Welcome, Contractor!
The pleas of the surrounding crowd were practically screams.
“Please, calm down!”
“Have mercy, I beg of you!”
“Young Master, this is the Imperial Palace!”
“Aaargh! Let go! Let go of me! I shall report this to His Imperial Majesty! I will demand he take that insolent wretch’s head!”
“You dare disrespect the House of Castrein?! Just you wait—I’m telling the Duke!”
Perfect. Absolute, unadulterated chaos.
Lisianthus was shrieking at the top of his lungs, selling the scenario with gusto: a manic brawl between a deranged man and woman, spiraling out of control after trading relentless insults over each other’s status, competence, and pride.
Ending every threat with I’m telling my parents! was thoroughly childish, but then again, children’s spats had a habit of snowballing into adult feuds. Ironically, that was precisely why today’s catastrophe wouldn’t escalate into a real crisis.
Both my reputation and Lisianthus’s were already in the gutter. Even after we trashed the Rose Palace and set the place on fire during our lunatic quarrel, not a single person looked genuinely surprised. One glance at the retainers and maids struggling to pry us apart revealed expressions that said it all: I knew this day would come.
The palace caught fire spectacularly well. Despite the servants’ frantic bucket brigades, the best they could manage was containing the blaze so it didn’t spread beyond the Rose Palace grounds. In the end, Lisianthus and I were grabbed by retainers and maids, half-dragged away in opposite directions. Even with people pinning our arms and legs to haul us apart, we made sure to hurl vile curses and foul-mouthed obscenities at each other until the very last second. Looking at the charred wreckage of the Rose Palace and our venomous fury, nobody could possibly have guessed that Lisianthus and I had orchestrated the entire spectacle together.
I wasn’t worried about the fallout.
The Imperial Court was well aware of Titania’s utter intolerance for Lisianthus, and the ducal household was equally familiar with Lisianthus’s explosive temper. While the palace could technically bill the ducal estate for the Rose Palace’s restoration, the Emperor—who hated appearing inferior to Duke Castrein—would never stoop to something so petty. And if Titania ran weeping to the Emperor about the injustice of it all, it wouldn’t matter unless it involved her fiancé, Raymon. Instead, she’d only get a lecture: He’s your future brother-in-law; can’t a girl show a little grace and endure a rough temper?
In short, if this blew up, it would become a political standoff between the Duchy and the Imperial Family—and neither my reputation nor Lisianthus’s was respectable enough to warrant diplomatic friction!
All in all, a thoroughly satisfying outcome.
After a thorough, vigorous scrub to rid myself of the soot, ash, and smoke clinging to my skin, I slipped into clean, crisp pajamas and fell into a deep sleep. When I finally woke up:
“Auuugh, ahem, cough. Ugh. Fire is fire, I suppose—my throat feels like sandpaper from all that smoke.”
I cleared my throat with a series of raspy coughs and stretched lazily, joints popping in sequence. The bedroom looked thoroughly dreary. Because it sat some distance from the drawing room where the fire broke out, the flames hadn’t reached here, but after yesterday’s sheer pandemonium, no one had bothered to come by and tidy up.
Then again, the state of my bedroom was hardly the priority.
My gaze drifted to the corner of the room, settling on the sword resting alone there like an ominous mountain of holiday homework discovered on the final day of vacation. It was sheathed, of course, with fine cloth bound tightly around the seam between the scabbard and hilt to prevent accidental unsheathing. The polished hilt and the intricate filigree carved into the scabbard marked it as an exquisitely crafted masterwork, yet...
“...”
In the chaos yesterday, I hadn’t managed to bring up the sword to Lisianthus. I could always excuse it to Imperial Consort Cleo by claiming I wanted to present it to Raymon myself as a surprise, but... she already knew Titania and Raymon rarely crossed paths. She had likely sent it in advance to ensure I wouldn’t raise a fuss about attending the Offering Festival. And now, disposing of the damn thing was giving me a massive headache.
A blade of this caliber drew eyes wherever it went, meaning I couldn’t just pawn it off. Should I commission a replica...? I could technically ask Raymon to merely pretend he received it, but having already saddled the ducal family with the Rose Palace renovation bill, pushing my luck with another favor felt shameless.
But the bigger issue lay elsewhere. It was indeed a cursed demonic sword, yet if one could suppress the power of ‘Berris,’ it could function as a living lie detector. Who knew? Perhaps the Castrein Duchy could suppress the curse and put it to great use.
“...Ah! I have Gloriana’s Insignia!”
Right. Class is permanent—even battered, a treasure remains a treasure. It was a holy relic infused with the Power of Light. Since I had already secured the sash, perhaps it could be used to tame the sword properly.
With that thought in mind... letting out a soft sigh, I unwrapped the cloth and tentatively wrapped my fingers around the hilt. It wasn’t reckless bravery. Honestly, if you’re gifting a weapon, you need to gauge how dangerous it is first! What if they thought I gave it to them just to sabotage the Duchy?!
In the original novel, Brian paraded this sword around from the start without sensing anything amiss, only meeting his ruin near the climax. And that was when he was an unawakened royal with not a speck of divine awareness—a bottom-feeder imperial just like me. Touching it for a mere second to test the waters couldn’t possibly hurt.
If I don’t feel anything, I’ll just put it down and wrap it right back up!
As if mocking my naivety, the instant my fingers closed around the hilt, a bizarre voice rang out.
— Welcome, Contractor! (='▼'=)
— This sword welcomes the Master Succession Ceremony of the rightful contractor of Б☀□□!
— The God of Light and Creation, whom mortals call ‘Belobog’—my magnificent Creator—forged me with the assistance of Lord Veles to guide the Contractor’s path! Fifty percent of my functions are locked by default; completing the Master Succession Ceremony for ‘Gloriana’s Insignia’ will unlock all functions! ✧ฺ･｡(✪▽✪*)･｡✧
Then, with a gentle pop, tiny motes of shimmering light scattered around the blade, perfectly mimicking celebratory confetti.
“...”
What in the world? What was this bright, synthetic voice? Bixby? Siri? And more importantly, what on earth was with those emoticons?!
...Wait, this is terrifying.
Wasn’t this supposed to be a cursed demonic sword? Where did the Berris-Facio I knew go?!
To my completely frozen self, the sword chirped cheerfully:
— Would you like to conduct the Master Succession Ceremony right now? (๑╹▽╹๑)
I shrieked in horror. I didn’t know what on earth was happening, but my instincts screamed bloody murder that saying YES here would be fatal.
“No! Absolutely not! Forget it! I refuse!”
— If you do not perform the Master Succession Ceremony, even as the Contractor, you will only be able to access 25% of my full capabilities! ༼இɷஇ༽ ‘Berris-Facio’ is merely my hospitality persona, manifested for anyone who uses this sword for more than six months without proper qualification credentials!
“Hold on, why am I your contractor?! And what is this absurd time limit?! If that’s the case, I just won’t use you before then!”
— Welcome, Contractor! Because you are already a formally registered Contractor of Lord Belobog, having completed physical contact, you are now my eternal, immortal Master! For all users other than Master, the ‘Berris-Facio’ persona will automatically activate! ◝(⁰▿⁰)◜
“...”
Ah...
I shouldn’t have done something out of character...
I shouldn’t have trusted the original novel so blindly...!
A silent scream tore through my soul. If a nuisance extra villainess of an imperial princess could suddenly awaken to her past life, I shouldn’t have ruled out the possibility that the blade known as ‘just a cursed sword’ was actually something completely different!
— However, since Lord Belobog acknowledges humanity’s herd-dwelling instincts, shared usage of me is permitted for exactly one individual: someone who has entered into a legal marriage with the Contractor, or whom the Contractor has recognized as an equivalent companion! ♡~(>᎑<`๑)♡
“...”
So what, was I supposed to flirt with Raymon? ‘Everyone thinks this is a masterwork sword, but it’s actually a cursed blade. It stops being cursed if you legally marry me, so let’s tie the knot!’—and hand it over like that?
Did a mere piece of forged metal have to sabotage my future with such meticulous, effortless precision?!
What saddened me most was that the old Titania would have genuinely tried such a stunt.
Imperial Consort Cleo...! You truly are something else. She couldn’t have anticipated this, but I loathe her all the same!
— The ultimate objective shared by Master and myself is the sealing and annihilation of Ч✦■■—the nemesis of Б☀□□, the progenitor of all demonic beasts, who seeks to destroy this world from the Underworld sealed beneath the Northern Barrier!
“Translate.”
— Contractor! The barrier that Lord Belobog granted humanity grace and strength to protect is in dire jeopardy! Please use me to save this world before Chernobog is resurrected! ( ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )
“No, I mean, why me?!”
— Because you are the Contractor!
“I never signed up for any contract, damn it!”
In the first place, I didn’t know jack about Belobog or Chernobog! In the original novel, Bibi and her entourage handled everything just fine on their own without any of this nonsense!
Clutching my head, I tore at my hair, engulfed in a sense of sheer helplessness rivaling the moment I first woke from my coma.