Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

Yunnaeril walked along the white marble tiles, his steps echoing softly in the grand hall. At the far end, seated on an ornate chair, was a clergyman dressed in black robes, a stark contrast to the white biretta he wore on his head. Bowing his head respectfully, Yunnaeril greeted him.

“Greetings, Your Eminence.”

“How was your excursion, Sir Yunnaeril?” The cardinal asked, smiling kindly.

“Thanks to your concern, I was able to enjoy a brief walk, Cardinal Cristopho,” Yunnaeril replied, his tone polite and measured.

“A brief walk, was it? You went quite far, didn’t you?” The cardinal’s tone was light, but there was an underlying insinuation.

“The Holy Kingdom and Ruben share a border, so it wasn’t that far,” Yunnaeril responded calmly.

“You traveled from the capital to the border—hardly a short stroll. If you were back in your homeland, you might as well have visited your family.”

Yunnaeril had left the Holy Kingdom without any companions and returned the same way. Despite this solitary journey, the cardinal spoke as though he had witnessed every step of Yunnaeril’s excursion. His words were a subtle reminder, a way to assert his dominance over a growing power—like a master reminding a hunting dog that it was still on a leash.

Yunnaeril, unfazed, responded with equal calm. “It wasn’t a personal matter, Your Eminence. I went to investigate the item you were seeking.”

The cardinal’s gentle expression shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing with a glint of greed, resembling the cold gaze of a serpent. Realizing the nature of the conversation, he glanced around at the attendants in the room. Unlike many high-ranking clergy who lived modestly, Cardinal Cristopho was surrounded by about ten attendants—servants and handmaidens who catered to his every need. At his signal, they quickly and quietly exited the room, leaving the two men alone.

“Say that again, Captain Yunnaeril,” the cardinal prompted, his voice low and expectant.

“This,” Yunnaeril said, pulling out the fragment of the sword he had been carrying and presenting it to the cardinal.

“Is this the fragment?” The cardinal carefully examined the broken piece of Mimung. It was difficult to discern its nature by sight alone. He reached for the staff lying beside him, one of the Holy Order’s sacred relics, with the carved figure of a white horse at its head. He brought the staff close to the shattered sword.

As he did, light began to emanate from the staff. But something was amiss. The light wasn’t the pure, blinding white glow that Paladins like Callisto or Matthias could summon. Instead, it was a mixture—a blend of white with streaks of black.

The light that the cardinal emitted was closer to gray, a strange, unsettling hue that also seeped from his eyes and facial features. It was as if a forbidden demigod had descended into the room. However, Yunnaeril showed no sign of surprise or alarm as he watched the cardinal. He had seen this spectacle many times before.

After a few moments, the light faded, and the cardinal, now appearing fatigued, spoke to Yunnaeril.

“It seems the fragment no longer holds any power.”

“I believe so as well,” Yunnaeril replied.

“Then why bring me this useless piece of metal?” The cardinal’s question was one of ignorance, and it irked Yunnaeril slightly. He had brought the evidence right to the cardinal’s feet, yet the man failed to recognize its significance. Still, Yunnaeril knew he had to maintain the façade of a loyal servant for now.

“The power of the fragment wasn’t absorbed by me,” Yunnaeril explained.

The cardinal let out a startled grunt. “Are you saying someone else has absorbed the fragment’s power?”

“Judging by how confidently you’re speaking, I assume you know who this person is?”

Yunnaeril nodded and swallowed dryly. “The one who stole the fragment’s power also killed Paladins Matthias and Callisto. When I found them, only their corpses and the hollow shell of the fragment remained.”

“Matthias and Callisto? The power of that fiend was strong enough to surpass even a vice-captain?” The cardinal fell silent for a moment. Losing two Paladins—key figures of the Order, both sword and shield—was a shocking blow, even for him.

But then the cardinal began to laugh—a low, rumbling chuckle that grew into full-blown laughter.

“Hah! Hahahaha!”

“To think the fragment’s power was so great! I knew it was formidable, but enough to defeat two Paladins? Remarkable!”

He was not mourning the loss but rather reveling in the discovery of the fragment’s terrifying potential.

“If you know who the culprit is, bring him to me at once!”

“That may be difficult at the moment, Your Eminence,” Yunnaeril said, carefully choosing his words. “If I were to pursue him openly, the Archbishop might grow suspicious of my actions. It might be better to issue a general Order-wide manhunt and have other Paladins pursue him. In the meantime, I can wait for the right moment to strike and claim the power before it falls into the Archbishop’s hands.”

The only person who could restrain the cardinal’s ambitions was his rival, the Archbishop. Yunnaeril knew this well.

“Hmm… yes, we can’t reveal your role as my sword just yet,” the cardinal mused.

“Indeed. If the other Paladins bring him in, I can ensure that I strip the power from him before the Archbishop has a chance to interfere.”

“Very well, let it be as you say,” the cardinal agreed, his tone filled with satisfaction. The Church’s power, rooted deeply in the continent, was formidable. No matter how strong the culprit might be, it was only a matter of time before he was caught once the Church issued a formal manhunt. And with him, the fragment’s power would soon be in the cardinal’s grasp.

A sinister smile spread across Cardinal Cristopho’s face. 

“Isn’t it almost complete?” he asked, his tone now back to the gentle facade he usually wore.

“There’s not much left,” Yunnaeril replied, matching the cardinal’s shift in demeanor.

“Good. I trust only you, my captain. As you suggested, I’ll issue the order and send letters to the Empire and Elfenbine, asking for their cooperation.”

“You may leave now,” the cardinal dismissed him.

Yunnaeril bowed respectfully, just as he had when he entered, and quietly left the cardinal’s chamber. Cardinal Cristopho watched Yunnaeril leave, then called out softly,

“Scylla.”

A low voice responded from the shadows behind his ornate throne.

“Has Captain Yunnaeril lied about anything?”

“We don’t have complete information. We haven’t been able to fully trace his movements after he left the Holy Kingdom. However…”

“Yes?”

“There was a group of Elfenbine mages returning from the area where the incident is suspected to have occurred. That detail was conspicuously absent from the captain’s report.”

“Elfenbine, you say.”

“Yes, but we currently have no information linking the captain to Elfenbine.”

“Understood. Continue to monitor Yunnaeril’s movements closely.”

The low voice receded back into the shadows. Meanwhile, Binaeril, having calmed the agitated Inyakan, made his way back to the Tower Master’s chamber. The sudden arrival of Binaeril seemed to surprise the Tower Master, though it was hard to tell with her face obscured by a veil.

“What brings you here, Binaeril?”

“I have something I need to ask,” Binaeril said, cutting to the chase despite the potential rudeness of the interruption. “Do you know a mage by the name of Priya Merzina?”

Binaeril had parted ways with Priya at the border of Ruben. “I’m not going to Elfenbine,” she had said before disappearing. Binaeril hadn’t held much hope when he asked the Tower Master about her, but he was exhausting all possible avenues to find Priya, a skilled mage who might have left some trace.

However, the Tower Master’s response caught him off guard.

“Are you looking for our youngest?” The Tower Master laughed, clearly amused by Binaeril’s stunned expression.

“Priya Merzina, the Enchantress… She is the youngest of our Nymph tribe,” the Tower Master revealed.

“…What?” Binaeril blinked in disbelief.

“You seem surprised by the very question you asked,” the Tower Master remarked with a chuckle, her veil swaying as she nodded.

“Did you just say… youngest?”

The Tower Master nodded again, the movement of her veil emphasizing her affirmation.

“There are various demihuman races in this world. Among them, some are classified as the Fey races.”

Binaeril was aware of that much. There were the beastfolk like the Miao Tribe in the Hoenberg Mountains, the diminutive people like the Toins in the Baron Dux’s territory, and the rare Fey races.

Demihumans were generally categorized into three main groups.

“Nymphs are one of the Fey races. Those born are all sisters from the same progenitor.”

It was a mystical notion.

“And I am from the Nymph tribe as well,” the Tower Master continued.

Binaeril had always known that the Tower Master wasn’t human. The pointed ears visible above her veil had made that clear. However, he hadn’t realized she was a Nymph. After all, he had always heard that Fey races were on the brink of extinction, rarely seen in the world.

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this,” Binaeril admitted.

“Didn’t you notice anything peculiar about her?” the Tower Master asked.

Peculiar? Binaeril thought about Priya. She was a heavy-smoking mage, constantly puffing on her pipe. She had a pronounced aversion to filth, a compulsive obsession with white, and she wielded magic through smoke, creating illusions and fog.

There were too many peculiarities to count.

As Binaeril struggled to respond, the Tower Master elaborated, “Her method of handling magic—wasn’t it unusual?”

“That is one of the characteristics of Nymphs. To put it another way, it’s our ‘origin.’”

Binaeril recalled the concept of ‘origin’ from his studies—each race’s inherent, mystical power.

“The Nymph’s origin is a unique way of manipulating mana,” she explained.

“Can origins overlap? I’ve heard that magic itself is considered humanity’s origin,” Binaeril queried, curious about the connection.

The Tower Master shook her head. “It’s a bit different from human magic. Nymphs are born with an innate understanding of how to manipulate mana in their own unique ways. No two Nymphs can interfere with each other’s methods. Priya, too, handles mana in a way that is unique to her.”

That certainly rang true to Binaeril. 

No one could mimic her unique style.

“You’re looking for Priya, but even I don’t know where she is right now,” the Tower Master admitted. “However, I do know someone who knows the whereabouts of all Nymphs.”

“And who is that?” Binaeril asked, curiosity piqued.

“Their mother,” the Tower Master replied with a knowing smile.

Shortly after Binaeril and Inyakan left Elfenbine, priests from the Church arrived at the tower.

“Greetings, Tower Master of Elfenbine,” they said, but they didn’t bring good news. Instead, they came with a request for cooperation in a search.

“There was a significant incident near the border between the Holy Kingdom and the Kingdom of Ruben recently. As a result of this incident, we lost two of the Church’s most revered Paladins.”

“The Church has issued a warrant to apprehend the perpetrator, and we are here to request Elfenbine’s assistance in the matter.”

The priests handed over a wanted poster with a description and a sketch of the person they were hunting. Dean Yulio was the first to take the poster and read its contents. His monocle slipped from his eye and shattered on the ground in shock.

The poster described someone all too familiar yet impossible to believe:

“A large, bald man, right eye blind, wearing strange bracers on both arms.”

The sketch unmistakably depicted Inyakan.

“How can this be?” Dean Yulio exclaimed in disbelief.

Tower Master Elfenbine knew that Binaeril had been involved in the incident with the Church’s knights. However, she had been informed that only one Paladin had died. Yet, the priests were now saying that *two* Paladins had lost their lives.

Could Binaeril have lied to her?

“Dean Yulio, can you contact Binaeril?” the Tower Master asked.

“I’ll try,” Yulio replied, though with hesitation. “However, if the Church is actively pursuing this man, merely reaching out to Binaeril might raise their suspicions.”

The Dean hesitated before adding, “It might be safer to leave things as they are, rather than risk igniting a spark that could lead to trouble. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

Dean Yulio was still unaware that Binaeril had killed one of the Paladins.

“Please contact him discreetly. At the very least, Binaeril needs to be aware of what’s happening.”