grand sorcerers manipulate the Trial Flame to kill others. Four instances of seizing other families' assets. During the Betua invasion, deliberately placing your own warriors safely while sending enemy families' to danger via falsified prophecies—to weaken their influence dozens of times over."

The five chiefs' eyes widened. Why was the oracle emerging from there? No, that wasn't the point. The problem was that bombshells—any one of which could spark riots—were spilling from his mouth.

"Slander! Your Majesty, don't believe this man!"

The chiefs immediately decided to exploit the queen's suspicions.

"There's no proof he used his powers truthfully! He could have cherry-picked to deceive with a twisted truth!"

"Don't you trust us, Your Majesty? We've served you faithfully for so long!"

"Please believe us! He might be lying on another chief's orders!"

They unleashed perfect lines to trigger her paranoia, but astonishingly, the queen's expression didn't change. She responded indifferently.

"I believe the great oracle."

One sentence sealed their mouths. Queen Mirien rose and slowly approached the chiefs.

"And even if what he said isn't true, it doesn't matter. What's important is that all of Kaien believes him. The moment he shouts those revelations in the plaza, they'll be stamped as your deeds."

She smiled. Gone was the obsessively suspicious woman; this smile carried a hint of leisure.

"How amusing was it, watching me writhe from poison? Sneering behind my back as I forced myself upright, pretending to be strong."

But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that smile evoked more terror than outright anger. The five chiefs paled. The queen turned wordlessly, returned to her throne, and sat.

"I won't kill you. Easy as that would be... replacing your functions would plunge the kingdom into chaos until worthy successors appeared. To be frank, you're all competent. The problem is your competence aimed at my downfall, not loyalty."

The oracle and queen silently stared at the five. Just staring—but the five knew. They'd lost. The prolonged silence finally broke when one chief spoke in a trembling voice.

"What do you want from us?"

Rebellion? Impossible against the Spirit King's contractor. And they had many quiet allies. If those sided with the queen, the chiefs had no chance—and they'd gain justification, victory, and scraps from her table. Deny the oracle's lies to the end? If he shouted in the plaza, they'd fall without her even lifting a finger. All of Kaien already trusted him. Damned either way. How? How had the queen overcome her suspicions and trusted the oracle? They'd thought it impossible even if the world ended. Yet here it was—the least likely scenario.

"The Blood Oath of Submission."

The queen's demand was simple.

"Swear loyalty to me with the oath."

An oath slaves made to masters. One barring harm, death, or disobedience. The most humiliating, servile bond. But the five couldn't refuse. Suicide was fine for themselves alone... but they had tribes to lead. They glared at the oracle with resentment. Everything had gone according to plan—until that damned human ruined it all in an instant. What could they do?

"We will swear the Blood Oath of Submission."

They had no choice left.