Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

King Ducat of the Toins gazed contentedly at the lanterns being hung throughout the streets of Steelbelt. The tourists, who had flocked to the city for the festival, were helping to hang the lanterns on behalf of the short-statured Toins. The sight of inebriated humans and other non-human races working together to decorate the city with lanterns was a heartwarming scene, one that never failed to bring a smile to his face every year.

From the evening of the second day of the Three Names Festival, the city begins to hang lanterns that wrap around every corner of the streets.

“This year’s festival is a success,” Ducat muttered to himself.

Binaeril, Dalheim. The promise he had made to him as a joke was unexpectedly fueling the festival’s excitement.

“Heh, foolish lad.”

Ducat had promised him, “If you win all the competitions in the Three Names Festival, I will arrange for you to meet the Mother of the Nymphs.” But in truth, it was just a ploy to keep Binaeril engaged until the end of the festival. As long as that mage participated in the final event, Ducat would have technically fulfilled his promise. After all, the person Binaeril wished to meet could indeed be found at that very place.

“I swear by the Earth Mother, it was a brilliant jest.”

The competitions of the first and second days didn’t actually matter. However, thanks to that one casual joke, Steelbelt might witness its first festival champion in decades—a delightful prospect that even Ducat hadn’t anticipated.

“It’s about time to invite the final guest.”

As Ducat finished his leisurely stroll through the festive streets, a group approached him. Dark shadows loomed over Ducat’s small stature as they surrounded him.

The Toin King looked up at the figures blocking his path.

“Are you Ducat Herebos, King of the Toins?”

The tone was overly arrogant and disrespectful for addressing a king. They didn’t even bother to dismount from their horses, instead looking down at Ducat with disdain.

“Who might you be?” Ducat asked, though he had already deduced their identities the moment he saw them.

The leader of the group, who had blocked the path while riding a white horse, bore the insignia of the Order on his surcoat. All the states within the Pigruben Federation were heavily influenced by the Order, largely because both Pigny and Ruben had declared themselves spiritual vassals of the Order.

Though Ducat didn’t care for the Federation’s subservient attitude, he couldn’t afford to make enemies of the Order, so he maintained a cold, distant relationship with them.

“It seems you are indeed the Toin King.”

The man tapped the insignia on his chest with his finger and introduced himself.

“I am Antero, a Paladin of the Vitory Order. We’ve come to seek your cooperation in accordance with the Order’s arrest warrant issued in Aliba.”

For someone seeking cooperation, his manner of speech was extremely insolent. It was as if he was addressing a subordinate.

Ducat’s expression turned sour as he asked again, “What brings the Order’s men to Aliba?”

“The Order’s men?” The Paladin’s eyebrow twitched at Ducat’s choice of words.

“The dwarf king dares to show insolence before a knight of the Order. I’ll let it slide this time, but do not address me in such a manner again. Consider that advice for your own good.”

Now it was Ducat’s eyebrow that twitched. He was irked and deeply offended, but there was little he could do at the moment. The man before him was a Paladin of the Order, a representative no less, and behind him stood soldiers of the Order. Ducat knew it was a moment to swallow his pride.

“Ah, I misspoke. My apologies. So, what brings knights of the Order to this land of dwarves?”

“You must be hard of hearing, old man. As I said, we’ve come to seek Aliba’s cooperation in accordance with the Order’s arrest warrant.”

“Is that so? And what assistance do you require?”

“Take this.”

The Paladin handed Ducat a wanted poster. It contained a sketch of the individual the Order was pursuing, along with a brief description. Ducat recognized him immediately. It was the large, imposing man who had been with Binaeril.

Ducat’s facial muscles twitched slightly. He made every effort to keep his reaction hidden from the Order’s men.

“Haven’t seen him.”

The Paladin studied Ducat’s face carefully before responding, “He’s not someone easily forgotten. If this man sets foot in Aliba’s territory, you are to capture him immediately and inform the Order. You will be rewarded handsomely for your cooperation.”

Ducat nodded. “Understood. Is that all?”

He folded the wanted poster and tucked it into his robe. However, despite their business being concluded, the Paladin did not turn his horse but instead continued to stare down at Ducat.

“Is there something else? Or are you planning to enjoy the Three Names Festival before you go?” Ducat asked, trying to mask his irritation.

The Paladin glanced at the lanterns hanging around them and replied, “I have no interest in the filthy celebrations of dwarves. Let’s go, men.”

Ducat watched them intently as they rode off down the main road until they vanished from sight.

Meanwhile, Paladin Antero came to a stop at the entrance to Steelbelt.

“Why have we stopped, Sir Antero?” 

“Didn’t that dwarf king seem suspicious?” Antero mused aloud.

“Sir? Did he? I didn’t really notice anything,” replied one of his subordinates, slightly confused.

“The way his eyes darted around was highly suspicious,” Antero insisted, propping his chin on his hand as he pondered the situation.

The orders he had received from the Order were simple: to travel through the federation’s states and deliver the wanted notice. Time was of the essence, and he should have been urging his men onward. However, his instincts told him something was amiss here, something worth investigating.

Turning his horse around, Antero gave his men a new directive. “We’ll stay here for a day. Before unpacking, search the city. If you spot the man from the wanted poster, report to me immediately.”

Meanwhile, the final day of the Three Names Festival dawned.

Binaeril, stretching widely as he awoke, stepped out onto the balcony and was surprised by the sight that greeted him. The streets of Steelbelt were festooned with lanterns, hanging intricately from every corner of the city.

“I don’t know what’s going on. People were busy putting those up all over the place last night,” Dominic remarked, joining Binaeril on the balcony with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Did you sleep well?” Binaeril asked, acknowledging Dominic’s presence.

Binaeril had always maintained a strict rule of reserving one room per person whenever they traveled. Originally, this was to escape Inyakan’s terrible snoring. Naturally, Binaeril had also booked Dominic a room in the most luxurious inn available. The lavish accommodations, complete with unlimited meals and the best rooms money could buy, were all thanks to Binaeril’s deep pockets. With no other outlets for his vast wealth, accumulated from various ventures, Binaeril spent freely on such comforts.

Thanks to these indulgences, Dominic had begun to appreciate the luxury and even started to let go of some of his initial grudges toward Binaeril.

“It seems they’re going all out with decorations for the final day of the festival,” Dominic observed.

The strings of lanterns crisscrossing the streets were so thin and transparent that they resembled spider webs. If the tangled streets of Steelbelt were the warp threads of a weave, the draped lanterns were the weft, creating a citywide tapestry that looked like a giant spider web.

“This isn’t just decoration. These lanterns must be tied to today’s event,” Dominic speculated.

“Really?” Binaeril asked, tapping one of the nearby lanterns with his finger.

“Yes. I overheard something on the way back last night. Someone mentioned that if we tapped on these, we’d understand everything by today.”

“That doesn’t give us much to go on….”

“I’m in the same boat,” Dominic admitted.

At that moment, a gruff voice echoed from the far end of the hall, where Inyakan had just woken up.

“If you can’t figure it out, it’s easier to just stop thinking about it,”

It was Inyakan’s voice.

“Anyway, we’ll figure it out when the time comes. Stop worrying about useless things and let’s go eat.”

As expected, he had passed out early after drinking Toin beer last night, and now he was just getting up.

“Sure, Inyakan. Since today’s event won’t be until the evening, why don’t we go check out Smelter Street during the day?” Binaeril suggested.

After breakfast, Inyakan complained of a splitting headache and decided to get some more sleep until the evening. He went back to his room, leaving Binaeril and Dominic to explore the city on their own.

“So, why did you drag me along? Am I supposed to be your bodyguard or something?” Dominic asked with a hint of annoyance.

“You mentioned you found a good sword, didn’t you?” Binaeril replied.

“A sword?”

“Yes, the one you couldn’t buy because you didn’t have enough silver. Show me where it is.”

Dominic seemed slightly embarrassed that he had been so suspicious. He reluctantly led the way.

They headed toward a small shop on the edge of the bustling Smelter Street. It was a modest but somehow venerable-looking forge.

“Master, I’m back,” Dominic called as they entered.

“That sword is not for sale,” came the immediate response.

Inside, a stubborn-looking Toin blacksmith stood behind the counter. His face bore the expression of someone who had spent his entire life with a hammer in hand—unyielding and resolute.

He was in the middle of a heated argument with a customer who had arrived before them.

“It’s a reserved item. A man who came by recently asked me to hold it. He said he’d come back after gathering the money,” the blacksmith insisted.

“This is tiresome. Didn’t I already offer to pay double?” the customer retorted.

“Whether you pay double or triple, I’m not selling it,” the blacksmith snapped.

The two were quarreling over a single sword. The customer seemed increasingly frustrated by the blacksmith’s obstinance.

“You must be quite attached to this sword, but how about this? Let’s settle it with a little wager. My sword against yours—if the blade chips, the loser backs off. Are you confident, Master?”

The customer’s suggestion was ludicrous, yet he proposed it with a smug grin.

“If my sword is damaged, I’ll leave quietly. But if your sword gets nicked, you’ll have to compensate me for wasting my time with what would then be worthless scrap metal.”

The blacksmith looked at the customer as if he were insane.

“How about it? Sounds fun, right? I’ll take your silence as agreement,” the customer declared, drawing his own sword.

Even Binaeril, who didn’t know much about swords, could tell that the customer’s blade was a finely crafted piece, emitting a soft, gleaming light.

“Alright, one, two!” 

Just as the man was about to clash the two swords he held, Dominic intervened, grabbing his wrist.

“Hey, obsessive guy, cut it out. This is beyond rude,” Dominic said, snatching the sword from the man’s grasp and placing it back in front of the blacksmith.

“I’m here to pick up the sword I reserved.”

The blacksmith recognized Dominic and smiled. “I knew my eyes didn’t deceive me. I figured you’d come back for it, no matter how long it took.”

The other man, despite seeing Dominic for the first time, continued to act arrogantly. “So, you’re the one who reserved the sword, huh?”

Dominic ignored him completely, focusing only on the blacksmith. “I didn’t get the price last time. How much do I owe you?”

“Two Florin gold coins,” the blacksmith replied.

“…What?” Binaeril, listening from behind, nearly choked on his breath. No matter how fine the sword was, the price seemed exorbitantly high.

“That’s… way too… expensive…” Binaeril muttered.

Dominic, upon hearing the price, stood frozen like a statue. The customer, who had been glaring at Dominic, couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer.

“Ha! See? Just as I thought. Some broke wanderer thinking he could buy a real sword. Hey, blacksmith, I’ll give you three Florin gold coins. Sell it to me!”