The Very Strong Slave Contract

What a wonderfully good morning!

I started the day in an unusually refreshing mood. And the reason for this pleasant feeling? Simple enough.

"I'll have a master of my own soon enough."

Yes, congratulations. Well... if you can even call that a master, that is.

"I have faith. Right now all he can do is scream, but once the contract restores his reason, he'll make an excellent teacher."

I sincerely hope so.

"He will."

Of course, for my prospective master to truly become my master, a certain procedure was required. Namely: a contract.

You need a stronger, more complicated contract than usual?

"Yes. This is rather different from the arrangement with you, Ancestor."

In the Ancestor's case, he had been a friendly, gentlemanly soul from the start. He even knew I was his descendant, so a simple contract had been enough to establish our relationship. This necromancer, however, was another matter entirely.

From what I've heard, he was the scum of the earth even among humans.

The worst of the worst. Right now he was only screaming for reasons unknown, but that three-inch tongue of his would be as venomous as a demon's, and his nature thoroughly vicious. For someone as frail and timid as me, the situation was terrifying beyond measure.

But it was fine. On Death contained a contract specifically for cases like this. What kind? The so-called very strong slave contract.

It had a proper formal name, of course, but I had classified the contracts written in On Death into five ranks: very weak, weak, ordinary, somewhat strong, and very strong. For reference, the contract I had formed with the Ancestor belonged to the "very weak" category.

Anyway.

It's a basic contract, but most spirits can be controlled well enough with just these five foundational ranks.

Whether this particular master—the worst of the worst—would submit to a basic contract was another question. But that was something I'd only know by trying. The real problem right now was the materials.

"Let's see... herbs are one thing, but what about these?"

What are you talking about? Hmm, a goblin's death cry? The wailing of the grave? Ordinary necromantic materials, aren't they?

"These are ordinary?"

Was my common sense broken? Goblin's death cry, wailing of the grave—those were ordinary? And the units measuring their volume were liquid units? Did this primitive world treat sound like a physical substance and measure it in the same units as liquids?

Apparently not.

There's a reagent for that sort of thing, as I recall. A reagent that captures sound.

"It captures... sound?"

Yes. If you really don't know, go ask that mage. Being a mage, he ought to know about such things.

Just as the Ancestor suggested, our magnanimous mage Ren cleared up my confusion at once.

"There's a reagent for that. What materials do you need?"

"A goblin's death cry, the wailing of the grave, and..."

Once I finished explaining everything, Ren kindly made an offer without hesitation.

"I've got a few of those myself. Want them? I can give you the reagent too if you like."

"Really?"

"Sure. I've decided to work for Falaon from now on, so think of it as a little service for the employer's son."

My, what a solid young man.

I thought the same.

"Oh, and in return—well, not exactly in return, but..."

As expected of a mage. He had an ulterior motive after all.

Indeed. The request from Ren, now the exclusive mage of our territory, was as follows:

"Just fill one extra bottle of each of those things when you gather them. You never know when they'll come in handy."

"Yes, that's easy enough."

From that day on, I wandered the territory with the reagent bottles Ren had given me, collecting materials.

First up.

"The wailing of the grave."

Doesn't sound difficult. You say the wailing can be heard around midnight?

"Yes. If there's a necromancer present, the odds are high."

Fortunately, obtaining the wailing of the grave proved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠no great challenge. On the very first night, on the very first attempt, I managed to fill two whole bottles.

One for me, one for Ren.

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

And second.

"As for the goblin's death cry..."

Have the soldiers do it. No need to go yourself and make it a hassle.

"Hmm, should I? But those fellows are a bit awkward for me to deal with."

You've got the new recruits, don't you?

Ah, right. Them. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The "new recruits" in question were Zeke and Milo, and thankfully the two of them accepted my request with cheerful readiness.

"Leave it to us!"

"We'll wipe out a hundred goblins if we have to!"

Even if I was the baron's son, authority over the private soldiers ultimately rested with my father, so I had worried they might take offense. Instead, their response was remarkably kind!

"When you kill the goblins, open the bottle and—"

"We've done this before. No need to worry."

"Yes, of course."

The two of them proved thoroughly reliable, returning with the materials less than a day after setting out on the hunt.

Good. That takes care of the goblin's death cry as well.

After that came the more troublesome materials—things like "the roar of an enraged troll" or "the sleep-talk of a dawn owl." But I had no need to fret.

"Um, you two... would you mind handling a few more things for me?"

"Just give the order."

"The materials I need are..."

I carefully listed them out. If they said it was too much, I was fully prepared to simply buy the rest from a city magic shop or hire mercenaries. But Zeke and Milo accepted readily once again.

"Magic shops? Those thieves just buy the stuff cheap from mercenaries and adventurers like us and mark it up."

"We can handle it. Though the dawn owl's sleep-talk might be a bit..."

"All right, then we'll buy the owl sleep-talk and leave the rest to you?"

"Yes! Trust us!"

The two of them went straight to Sir Valt to report, packed their gear, and left the territory. I did feel a twinge of worry that they might simply run off, but I trusted the power of the candy I had been slipping them now and then.

When they get back, I should ask the other soldiers to treat those two a little better.

Or maybe not. Saying something might make it worse. Who knew.

With the difficult materials left in Zeke and Milo's hands, there wasn't much left for me to do.

"Herbs... I've already given instructions to the territory herbalists. Anything they can't find..."

Tell your father. It's fine to accept this much help.

"You're right, aren't you?"

Just as the Ancestor said, Father was overjoyed at my request, raising both hands in delight.

"You should have told me sooner! Leave it to your old man!"

"Yes, thank you."

How should I put it? The whole process felt rather anticlimactic. I hadn't wanted to suffer, exactly, but I had expected some sort of fantastical adventure to unfold.

Aside from the grave wailing, not really?

Well, it wasn't bad. Good things were good things.

Anyway, several days passed like that. I spent them as usual—memorizing On Death, practicing Bone Armor, and training my body.

"Son, I got them."

"Oh! Thank you, Father."

"Haha, it's nothing."

"Father is the best."

"Hahaha."

Father had obtained various materials, and the territory herbalists had brought the herbs as well. The dawn owl's sleep-talk arrived safely through Father's channels too.

All that remained were the materials entrusted to Zeke and Milo, and it didn't take them long to return.

"Young Master, we're back!"

"Oh."

Zeke and Milo, who had gone out to gather materials, had returned. But was it just my imagination? These two looked a bit plumper than when they left. As if they had eaten better and slept better than they ever did in the territory.

Cut them some slack. They must have had a hard time of it.

Mm, yes. Let's be understanding. Everyone needs a little breathing room now and then.

Anyway.

So you've got everything now?

"Yes, it seems so."

All that remained was to proceed with the contract ritual.

When do you plan to do it?

"No reason to delay."

I returned straight to my room and laid out the materials. Following the instructions in On Death, I arranged them and inscribed unknown characters across the floor. A few minutes later:

Hmm, not bad at all.

Even though I had made it myself, it looked rather convincing—exactly like the sort of thing devil-worshippers set up in Western occult movies.

Now for the final step...

Thud.

I placed my prospective master in the center and opened the box.

"Then I'll begin. Just in case..."

Right. I'll wait outside.

Before the contract, I sent the Ancestor out of the room. According to On Death, having any presence other than the caster and the target spirit present during a contract was unwise.

With all preparations complete, I opened the box.

Kyaaaaaaaaaaaah—!

The same thunderous wailing as ever. Following the contract procedure, I began the incantation.

Unlike with the Ancestor, this was a one-sided monologue rather than a dialogue. Most of the content was nearly incomprehensible, but I faithfully recited the contract incantation exactly as written in On Death.

Before long, the chant ended.

Woom, wooooom—!

The materials arranged according to the fixed laws began to glow, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the symbols and characters inscribed on the floor started to vibrate. And in that very moment:

Wh-who... are you?

"Oh, you've opened your eyes?"

A... necromancer?

"Yes, that's right."

What... happened to the mad mage and the greatsword knight? Don't tell me... you saved me from them?

"No. You died."

Ah...?

The skeleton that had not yet become my master fell silent for a moment. Then, as if finally grasping the situation, he began to sob.

Yes... that's it. That was it. So I died after all. I died in the end. The grand design was so close... and it came to this...

Then, suddenly:

You who woke me... you must have a purpose. What is it you desire?

"Yes. I was hoping to learn a bit of necromancy."

Necromancy?

"Yes."

...Are you mocking me? A necromancer capable of performing a contract of this caliber wants instruction? Ah... I see. You covet my research... Fine. Handing over my research is no great difficulty. However, there is a condition.

"A condition?"

Yes. Will you accept it?

"I'll hear it first."

We were in the middle of a contract. Therefore, every word spoken during the process required the utmost caution. That was why I had stated my purpose honestly without lying, and why I refused to give a definite answer.

But what could the condition be?

Maybe he wants me to deliver a final message to his acquaintances?

...It was not that.

Kill the mad mage and the greatsword knight who slew me. That is my condition. Simply killing them will not satisfy me. Their cursed bloodlines as well—every last one of them...

"Oh."

What followed was a stream of curses so vile I had no desire to let them enter my ears. But did this bastard realize? That the "greatsword knight" he spoke of was, on paper, my older brother? That I myself was one of those "bloodlines"?

...Yes. Decision made.

"You. Death sentence."

...What?

I activated one of the caster-protection measures inherent to the "very strong slave contract"—Instant Annihilation. As expected, the effect was powerful.

Fuck you, Master. Forgive this disciple's disloyalty or don't. I don't care.

Cough, spit.

...But then.

"What's this?"

In the spot where the skeleton—now an empty shell after annihilation—had crumbled into dust and scattered, a single gemstone lay. A luminous purple.

"What is it?"

Is it over? Hmm? What is that?

"I don't know either. But this..."

Do you feel something from it?

"Yes."

As I held the gem quietly, a sensation washed over me. Yes—exactly the same feeling as when I first summoned Golgol.

...If it's now, I might be able to summon Golgol 2.