The Weight of a Contract

"I don't care about this useless drivel."

The woman sitting in the worn-out leather chair tossed the report aside.

"Claude Regan's criminal acts are, of course, unforgivable. But the man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is already dead. If what you say is true, he was overthrown by his apprentice—or rather, his slave, 'Number 17.'"

"How many times do I have to tell you?"

"You know I don't necessarily doubt you, Yen."

The woman rested her chin on her hand and tilted her head.

"I've verified the circumstances. We even found Harmensales's shed skin. If Number 17 inherited Harmensales's contract, there's no doubt about it. The problem is the process of how he got to that point."

"And I've explained that to you multiple times, haven't I?"

"He beat him to death with a pickaxe? That's the best you've got?"

"I'm just telling you what I saw."

Yen kept her hands behind her back, maintaining a cheeky attitude.

"Just in case you're getting any ideas, forcibly investigating someone's magic is illegal."

"There is nothing further from the truth in Redline than the word 'law.'"

"If you truly believe that, why don't you start by taking off that suit?"

"..."

Indeed, the woman was wearing a neat, well-tailored suit. High-quality ready-made clothing that was rarely seen in the lawless wasteland of Redline. It was a reflection of her will, and perhaps her lingering regrets.

"Ha, right. Even a garbage dump is still Imperial territory."

"Stubborn as a mule."

"Shut up, Yen."

Told to shut up, Yen mimed zipping her lips. Every single one of her actions was incredibly annoying. Glaring at Yen, the woman let out a heavy sigh.

It was a sigh she had lost count of today.

"Still, Number 17 is dangerous."

"What danger? Sure, he killed a man, but wasn't it self-defense?"

"Don't play dumb. Magic aside, he's bound to Harmensales. Do you think Claude Regan ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kidnapped dozens of people to mine mana stones for no reason? It's too much for an individual to handle."

It was partly because Claude Regan had constantly requested knowledge, but even taking everything into account, she couldn't shake the feeling that the burden was too heavy. Especially after she had gone out of her way to dig into Number 17's background.

Muzark Bespard was a citizen.

Just a citizen. Nothing special about him.

"So, what do you plan to do with him?"

Yen's eyes grew sharp. It was obvious how she would react if the woman decided to dispose of him. The woman voiced the question that had suddenly crossed her mind.

"Yen. Why are you defending Number 17 so much? Even with Harmensales in play, this seems excessive."

"His face."

The answer came instantly, as if she had prepared it beforehand.

"He's pretty handsome."

"Of course he is."

She hadn't expected an honest answer from the start.

Yen had always been like this. She seemed to believe that the moment she voiced her true feelings, they would crumble into dust and scatter—whether they were fleeting desires or long-cherished wishes.

People don't change easily was the woman's philosophy.

If so, how had Muzark Bespard changed?

"I suppose I'll have to go see this handsome face of his."

There were fifteen survivors in total.

The rescue operation was carried out by the group that had breached the mine. Through the report of Number 18, 'Yen,' who had been undercover, they confirmed that the ringleader, Claude Regan, was already dead.

Led out into the sunlight by their rescuers, the workers burst into tears, basking in their newfound freedom. Muzark was no exception, sniffing with red-rimmed eyes.

Three days had passed since then.

"You can order whatever you like."

Muzark suddenly found himself sitting at a table with two women.

One was Yen.

Now that she had washed off the dirt and put on a simple, loose-fitting t-shirt, her features stood out brilliantly. Her high nose bridge and haughty eyes exuded confidence, and her proportions were so good that she looked sophisticated even without trying.

In the mine, she just looked like a scruffy, skinny brat.

Perhaps because she hadn't fully recovered yet, her complexion was pale, but color was returning day by day. Even though he had been looking at her face for three days, the transformation was so dramatic that it was hard to adjust.

Well, that place was exceptionally filthy.

The other woman wore rimless glasses and a neat suit. She didn't fit in at all with the restaurant, which had a half-broken sign hanging outside. It felt like someone entering a humble soup restaurant dressed as a funeral mourner.

"How are you feeling?"

The woman asked after his health in a stiff, formal manner.

"I'm fine. No injuries, and my muscle aches have subsided."

"I see. No inconveniences in your daily life?"

"No. Thanks to your accommodations."

Since he had nowhere to go and was internally at a loss, Yen had guided him to a lodging. During this time, Muzark hadn't even properly looked around the city. He had spent the entire time sleeping to recover from his accumulated fatigue.

Gratitude aside, he could read the intention to keep him under surveillance.

It makes sense.

Yen had known beforehand that Harmensales was in the mine. In other words, it was highly likely related to the reason she had gone undercover.

Perhaps that demon had been her original goal rather than Claude Regan.

Yet, some random guy had ended up inheriting the contract with Harmensales.

Since he was also the one who had killed Claude Regan, they couldn't just leave him be.

Though it worked out well for me.

Muzark stealthily rolled his eyes.

The messages were guiding him just like before. Shamelessly, as if nothing had happened. Now, it went beyond being creepy; it was downright chilling.

Every time he saw those emoticons, his blood boiled.

But it's not like it's wrong.

A man had to eat to live.

He couldn't sponge off Yen forever. In the first place, Yen and the woman in front of him must have a purpose. A reason why they couldn't just leave Muzark Bespard alone.

"How is Harmensales?"

"I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't know. Nothing out of the ordinary."

It wasn't a lie.

No major issues had arisen so far. However, he couldn't entirely ignore it either; ever since that day, he had felt a persistent sensation in his chest, as if a heavy stone were lodged there.

He had felt a similar sensation when he first manifested magic, but this was incomparably stronger. Sometimes, even while lying down, it would bother him so much that he would thump his chest.

"He seems remarkably stable. But that won't last long."

"Even if you say that, I wouldn't know."

Is something going to happen?

"It's common sense. A contract is established because both parties want something from each other. Claude Regan wanted Harmensales's knowledge, and Harmensales wanted mana in return."

"Since I was forced into this position, I don't want anything from him."

"You might not, but Harmensales certainly will."

While they were talking, the food arrived. It was potato soup, releasing a savory aroma along with rising steam. The woman picked up her spoon and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"To help you understand, I'll show you what kind of existence Harmensales is."

"..."

"After we eat, of course. Please, enjoy your meal."

Muzark watched the woman eat her potato soup, then turned his gaze to Yen. "She's always like this," Yen said, digging into her own food.

As if I could eat comfortably.

It was an unfamiliar city, but not unbearably so. He had heard plenty of stories from the workers back in the mine. A city with factories and a level of civilization close to modern times.

However, even at a glance, public security was terrible.

Streetlights were left with shattered bulbs, and flyers were plastered over flyers on the walls, layer upon layer. Broken glass bottles rolled along the streets, and homeless people had settled into every alleyway.

There were no CCTV cameras anywhere. There were no cars running, making the distinction between the road and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the sidewalk meaningless. Only vehicles that had already been stripped down by someone's hands lay abandoned, leaving nothing but scrap metal.

What a mess. No wonder they call it a garbage dump.

The expression he had heard once fit perfectly.

"By the way, Yen."

"What?"

"What happened to Number 14?"

"Number 14? Ah, that pig?"

Yen, walking a few paces ahead, turned her head to speak.

"Sent him home."

"I see."

"Yeah. After cutting off his right arm."

Muzark stopped in his tracks at her casual tone.

Yen stopped as well and added a few words.

"Do you feel sorry for him? That's a mistake. You've gotten comfortable, so your sense of danger is numbed. We almost died because he snitched. You need to keep your priorities straight."

From Muzark's judgment, Redline was an environment where it was hard to survive without power or backing. Especially for a one-armed man. From now on, Number 14 might struggle to earn even a single meal.

So, did he feel sorry? He wasn't sure.

He was just slightly surprised.

That it was this easy to ruin a person's life.

"At least he's still breathing, right? The Chief said not to kill him, anyway."

"The Chief?"

Yen gestured with her chin toward the woman who was still walking ahead.

"Her. You didn't know?"

How would I know?

He was about to bicker but stopped. If she was a famous figure in the city, it would be unnatural not to know. While Baek Si-woo's identity wouldn't be exposed, there was no benefit in being treated as an outsider.

"It's just my first time meeting her in person."

He quickened his pace to catch up.

"I'm sorry. I intended to introduce myself properly in a better setting."

"I told you not to do that. Is there really a need to drag him all the way to the office just to state your name?"

"It's a necessary procedure. It's the most precise way to make him understand who I am."

"I've been telling you, that's just vanity."

The topic of Number 14 ended there.

Muzark didn't pry further either. Whether a criminal's lackey ruined his life or not was none of his business. Perhaps he had been forced to cooperate, but no one in this world would care about his circumstances.

That's just the kind of world this is.

He had to adapt as quickly as possible.

"We're here."

The place they arrived at was a four-story building.

Its exterior was exceptionally clean compared to the rest of the city. Although it was stained here and there, the building wasn't tilting, nor were its windows broken. It showed signs of careful maintenance.

"The Eastred Security Bureau. One of the few public institutions in this city. Though our methods are somewhat crude, the fact that we function normally makes us quite special."

A sort of pride was visible on the woman's face as she introduced the place.

"I am Shadia Drury, Chief of the Security Bureau. I look forward to working with you."

She certainly seemed to be an important figure.

However, Yen, standing next to Shadia, caught his eye. When they were in the mine, Muzark had found it difficult to read Yen's expressions, but at this moment, her face was exceptionally transparent.

She looked utterly unimpressed, as if watching someone put on a pathetic show.

It was too disrespectful to be taken as a mere joke.

Whether she noticed her subordinate's reaction or not, Shadia spoke calmly.

"Let's go inside. There is something you need to see."

There was nothing particularly special about the interior of the building. A lobby, stairs, and a counter to receive visitors. It was kept quite clean, likely due to regular sweeping, and there was a moderate amount of foot traffic.

It looked like nothing more than an ordinary office building.

Until they went down to the basement.

Screeech, creeech.

The sound of metal scraping echoed in the dark space. The atmosphere was so different from the ground floor that it could be called the other face of the Security Bureau. The damp air was permeated with a fishy stench.

Muzark looked around as he walked, relying on the lamp Shadia held. Iron bars were set up on both sides like a holding cell, and the entities trapped behind them caught his attention.

No matter how he looked at them, they were not human.

"They are low-tier demons. We captured the specimens that appeared near the city."

They came in various shapes, from one with a neck as long as a giraffe's to another that closely resembled a human. Commonly, their entire bodies were dark red, as if flayed, and the lumps embedded in their flesh were reminiscent of fragments of internal organs.

They were alien species far removed from the common sense of the world Muzark once knew.

Creatures he had never seen in his life, perfectly fitting the name 'demon.'

These monsters were locked inside the iron cages, languishing.

It looks like a breeding farm.

At this rate, he couldn't tell which side was truly the monster.