My intelligence is just so-so, it all depends on my opponents to highlight it

"Excellent!"

Russell rubbed his back against the stone chair's headrest, smiling as he asked, "How do we sign the contract? Thumbprint, blood drop, or soul binding?"

The blurry face remained still. On the stone table before Russell, a roll of yellowed paper slowly materialized.

Russell reached out and touched it. The paper was dense and fairly elastic, not the animal hide he'd imagined—it seemed to be parchmentized, what they called industrial parchment.

A bit of a buzzkill, but the material didn't matter; what mattered was the content. He scrutinized it closely, his brow furrowing deeper with each line. Since it was a contract, there had to be corresponding rights and obligations—otherwise, this paper was meaningless.

But stripping away the useless filler, Russell found few clauses that benefited the host. Instead, he saw plenty of obligations he'd have to fulfill. The whole thing was about obedience, obedience, and more obedience.

It was a raw deal. If he signed, he'd be little better than a slave!

Russell set the contract down, his displeasure plain on his face. Just then, the system's voice chimed in.

"Sign your name on the contract's signature line, and you'll become the true host. All permissions will then be opened to you..."

"Hold on a second. Your contract's full of fluff—lots of pointless paragraphs. That makes me nervous. Did you tamper with it?"

Russell cut in. The system was silent for a moment, then a change occurred. Large swaths of useless text were deleted from the contract, streamlining it considerably.

"Now that's much cleaner."

"Your request has been fulfilled. You may now sign the contract!"

"Easy there. Since this is a big deal, I need to get some things straight. First, if I sign and become the true host, what's in it for me?"

Russell asked bluntly. "Honestly, this contract lacks sincerity. I only see you squeezing me, not what you're giving. Compared to the probation period, signing this would put a lot more restrictions on my freedom."

"No need to be dissatisfied. That's just how contracts work. Receiving the system's service is your greatest gain! Think about what you'll get by traveling through the Myriad Worlds. You can become a god above all beings—even god is just a starting point. You'll transcend everything; life, death, and dimensions won't bind you. You'll become a supreme and eternal existence."

"Heh, that's for later. I'm shortsighted—I only care about immediate benefits. I feel like signing this contract means I'll lose control and start working for you."

"Signing makes you the host. We'll be one. I won't threaten you..."

Rarely, the system patiently explained itself to Russell, but he had zero trust in it. He kept rubbing his back against the chair behind him.

The system sensed his dissatisfaction and asked stiffly, "What are you doing?"

"I'm wondering where this place really is. Could this stone seat under me be my computer chair back home?"

"You're overthinking it!"

"I figured as much. So where am I now? What is this place?"

The system answered, its voice now immensely imposing, even carrying a hint of sanctity: "This is the Contract Land, the most fair hall in the Myriad Worlds. Here, only you and I exist, with no third party. The spirit of the contract binds us: no deception, no concealment, no malicious agreement!"

"Sounds great. So we're equal here?"

"Yes!"

"Then why did the contract suddenly pop up just now, like you were controlling it?"

"..."

"Why aren't you talking? Did you crash?"

"Because... I rented this venue. As the landlord, I have permissions."

Russell sneered, "Heh. Fairness bends when money's involved."

"Don't complain. This is a necessary process. Everyone who signs a contract with a system goes through it."

Russell didn't ask where the previous people who signed with the system had gone. The answer was obvious—if they weren't dead, there'd be no place for him.

"Alright, this dry conversation is boring. We Chinese like to talk business over a meal. Chatting while eating builds rapport, brings us closer, and gets things done faster. If we drink the other party under the table, nine times out of ten, the deal's sealed."

The system was silent for a moment. "I don't drink, and I can't eat food."

"No problem. You can watch me eat!" Russell said naturally. "Since you're the landlord, you should be able to order food, right? If the Contract Land charges fees, it must have catering services... Any pretty waitresses? The kind that eat, drink, and play along?"

The system: "..."

"Fine, looks like you're a broke system with no cash. Forget the pretty waitress. Just get me a roast chicken—no drumstick, mild spice!"

Russell's attitude of "we've got time, let's eat and talk" prompted another stretch of silence from the system.

Soon, a steaming roast chicken appeared before Russell, complete with knife, fork, and seasonings. Its tempting aroma made his mouth water.

Russell didn't bother with the utensils or table manners. He tore off a chicken leg and started eating.

The system watched quietly until he finished the leg and moved on to the wing. Then it spoke: "How long do you plan to eat? This is a sacred, solemn place. Your desecration only defiles the contract ceremony."

Russell set down the wing, grabbed a cloth to wipe his mouth, closed his eyes to savor the moment for a few seconds, then laughed. "This chicken tastes awful... Oh, sorry, what I meant was... Are you in a hurry?"

The system: "..."

"Got a train to catch? That eager to sign with me?"

"Because the rent is expensive. It's charged by the hour. We have to make every second count!"

The system gave a flimsy excuse, but Russell cut to the chase: "What rent? Where'd you get the money? Or are you skimming from my mission rewards?"

"No. My permissions can't deduct..."

The system started to explain, but Russell waved it off. "Save it. Lies never hold up. One lie needs a hundred more—or even more—to cover it. If you keep lying, there won't be a shred of trust left between us."

"I'm not lying to you. This is the Contract Land—no one can lie here." The system's voice was slightly hurried as it emphasized the point again.

"Not before, either?"

"Not before, either!"

Russell grinned even wider. "The first time I used the Medicated Alcohol, your prompt told me that once an Item Card is used, there's no time limit—but after use, it can't be taken out of the current world."

"..."

"But when I got back to my room, something jabbed me in the back. That M9 I pulled from the lottery—I brought it back."

System: "..."

Russell spread his hands. "You lied! By that logic, saying no one can lie in the Contract Land is another lie. Keep going, and this isn't the Contract Land at all... So there's no such place, is there?"

As he spoke, he picked up the parchment with his greasy hand, waved it, and continued, "And this contract—what kind of contract lets you edit it however you want after it's made? No sense of contract spirit at all. Too sloppy. Only a fool would sign it!"

"..."

"Come on, eat this bowl of Pork Cutlet Rice and spill the truth. It'll be better for both of us!"

"..."

"Hurry up. The rent here is expensive."

The system's face was impossible to make out, but from its voice alone—melancholy, resigned, almost accepting its fate—it said, "You're very sharp. Your observational skills are keen too. This is the first time I've met someone as rational as you. Previous hosts, the moment they heard about signing a contract, agreed without hesitation, no matter how harsh the terms."

Russell shook his head. "Not really. I'm just average in the brains department—it's all thanks to my opponents making me look good!"

"..."

Begging for support!