Do You Want to Sign a Contract with Me?

There was a demon here. No, this place was connected to a demon. Dean felt a little panicked.

What was a demon? Cruel, vicious, terrifying—it seemed every ugly word in the world could describe them. Even their most important trait, keeping their word, held true only when the conditions were absolutely perfect.

Yes, the conditions had to be absolutely perfect. Demons always left themselves a few loopholes in advance, then slipped through them without technically breaking their word.

Dean was only a first-level magic apprentice. Even a third-level mage might not have stayed as calm as Sanderson.

And judging by what his mentor had said, Dean had a bad feeling. This demon couldn't be absurdly powerful, could it?

As it turned out, Dean's premonition was right.

After introducing the demon connected to the spatial node, Sanderson cut open his finger with a knife.

Before long, Sanderson had drawn a small magic circle on the stone slab. Dean sensed that it held more than blood. There was magic in it too—an immense amount of magic.

Suddenly, a flash of light struck Dean's face. It came from a crystal-clear stone: a magic crystal, one brimming with magic.

Even the poorest-quality magic crystal, no bigger than a fingernail, was worth more than ten gold coins on the market. The glittering crystal in Sanderson's hand was nearly the size of a fist.

How much could that be worth? Dean, who had never seen a magic crystal before, couldn't tear his eyes away. The sight of one so large even made his breathing quicken.

But before Dean could wonder why his mentor was so rich, the huge magic crystal was drained dry. All its magic poured into the circle.

The great crystal became a transparent stone.

Sanderson paid no mind to the magic it had consumed. Once the circle had enough, he tossed the spent crystal aside.

Crack! The crystal, stripped of its magic, shattered into fragments across the floor.

Then Sanderson began to chant. No matter how hard Dean listened, all he could hear was a hum. He couldn't make out a single word, not even a single sound.

What language was that? He couldn't even hear it clearly, much less understand what it meant.

But Dean's attention soon left the chant. As Sanderson's words rang out, the entire stone slab turned scarlet, while the circle drawn in blood became black—a dull, lightless black.

Too many unbelievable things had happened today. Dean could barely take them all in.

Who am I? Where am I? What am I looking at?

Am I dreaming? Dean couldn't help wondering if the guild mission he had undertaken two days ago had exhausted him so badly that he was still asleep... All right, that was impossible.

The sky darkened. A bank of storm clouds gathered overhead, and the rumbling within it grew louder and louder.

Thunder and rain?

No, just thunder. But that was strange enough. How could storm clouds gather so quickly out of nowhere?

Hmph!

A muffled snort sounded. In an instant, the storm clouds, not yet fully formed, broke apart and vanished into the sky as though nothing had happened.

"Hahaha! A mere little seal left by the Thunder God thinks it can strike at a great demon?" Laughter rang out, thick with mockery.

Who was the Thunder God? Dean didn't know. He truly didn't. There were too many gods in the world—gods of wind, gods of rain, gods of flowers and birds.

They were all minor gods, counted among the lesser false gods. More importantly, they were remarkably weak—compared with true gods, of course.

As far as Dean knew, a ninth-level Archmage could injure one of these lesser false gods. The Magic Era, a history of mages that every mage carried, even recorded several instances of Archmages hunting them down.

That was right. Mage organizations of the time had been particularly interested in lesser false gods. There were plenty of them, they weren't impossibly powerful, and they didn't stand together. And so the hunts began.

It was then that the mages of the human race... no, not just the mages, but humans of every profession, made an impression on the other races.

Best not to provoke humans. They're all madder than gods.

That was all Dean knew. So even if the Thunder God was a high-ranking god, no matter how impressive he was, the name stirred nothing in Dean.

"Hmph! Fourth generation? It's only been thirty-odd years. What do you want with the great Stavago?" After the laughter, a figure appeared on the stone slab, though it was only a tiny shadow.

"Oh, that damned Thunder God! Every time I project myself into your world, he leaves me battered from head to toe." As the little shadow spoke, it scratched at its body.

If Dean was seeing it correctly, the shadow had extended long, jointed limbs and was moving them up and down. Was it scratching itself?

Apparently so. Soon the little shadow had scratched off a great many tiny fragments of shadow, which dissolved into the air.

"Honored Lord Stavago, I've brought my new student this time. I hope he can take over the bargain between us." With that, Sanderson bowed to the little shadow.

"Oh? Fourth generation, you once told me you'd end this bargain with your generation. Heh, heh, heh. Who would have thought stubborn little you would want to save yourself? Or is it..." The little shadow, Stavago, clicked in wonder.

"Dean, this is the secret I told you about: signing a contract with a high-ranking demon from the Demon Abyss World." Sanderson paused, looking at Dean with both reluctance and hope.

"I'm the fourth generation, and my mentor was the third. Starting with the first generation, we've made a bargain with Stavago—a trade in knowledge," Sanderson told Dean.

"Fourth generation, you should say Lord Stavago. Show me some respect. I'm the one who brought you an endless wealth of knowledge." The little shadow raised two dark shapes—arms, presumably—and waved them to emphasize how he ought to be addressed.

"Mentor, what's the price?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Our souls. After we die, we must surrender our souls. That's how Stavago gained his endless knowledge."

"Is there any way to avoid surrendering my soul?" Dean was afraid. Give up his soul? No. Nobody could do that lightly.

"There is. You could stay alive and outlive Stavago. Then you wouldn't have to surrender your soul," Sanderson said.

"Uh, is there a way that's more suited to humans?" Dean shook his head. Outlive a demon? What kind of joke was that? Barring an accident, a high-ranking demon could live seven or eight thousand years, rivaling a dragon. A human? Living three or five hundred years already counted as a long life.

"Little one, do you want to sign a contract with me?" Stavago cut Sanderson off. He was growing impatient.