Drunk on Slave Contracts? Fate? Or Desperation?
Was it the drunken haze of a slave contract? Or fate? Or perhaps, like a cornered rat biting a cat, was Obern forced to bite back at Coven, who knew his ugly secret? Maybe it was the slap from the intoxicated Coven. Humiliation and rage surging up all at once. Or perhaps cold reason intervened.
No one else would know that Coven had met Obern here. They'd gone straight to the tavern upon meeting, leaving no time to brag to others, "Guess who I met today?"
After stumbling out of the tavern, they staggered along. Rain poured from the darkened sky—a downpour fierce enough to wash away even bloodstains. On that thunderous night, the riverbank of Solion Impel, churning with sewage overflow, stood empty. And that river already claimed several corpses daily. One more like Coven? No one would notice.
Or honestly, no such logical thoughts crossed his mind. Obern's head had simply gone blank. When Coven, who'd slapped his cheek, laughed haha—he'd already cast the spell. Simple but effective elemental magic: Icicle.
Puuk! It plunged into Coven's gut, his face twisting in disbelief. Cold? Hot? Tradition proved it: no spell better for secretly killing someone you loathe.
He clawed at Obern, but with a thwack, Obern shook him off. Coven plunged into the sewer with a splash. The black water swallowed him instantly. Death devoured Coven—and Obern's ugly secret with him. Obern felt joy, relief.
But only upon returning to his room did he realize he was crying.
"Am I truly fallen into hell, as you said?"
The devil's prophecy had come true. Now he knew. If someone had watched him, they'd foreseen this fate too. Only a devil would toy with a man's soul like this.
"I had no choice but to kill him..."
An excuse, a pathetic one. But what need to justify murder to a devil, who wasn't even a god?
Drip, drip. Black ink fell before the weeping Obern. Looking up, the pen danced again. What did this devil want from him?
Do you wish to escape the pit of lies and deception?
The devil offered salvation on his left hand.
If you desire it, I'll grant it all. The professorship you crave. Profound magical knowledge you've never touched, vast wealth, true power no one can doubt...
True power, huh. His head nodded on its own.
Nod.
Lift your head and behold my form.
Crack, pop. Crystal shards tumbled before his eyes. Trembling, Obern looked up. There it was. Had it watched everything from the start?
The white snake emerged from the shattered crystal. No ordinary snake—this one wore a crystal crown, its scales gleaming impossibly. It gazed down with flame-like eyes.
In that moment, Obern thought, 'Smaller than expected.' Arm-thick at most. Not yet adult? Why polymorph so tiny if a devil? But judging power by size was foolish.
"...The price?"
His voice shook as he asked the key question. "My soul?"
Hearing that, the snake cackled kekeke.
* * *
What would I do with that sleazy uncle's soul? Not like I could boil noodles with it. No need for that crap. Too handsome and now overconfident?
-Not bad acting this time.
'What? Guess the evolution makes me look more dignified.'
-Well... never mind.
I hadn't checked a mirror yet, but I could tell my form had changed. Scales shimmered more elegantly. Though definitely smaller—check later. I moved the pen again.
Why would I need your soul?
"...Huh?"
Obern looked dumbfounded. 'Because... you're a devil?'
I help you, you help me. That's it.
I explained precisely.
-Hey! To enslave him, don't do it like that!
'Just watch!'
Spell it out specifically, notarize in the contract. How to use this Obern? I'd pondered days, devising the most practical, brilliant plan.
Form a contract with me.
"Contract..."
Read and sign.
Item from the palace warehouse.
The parchment devils use for contracts. With this, I'll enslave this human!
-Sigh.Pellelian sighed. He'd fretted till the end, "Is this really right...?"
Obern began reading slowly.
1) The White Serpent (hereinafter "Party A") employs Party B, providing assistance to maintain Party B's social status and dignity as a mage.
2) Assistance includes providing magical knowledge, physical aid, etc.
3) Party A shall provide best efforts until Party B is appointed professor at Emerald School.
4) Party B is employed by Party A and provides services.
5) Services may involve risks; Party B raises no objections to Party A regarding this.
6) Both parties shall fulfill duties to protect each other's social status, life, and safety.
First time I'd written a contract as Party A. How moving. Obern looked up fearfully. How's this devilish contract? No matter how harsh, you'd have no choice but to sign.
* * *
Obern scrutinized it. Despite his refined looks, life had been rough. To earn fast without exposing his status, he'd taken any dirty job. Plenty of employment experience. And this contract...
2) Party B must follow Party A's instructions.
3) Failure to comply sincerely incurs penalties:
- Rude speech: One punch
- Rude speech twice: One finger
- Disobey orders: One stab...
Harsh, sure—but expected. Doubt crept into Obern's heart anyway.
'Maybe hell's better than earth.'
He pondered briefly. But the final clause dispelled hesitation.
If Party B fails Emerald School appointment process, this contract is void.
He'd sell his soul for that post. Employed by a crystal snake? If it meant a mighty devil's aid, profit.
Scritch, scritch. Obern signed his name.
"Bloodprint too?"
'Uh...' Before I replied, he pricked his thumb, stamped blood on the signature. I signed with the pen. The parchment glowed.
Flutter! Astonishing. Purple flames engulfed it—no burning, just crimson text upon extinguishing.
'Hahaha!'
By contract, you're now my servant.
"...?"
Why emphasize an employment contract? Obern didn't get it but stayed silent. I extended my tail—like a handshake. He grasped the tiny tail gingerly.
Mystical. My crown flashed. Zing—static shock from hand. Mana flowed tail-to-fingertip. Linked to the snake. Then, its "voice" in his ear.
-Ah, ah, can you hear me?
Definitely the snake speaking—no mouth moving.
-Obern, I'm a snake.
"Ah... yes."
-Don't speak aloud like an idiot. Think it. Focus, like monologue.
'Like... this?'
-Yes, yes. Talented. Guess I have aptitude for this.
Obern asked cautiously. 'Are you a devil?'
-No, Little Prince Serpent. Don't compare to devils. Anyway, let's get along. High hopes for you.
I climbed his hand to shoulder. Arm-thick, coiled—I could hide in his hat.
-Lots to task you with. Tomorrow's the interview, right?
'Yes.'
-I'll—er, Pellelian and I—help. Crush it, then hit the bank.
'Bank?'
-Yeah, safe deposit box there.
Why so casual, like an errand? Mesmerizing. Though unspoken: '...Dumber voice than expected.'
But I was already aboard the snake.
* * *
Emerald School, huh. Who knew such a grand academy sat in the capital's heart. Past open gates, manicured gardens. Scattered buildings, central five-story main hall like a mansion. Total university campus vibe—top Ivy League.
Such thoughts as I dismounted the carriage. Not slithering—I dangled from Obern's wrist.
"This way, Professor Obern."
Not appointed yet, but called professor. Obern, quite the poser. Gait pure cool young genius prof. No trace of yesterday's groveling tears. Unfazed till the interview room.
'Not nervous?'
'Terrified.'
Shaking inside, yet flawless poker face—actor level.
Connection Crown lv1. New skill let me chat freely with contacts. Way better than pen notes—secretive.
Of course, not its only effect.
"Ooh, Professor Grimoire!"
"First time seeing you in person."
Professors rose. Obern hand-to-chest, bowed. Interviewers tossed praises.
"Great expectations."
"Heard you shone in the Empire."
But sharp me caught the shady glances. How great is the rumored genius? Let's see.
"Show your original spell."
Before seated interviewers: open training ground. Three self-repairing dummies far off. First task: demo original magic.
"Heh, looking forward."
"That spell you invented at Wave Theory and Fire Festival?"
"No."
Originally yes. Obern planned flashy fire magic with reagents...
"Unpublished spell."
"Ho, not whipped up last minute? Haha!"
Obern elegantly swept hair. "Well, invented yesterday."
"...Heh."
Mocking prof's face twisted.
"Spell name?"
"Didn't name it."
"...Confident."
Obern turned to dummies. Just watch. No chant, seals, staff. Just raised long white finger.
"Pierce."
Low voice echoed. 'Now!' I infused mana.
Sharing skill Ray lv3
Peeing! Beam shot from fingertip. Dummy's forehead pierced.
Not magic—at least, interviewers couldn't recall similar.
"What?!"
"No mana construct visible!"
'Cause it ain't magic!' Obern neither smug nor tense. Casually: "Thought you'd discern my creation at a glance?"
Arrogant line—no anger. Nice hire, this actor.