There was a lot in my head, but I didn’t want to think. I didn’t have enough information about what I saw, what it meant, and what those meanings implied. Things were too blurry, and I disliked writing a map from memory.
No, what bothered me the most right now was someone’s absence.
Isolde should have been here.
I stood at the center of the yard, arms crossed, staring at the empty space where she was supposed to practice her mirror constructs with us. The spot where blue light should have been fracturing and multiplying by now, where her voice would have called corrections to Ragna's wild charges.
"Where's the Princess?" Ragna broke the quiet, her usual restless energy subdued. She spun her club in lazy arcs, the weapon whistling through empty air. "Haven’t seen her face in two days. We should be leaving for the capital soon, yeah?"
Borric rubbed the back of his head, looking uncomfortable in his new role as bearer of unwelcome news. "Well, the Marquis has... requested her presence for what he called 'essential royal tutelage.' Statecraft. Diplomacy. The art of governance." Each word landed with the hollow ring of rehearsed excuses. "He says a future queen's time is better spent learning to rule than–"
"–than training with us barbarians?" I finished, my voice flat.
"He didn't say it quite like that."
"He didn't have to."
I frowned. I could almost hear Marius's silken reasoning, see his practiced expression of paternal concern. ‘The battlefield has its place, dear niece, but the throne room is where true power resides. Let the barbarians play their war games while you prepare for the responsibilities that matter.’
Or something like that. Calculated.
Borric shifted his weight. "As for the capital... I don't think we'll be moving that quickly. It’s not just the four of us now, you know? The Marquis is our ally now, and he has an army, and armies don't travel fast. Plus, there's a war strategy to consider. Timing, supply lines, public support. I don't know when he'll actually march."
My jaw tightened. The gilded cage was closing around Isolde, bar by invisible bar. The plan must be to separate her from unpredictable allies. Surround her with advisors loyal to him. Control her schedule, her training, her very thoughts.
Classic power consolidation.
The worst part? It was working.
Ragna kicked at a training dummy, sending it wobbling. "This is boring! If we're stuck here, at least we can do something fun." Her eyes lit up with sudden mischief, fixing on Borric. "Show us more of your contract magic! I want to see how it works."
"We already tested it," Borric protested weakly.
"That was one tiny contract! Make something bigger!" She grinned wickedly. "I bet you can't make Thorvyn smile. He's been scowling so hard I thought his face would crack into pieces."
Despite everything, my lips curved upward. "Come on, Ragna. You think I'm a stone block with no humor?"
"Sometimes, yes!" Ragna's laugh rang across the empty yard. "You think too much these days. Makes your face all... squinty."
Fair point, I admitted internally. This world – this constant tension, the endless political maneuvering, the weight of borrowed memories and uncertain purpose – it ground away at levity like waves on rocks. Back on Earth, I'd used humor as armor, deflecting the world's absurdities with well-timed quips.
Here, I was forgetting how to laugh.
Socrates argued the unexamined life wasn't worth living, but the old Greek never mentioned that the over-examined one was exhausting.
This barbarian body, with its heightened instincts and survival-focused chemistry, was making me forget parts of my former self I valued.
I made a silent promise. Don't lose the ability to laugh. Not here. Not in this world of cosmic systems and power games.
But first, business.
The moment of lightness passed like a cloud crossing the sun as I turned to Borric, my expression shifting to something sharper. More focused. "Forget smiles. Can you tell me what your Contract Sovereign skills do exactly? I’m interested in the details."
Borric blinked at the sudden intensity. "I... well, I've been experimenting, but it’s a little confusing for me too."
"Doesn’t the System give you a description page when you focus on a skill? Tell me that first.”
As he recited the lines, I had a clear image of his Status page in my mind.
°°°°
- Binding Word
The user can draft a magically binding agreement with any sentient being. The deal can cover nearly anything – a trade, an oath of service, a promise, even an abstract exchange. Once both sides consent, either verbally or by signing an agreement, the System enforces the terms automatically. Breaking such a contract isn’t easy; beings of immense will or power might resist or tear through it, but doing so activates Terms Enforcement, inflicting heavy backlash on their body or mind. - Debt Collection
When an enemy harms the user or one of their allies, the user can tap into this skill to “collect the debt.” A chain of golden light lashes out, drawing a portion of the enemy’s health or mana and restoring it to the victim. The harder the blow dealt, the greater the return when the debt is claimed. - Terms Enforcement
The ultimate punishment. If someone breaks a contract made directly with the user, the user can then invoke this skill. It doesn't just do damage; it enforces the spirit of the broken clause. The scale of it however depends on the weight of the situation; proportional punishment. If a captured knight broke a promise "not to raise a weapon against us," this skill could temporarily paralyze their arms or even cause their weapon to feel impossibly heavy. The backlash is thematic and crippling. - Favorable Amendment
A manipulation skill that lets the user find loopholes in existing oaths or magical pacts, even those they didn’t create. By exploiting the exact wording, the user can bend outcomes in their favor. It's not ethical, but are merchants ever? For instance, if a knight’s vow is to “protect the Royal bloodline,” the user might reinterpret that clause to include another claimant than the one they truly serve, forcing hesitation or partial compliance from the knight. Those who resist such reinterpretation suffer the same backlash as breaking a pact outright.
°°°°
“Damn.”
That’s crazy. Those were some cheat codes, I had to admit.
Seeing me fall quiet in my surprise, Borric misunderstood and straightened, slipping into the careful recitation of a merchant describing inventory. "Binding Word creates the contract framework. It's like a blank slate. The terms can be almost anything, as long as both parties genuinely agree. Simple requests work best, like the one I used on Ragna. 'You'll say thank you when I help you.' I also tried 'you'll guard this door for seven hour' on a castle guard early this morning. He didn’t even go to pee. The more complex or unreasonable the terms, the harder it is to establish the binding."
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"And if someone breaks the contract?" Ragna asked, not bothering to pay attention.
"Terms Enforcement triggers automatically." His voice dropped. "I have yet to see it happen, but I don’t think it’ll be pleasant for the person. The violator experiences what the System deems proportional punishment. For minor infractions, it's discomfort. For major ones..." He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable with the implications.
"Tell me more about Debt Collection.”
"That one's reactive. As the description says, if someone breaks a contract with me, I can invoke it to strike back. The damage scales with how egregious the violation was. It's like the universe itself delivers retribution on my behalf."
I paced slowly, my mind assembling pieces of a puzzle I hadn't known I was solving. "And Favorable Amendment?"
"That’s the most dangerous one." Borric's merchant instincts sparked in his eyes. "I can modify existing contracts by exploiting loopholes or reinterpreting terms. It doesn't break the agreement, instead it... reshapes it. Like finding a clause buried in fine print and making it work in my favor."
"The universe is your business partner," I murmured, "and every promise is a commodity."
"Exactly!" Borric's face lit up with the enthusiasm of someone who'd discovered a new, terrifying, and exhilarating product line. "It's extraordinary and horrible at the same time. I could probably bankrupt kingdoms or bind heroes to impossible tasks if I was clever enough with the wording."
Ragna looked between us, confusion creasing her features. "Why does this matter? We already know his magic is strong. Just make Thorvyn smile!"
Oh, this matters a lot. Because I'd just found the weapon that could cut through Marius Thalasson's fortress of control.
A man whose power rested on absolute loyalty. On guards who followed orders without question. On a network of obligations and debts that bound people to his will through gratitude, tradition, and manufactured dependency.
I need to test the limits of this. What if those obligations could be turned? Twisted? What if the very fabric of his influence could be unraveled by someone who spoke the language of binding agreements better than he did?
My gaze locked onto a pigeon preening on a nearby window ledge, its feathers catching the afternoon light.
"Make a contract with me," I said, my voice carrying the weight of cold command. "Right now."
Borric paled slightly. "What kind of contract?"
"Simple terms. Ask me to kill that pigeon."
"What?!" Ragna's eyes widened. "Why would you–"
"Do it," I cut her off.
Borric stared at me, searching my face for explanation. Whatever he saw there – determination, calculation, something darker – made him swallow hard. "Thorvyn Valteria, will you kill that pigeon on the window ledge?"
"Yes."
The word left my mouth with absolute certainty. Borric hesitated one heartbeat longer, pity for the bird flickering across his features, then invoked his power.
[You’ve agreed to the Binding Word.]
[You have made a contract with Borric, the Contract Sovereign.]
The air between us shimmered with system notifications. In my unseen senses, it was as if a spectral contract wrote itself across reality, invisible ink drying on cosmic parchment. The sensation crawled across my skin like static electricity, raising every hair on my arms.
Then the universe decided I owed a debt.
My body moved without permission. I blitzed toward the pigeon.
The speed was too sudden. But this wasn't possession. I remained fully conscious, fully aware, fully present in my own flesh. But my muscles had received new orders, ones that superseded my conscious will. My legs carried me toward the window in a burst of speed. My left arm raised, fingers crooked into a predator's claw going for the killing blow.
The pigeon continued preening, oblivious.
I fought it. I wanted to see if I could.
Every fiber of my being, every scrap of willpower I'd accumulated across two lifetimes, screamed in rebellion. It was such an impossible feeling. My barbarian strength, honed through dragon-slaying and elemental trials, pitted itself against absolute cosmic law. It was like trying to stop gravity through sheer stubbornness.
My hand inched closer. Closer.
"Thorvyn, don’t do it! That pigeon is Marius’ favorite I heard!" Ragna's shout sounded distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears.
The pigeon's neck was inches from my fingers. I could see individual feathers, the rapid pulse beneath soft down. Veins popped around my forehead as I tried to focus. My hand trembled – not from the contract, but from the war raging inside me.
Then I felt a twitch.
Since I couldn't stop my left hand, I'd stop myself.
My right fist, moving with the full desperate force of autonomous will, slammed into the side of my own jaw. The crack of bone on bone echoed across the training yard like a breaking branch.
I went sideways, momentum carrying me into the packed earth. Stars exploded behind my eyes. The taste of copper flooded my mouth.
The pigeon, startled by the commotion, took flight in a flurry of grey feathers.
[You’ve failed the Contract.]
That’s it? The contract shattered.
And then the punishment came.
Terms Enforcement didn't announce itself with trumpets or warning bells. It simply was. A silent scream tore through my mind, shredding thought like tissue paper. My back arched involuntarily, every muscle locking rigid. A guttural growl escaped my throat. It was animalistic, primal, nothing human about it.
This wasn't simple pain. Pain I understood. I'd been stabbed, burned, frozen, and crushed since arriving in this world.
This was different.
This was my soul being audited by cosmic accountants and found wanting. It hurt like crazy. Does this make any sense?! I screamed. Didn’t it say proportional? How is this proportional to failing to kill a pigeon?!
It was like being weighed on scales that existed in dimensions I couldn't perceive. The sensation reminded me of Yrsa's killing intent a bit – that moment when the chieftain's presence had pressed down on me like atmospheric pressure, threatening to pop my existence like a soap bubble.
But I endured.
The Valtherian Physique that let me survive dragon's breath held firm. I growled in pain. The discipline from my military routine kept my mind from fragmenting. Especially as a weak Intelligence Analyst, the combat discipline was harsher. At last, the philosopher's detachment did the rest, letting me observe my own suffering with the clinical interest of a man writing a thesis on pain while experiencing every excruciating second.
This too shall pass. All temporary. Just biological electricity. Just cosmic bureaucracy. Endure.
The agony crested, held its peak for three eternal seconds, then began to recede like a tide withdrawing from shore.
I got to one knee. Then, slowly, painfully, I stood.
A dark bruise was already spreading across my jaw, swelling beneath tanned skin. My eyes watered from the impact and the psychic backlash. Blood trickled from where I'd bitten my tongue.
But I was grinning.
I didn’t know when I started.
Ragna and Borric stared at me like I'd sprouted wings and declared myself a chicken.
"Whew." The sound came out part laugh, part gasp. I wiped blood from my lip with the back of my hand, the crimson smear stark against my skin. "That's... a crazy weapon you have, Borric."
The merchant looked horrified. "I'm so sorry, I should never have–"
"No." I cut him off, my voice sharp with excitement. "Don't apologize. This is perfect."
"Perfect?" Ragna gave me a dry look, she knew I could endure this much. "You punched yourself like a dumbass and now you're bleeding."
"Small price." I rolled my jaw, testing the damage. Nothing was broken, just bruised. The Valtherian constitution was already knitting tissue, reducing swelling. "I needed to know the limits. The consequences. How it feels."
I wasn't looking at a simple merchant anymore.
I was looking at the key to an impossible lock.
I was looking at the one tool that could dismantle a fortress built from loyalty and break a man whose entire power structure rested on unbreakable obligations. In case I needed to, of course. In case Marius had to agree to a contract to serve Isolde for me to trust him.
The path forward, which had been a frustrating dead end of political maneuvering I couldn't match, suddenly blazed clear.
Not yet though. The path had a blockage.
I must touch [5th Ascension] to cross that.
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