The Anomaly's Path-Chapter 74: The Oath of Steel

Almost two years had passed since Roran married Clara.

So much had changed in that time that sometimes Roran found himself sitting in his study, staring at the walls, wondering how his life had become something he never thought it could be.

The Duke had kept his word.

After the wedding, he had granted the Iron Hounds a place to call their own. It was not a castle or a grand estate, just a fortified manor on the edge of Stormcrest territory, with a few outbuildings and a stretch of land that could be farmed.

However... it was theirs.

Roran and his men had spent the first six months repairing the walls, clearing the overgrown fields, and turning the old ruin into something that resembled a home.

They called it Hound’s Rest.

The name had spread quickly. Nobles who had once sneered at the mention of a commoner mercenary now sent letters asking for aid. The Iron Hounds had become something more than a band of sellswords.

They were a power in their own right now, a name that carried weight.

Roran had not changed. Not really. He still wore his old armor, still carried his sword, still slept with one eye open when he was on the road.

But something had shifted inside him. A quietness. A stillness. He found himself thinking less about the next battle and more about the life he was building.

Aldric had been there through all of it, as he always was.

The old bastard never left his side, and Roran was grateful for that. There were others too—Harlan, the scarred spearman who never spoke unless he had to, and Sera, the sharp-eyed archer who had saved Roran’s life twice.

They were good people, loyal to the bone, and they had bled beside him more times than he could count. They would do it again if he asked.

And then there was... Kael.

Roran’s jaw tightened at the thought of the boy. Kael had grown into a young man over the past two years. He was taller now, broader in the shoulders, his face losing the softness of childhood. His skills with a sword had sharpened until few in the company could match him.

He trained every day, sometimes for hours, pushing himself past exhaustion, past pain, past anything that resembled sense.

But... something had changed in him. Something dark.

He did not laugh anymore. He did not joke with the other men. He simply trained, and trained, and trained, as if he was trying to outrun something.

I have not been giving him enough time, Roran thought. I have been so busy with the estate, with Clara, with everything else, that I forgot about him. I should speak with him today.

But the thought that warmed his heart most was not about the company or the land or the fame.

It was about Clara.

She had been sold to him as a bargaining chip, a tool to secure his loyalty. He had known that from the beginning. The Duke had not hidden his intentions, and Roran had not pretended to be naive.

But somewhere along the way, something had changed between them. She had started caring for him when he returned from battle wounded. She had started listening when he spoke of his fears. She had started loving him, despite his rough hands and rougher past.

...And now, she was carrying his child.

Roran’s hand drifted to his chest, where the locket hung beneath his shirt. Clara had given it to him on their first anniversary. Inside was a small portrait of her, smiling, her wheat-colored hair braided with wildflowers.

He had looked at it a thousand times, and it still made his chest ache.

Three months until the child was born.

He did not know if it was a boy or a girl, and he did not care. He only knew that he wanted to be there. He wanted to watch his child take its first steps. He wanted to be a father, not just a... captain.

The door burst open without a knock, and Roran did not bother to look up.

"How many times have I told you to knock?" he said.

Aldric dropped into the chair across from him, grinning like a fool. "You would still be sitting here brooding even if I had knocked. I figured I would save us both the trouble."

Roran shook his head. "...What do you want?"

"Can I not visit my old friend without wanting something?"

"No."

Aldric laughed, a loud, barking sound that filled the small room. "Fair enough. I came to check on you. You have been quiet lately. The men are starting to talk."

Roran was silent for a moment, staring at the fire crackling in the hearth. Then he said, "I have been thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

"I am thinking of leaving the group."

Aldric’s grin froze on his face. He stared at Roran for a long moment, as if waiting for him to laugh, to say it was a joke. When Roran did not, Aldric laughed anyway, louder this time, but there was no humor in it.

"Ha! Good one, Captain. I never knew you were into comedy."

Roran did not laugh.

Aldric’s smile faded. "...You are serious?"

"I am."

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush stone. Aldric leaned back in his chair, his face pale, his hands gripping the armrests.

"Why?!" he asked finally.

Roran looked at the fire. "I am scared, Aldric. For the first time in my life, I am scared... of dying, of leaving Clara alone, of never seeing my child grow up."

He paused, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "...Before, I did not care if I lived or died. The company was all I had, and my life was worth nothing more than the steel in my hand. But now... now I have something to lose."

Aldric said nothing. He just listened.

"I want to give Clara the life she deserves," Roran continued.

"I want to be there for my child. I cannot do that if I am leading men into battle every month, wondering if this will be the last time I see the sun. What if one day I do not come back? What if I die on some muddy field, and Clara is left alone, and my child grows up without a father?"

He looked at Aldric with a sad smile. "You understand, don’t you?"

Aldric was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly.

"You are not a coward, Roran. You never have been. You gave us a home when we had nothing. You gave us a name when we were nothing. You gave us something to believe in."

He leaned forward, his grey eyes steady. "If you want to rest, then rest. We will hold the line."

Roran let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. "...Thank you."

"Do not thank me yet. You still have to tell the men."

Roran nodded. "I will. Tonight."

_

The great hall was crowded when Roran stepped onto the platform.

The Iron Hounds filled the benches, their faces expectant, their voices low. Aldric stood at the back, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. Kael was near the front, his dark eyes fixed on Roran with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of Roran’s neck stand up.

Roran raised his hand, and the room fell silent.

"I have something to tell you," he said. "...I am leaving the group."

The silence that followed was so complete that Roran could hear the crackle of the torches on the walls. Then the murmurs started, low and confused, men exchanging glances, their faces shifting from disbelief to something that looked like fear.

"Leaving?" someone called out from the back. "What do you mean, leaving?"

Roran raised his hand again. "I am stepping down as captain. Aldric will take my place."

A wave of protest rose from the crowd. Men stood up, shouting questions, demanding answers. Aldric did not smile. He simply stood there, waiting.

"You cannot be serious!"

"The captain is leaving?"

"What about us?"

Roran waited for the noise to die down. When it did, he spoke again, his voice steady.

"I know this is sudden. I have been thinking about it for a long time. I am not abandoning you. I will still be here when you need me. But... I cannot lead you into battle anymore. I have a wife. I have a child on the way. I want to be there for them."

He looked out at the faces of the men who had followed him for years. Men who had bled for him. Men who had died for him.

"I am not asking for your forgiveness. I am not asking for your understanding. I am simply telling you the truth."

The room was quiet. Some men nodded. Others looked away.

"Does anyone have any objections?"

A few men shook their heads. Others murmured their agreement.

But then a voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold.

"...I do."

Every head turned. Kael stood at the front, his hand raised, his face pale.

Roran frowned. "What is your objection?"

Kael’s voice was steady, but there was something underneath it, something raw and dangerous. "You are a coward."

The room went still. Aldric stepped forward, his face dark. "Kael, that is enough. You do not know what you are—"

"I know exactly what I am saying." Kael’s eyes never left Roran. "You are running away. You are leaving us because you found a woman to warm your bed."

Aldric’s voice was sharp. "Kael!"

Roran held up his hand. "Let him speak."

Kael’s jaw tightened. "You used to be unstoppable. You used to be a legend. Men followed you because you were not afraid of anything. Now look at you. You flinch at shadows. You hesitate before every battle. You have become soft."

"..."

"It is her," Kael spat. "The witch. She has been poisoning your mind since the day she arrived. She is the reason you want to leave. She is the reason you are throwing away everything you built."

Aldric grabbed Kael’s arm. "That is enough, boy."

Kael shook him off. "Do not touch me."

Roran stepped down from the platform and walked toward Kael. The crowd parted around him, and the room fell silent.

"You are right about one thing," Roran said. "I have changed. But it is not because of Clara. It is because of me. I am tired, Kael. I have been fighting for half my life. I have lost friends. I have buried brothers. And now, for the first time, I have something to lose... and that is what I am scared of."

Kael’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I am not asking for your forgiveness and understanding. But I will not let you speak about my wife like that again."

Kael stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, "I challenge you to the Oath of Steel."

The room gasped. Men who had been sitting jumped to their feet. Aldric’s face went white.

"Kael, do not—"

"The Oath of Steel," Kael repeated, his voice steady. "Sword against sword. No mana. No tricks. Just steel."

Roran’s eyes widened slightly. He knew about the Oath of Steel. Every mercenary did.

It was an ancient tradition, a duel of honor between two warriors who had no other way to settle their differences. The rules were simple. The winner’s word stood, and the loser had no choice but to accept. There was no mana, no tricks, just steel against steel.

...And death was always a possibility.

"You know what you are asking for," Roran said.

"I know."

Roran looked at Kael. At the boy he had pulled from the mud. At the boy who had followed him for years, who had trained under him, who had looked at him like he was something more than a man.

"...I accept," Roran said.

The terms were set quickly.

The Iron Hounds gathered in a circle around the training yard, their breath misting in the morning air. Aldric stood in the center, his face grim, his arms crossed.

Kael stood at one end of the circle, his sword drawn, his eyes burning with a fire that Roran had never seen before. Roran stood at the other end, his blade steady in his hand, his face unreadable.

Aldric stepped into the center of the circle, his voice rising above the silence like a priest addressing a congregation. The morning light was pale and cold, casting long shadows across the dirt, and the men stood still as statues, their breath misting in the air.

"By the Oath of Steel, we are bound," Aldric began, his words slow and deliberate. "By the blood of the fallen, we are watched. By the name of Kaelos, the God of War, who forged the first blade from the heart of a dying star, we call upon his gaze."

He raised his hand to the sky, and the men bowed their heads.

"Kaelos, who taught us that steel is not a tool but a companion. Kaelos, who showed us that death is not an end but a passage. Kaelos, who demands that every oath sworn on a blade be kept, or the soul of the oathbreaker shall wander the void for eternity."

The wind picked up, rustling the banners that hung from the posts around the yard.

"We stand here today as warriors, bound by blood and steel. We ask for your witness, Kaelos. We ask for your judgment. Let the duel begin, and let the righteous prevail."

Aldric lowered his hand and stepped back.

"Let the duel begin."

Kael moved first. He came at Roran with blinding speed, his blade whistling through the air. Roran did not retreat. He simply raised his sword and blocked.

Clang!

The sound echoed across the yard. Kael struck again, and again, and again. Each blow was faster than the last, harder than the last, more desperate than the last. He was not fighting with skill or strategy.

He was fighting with rage, pure and uncontrolled.

Roran did not step back. He did not advance. He simply stood his ground, blocking every strike with cold, mechanical precision. His feet did not move. His eyes did not waver.

Infuriated, Kael lunged with a strike meant to shatter Roran’s guard. Roran moved like a blur. His sword swept through the air, and Kael’s blade shattered into pieces. The shards scattered across the dirt, glittering in the pale morning light, and Kael fell to his knees.

The yard was silent. No one spoke. No one moved.

Kael stared at the broken hilt in his hands, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "What... what happened?"

Roran stood over him, his sword steady, his breath even. He had not even broken a sweat.

"You are strong, Kael," Roran said. "But strength alone is not enough. You need control. You need patience. You need to know when to strike and when to wait. You charged at me with nothing but anger, and anger is blind."

Kael looked up at him, his eyes wet, his face pale.

"You have potential," Roran continued. "More than most. But if you let your rage control you, you will never reach it. Do not waste your potential on anger."

He turned and walked away, leaving the young man kneeling in the dirt.

Roran walked through the halls of Hound’s Rest, his thoughts heavy. His feet carried him without thinking, and he did not realize where he was going until he stepped through the archway and into the garden.

The air was cool and carried the scent of flowers. The sky was grey, but the garden felt alive, full of color and life.

Clara was kneeling by the flower bed, her hands buried in the soil, her wheat-colored hair falling over her shoulders. She did not hear him approach. She was focused on the plants, her fingers gentle as she tended to the petals.

Roran stood at the edge of the garden and watched her for a moment. Then he walked to her and knelt beside her.

Clara looked up, startled. "Roran? What are you—"

He did not say anything. He simply lifted her into his arms.

Clara gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders. "Roran! What are you doing?"

Roran carried Clara to the stone bench beneath the weeping willow. He sat down and settled her onto his lap, ignoring the weight of his armor. Clara’s cheeks were flushed, and she looked at him as if he had finally lost his mind.

"You are acting strange," she murmured, her voice a mix of confusion and amusement.

"I know," Roran admitted.

She studied his face for a long moment, her green eyes searching for the truth. Then, she reached up and framed his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing gently against his cheeks. "Something happened," she said.

It was not a question; she could read the tension in his jaw better than anyone.

Roran looked into her eyes and realized he could not hide anything from this woman. He never could. "Kael challenged me to the Oath of Steel."

Clara’s hands dropped to her lap, her eyes widening in shock. "The Oath of Steel? Roran, that is—"

"I know what it is," he interrupted softly.

"Why? Why would he do such a thing?"

Roran let out a long, weary sigh. "Because I told the men I am leaving the group. My last mission is tomorrow. After that, I am done."

Clara stared at him, stunned into a brief silence. "You are... leaving?" she whispered.

Her hands gripped his, her voice rising with a sudden worry. "Is it because of me? Roran, you have put so much effort into this company. You built it from nothing and gave those men a home. If you are walking away just because of me—"

"No."

He placed a steady hand on her cheek to quiet her. "It is not because of you. It is because of me. I am tired, Clara. I have been fighting for half my life. I have lost friends and buried brothers. Now, I wanted to rest."

Clara’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "And Kael challenged you because he does not want you to go?"

"He called you a witch," Roran said, his voice tightening. "He told the men you had poisoned my mind."

Clara blinked, frozen for a second. Then, to Roran’s surprise, she started to laugh.

Roran frowned, truly confused. "Why are you laughing?"

She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with giggles. "Nothing. It is just... a witch? He really called me a witch?"

"It is not funny, Clara."

"It is a little funny." She reached out and playfully flicked his forehead. "Did you go hard on him?"

Roran rubbed the spot where she had struck him. "He challenged me to a duel of honor. What was I supposed to do?"

"Did you hurt him?"

"I broke his sword."

Clara sighed and shook her head, her expression softening into pity. "He is just a child, Roran. He follows you. He looks up to you like a god. You did not have to be so ruthless with him."

Roran grew quiet, looking toward the shadows of the garden. "I have not been giving him enough time. I have been so busy with the estate, with you, with everything... I forgot about him."

Clara placed her hand back on his cheek, drawing his gaze back to hers. "Then give him that time now. He is not your enemy. He is just lost."

Roran nodded slowly, the weight of his guilt easing slightly. "...I will talk to him. After the mission."

Clara smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Good."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the willow branches sway in the evening breeze. The world felt small and safe in that corner of the garden. Then Clara spoke again, her voice hushed. "What will we name the child?"

Roran placed his calloused hand over her belly, where their future waited. "If it is a boy... I will name him Cedric. And if it is a girl... Clara. After her mother."

Clara’s eyes widened. "You would name her after me?"

"I would."

She laughed softly. "That is selfish."

"Maybe. But I do not care."

Clara lifted her face toward his, her eyes bright with affection. "Then kiss me, you selfish man."

Roran leaned down and kissed her. It was a soft, lingering kiss, a world away from the fierce battles he had survived. When he pulled back, Clara’s cheeks were bright red, and she was radiant.

"Tomorrow is your last mission," she reminded him.

"Tomorrow is my last mission."

"Then come back to me."

"I will."

She reached up and used a finger to hook the corner of his mouth, forcing a small upward curve. "And smile more. You look beautiful when you smile."

Roran shook his head, resisting the urge, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a grin anyway. Clara laughed and tucked her head back under his chin. They sat together as the sun dipped behind the willow tree, and for a little while, the world was finally at peace.

_

Kael walked through the forest, his hands still shaking.

He had lost. He had challenged his master, the man he had looked up to for years, the man he had worshipped like a god, and he had lost.

It is her fault, he thought. She has changed him. She has made him weak. The Roran I knew would never have hesitated. The Roran I knew would never have been scared.

He punched a tree, splitting the bark, feeling the pain shoot up his arm. He welcomed it. It was something to feel besides the emptiness.

What do I do? What do I do?

A soft laugh echoed through the trees. It was not loud or threatening. It was gentle, almost musical, like wind chimes in a breeze.

Kael froze.

He felt something behind him. A presence. Warm breath against his neck. Then arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, gentle and cold, like a lover’s embrace.

"Do not be afraid," a voice whispered near his ear. It was soft, melodic, beautiful. "I am not here to hurt you."

Kael’s body went rigid. "Who... who are you?!"

The arms tightened slightly. "I am someone who has been watching you for a long time, Kael. I have seen your strength. I have seen your loyalty. I have seen how much you love your master."

Kael’s breath caught in his throat. "What do you want?"

"...I want to help you." The voice was sweet, soothing, like honey dripping into warm tea. "I know what she is doing to him. That woman. That witch. She is poisoning his mind, turning him away from the path of steel and blood."

Kael’s hands clenched into fists. "You... you know about her?"

"I know everything." The arms loosened, and the presence stepped back. Kael turned and saw her.

She was beautiful. Her hair was dark as night, falling in waves past her shoulders. Her skin was pale, almost glowing in the moonlight. Her eyes were deep purple, like bruises on a ripe fruit. She wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves, and when she smiled, her lips were red as blood.

"You want your master back, don’t you?" she asked. "The real Roran. The one who was never afraid. The one who could never be defeated."

Kael nodded slowly. "...Yes."

"I can make that happen." She stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the forest floor. "All you have to do is listen. All you have to do is trust me."

"Who are you?"

She smiled again, and her eyes glowed faintly in the darkness. "My name is not important. What is important is that I can give you what you want. I can give you the power to save your master from her curse."

Kael stared at her. "You are a demon."

"I am a friend." She reached out and touched his cheek. Her fingers were cold, but her touch was gentle. "...And I am the only one who can help you."