Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

“Please, help us, great warrior!”

“Help us!”

As the old man bowed his head in supplication to Inyakan, the other Cherokee tribe members also lowered their heads in unison. Inyakan looked perplexed. He had only come to borrow the warriors of the Cherokee tribe, yet now he found himself in a situation where he was being asked to help with something else entirely.

“I’ll hear you out. What exactly do you need help with? Are you lacking food?”

“No!”

“Then have monsters invaded?”

“No, it’s not that!”

“Then what is it?” Inyakan demanded.

The old man raised his head. “Please, find our missing Cherokee warriors!”

“A while ago, our warriors went to the Senega tribe and have not returned since. Without them, we cannot protect ourselves. Khan, please!”

“Silence! I am not your Khan. Who is this Cherokee Khan you speak of?”

“Edra, the one who bit the neck of the wolf,” the old man replied, his voice trembling slightly.

“‘Edra, the one who bit the neck of the wolf’? That’s a more reliable name than someone who ran away in fear of a wolf,” Binaeril muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Inyakan. Then Inyakan asked again,

“Is that man still the Khan of the Cherokee?”

“Yes! I recall that your relationship with our Khan was a close one. So, please, we beg of you!”

Inyakan turned to his companions.

“What should we do?”

“The answer’s obvious, isn’t it? Without the warriors, we can’t do anything anyway,” one of them responded.

“Does it have to be warriors for that ritual? Can’t we just use anyone? Like, say, us?” Binaeril suggested, half-serious.

Inyakan shook his head. “No, that won’t work. The roar of the Inya cannot be substituted by just anyone. Only the soul of a great warrior can awaken the power of our ancestors.”

“Hah! What a noble soul we have here,” 

“If you want to help them, just admit it,” 

While the others might not have noticed, Binaeril could see it clearly. Inyakan’s request for their opinions was merely a pretense; his heart was already leaning toward helping the Cherokee tribe.

“I’ll follow Inyakan’s decision,” Binaeril added, knowing that Inyakan was just looking for a nudge in the right direction.

This was indeed an unusual behavior for someone like Inyakan.

“Old man, stand up. If you were born a barbaroi, never kneel before anyone again.”

“Th-that means…?”

“You said the Cherokee Khan went to the Senega tribe, right? I’ll go and find him again.”

“Thank you, Inyakan! Thank you so much!”

***

In the underground prison of the castle, Margrave Valhardt, the border lord, had descended to personally inspect the prisoners. The soldiers guarding the prison stiffened at the sight of the Margrave himself. Showing any sign of negligence before the stern and authoritative Margrave would surely cost them their positions.

“Anything unusual?”

“All the prisoners are quiet, sir! Nothing out of the ordinary!”

“I’ll verify that myself.”

“Yes, sir!”

One of the soldiers opened the door to the underground prison and tried to follow the Margrave inside for his protection. But the Margrave shoved the soldier aside.

“That won’t be necessary. Give me that.”

He grabbed the spear the soldier was holding and walked into the dimly lit prison corridor.

Margrave Valhardt had made a name for himself in his youth by achieving great victories in wars against the barbaroi. His combat experience far surpassed that of any ordinary soldier.

He lit a torch in the dark corridor.

“How are my dear friends doing?” he called out, lifting the torch to illuminate the cells. Inside, muscle-bound men crowded together like pigs in a pen.

“KSHTAL!”

“CPALNOMA!”

Curses spewed from the men’s mouths. Although Margrave Valhardt didn’t know the exact meaning of their words, he could tell from their tone that they were swearing at him.

But those hate-filled words didn’t even scratch the surface of the Margrave’s hardened heart. He chuckled and said,

“It pleases me to see such savage beasts dying like this.”

“You! I’ll flay your skin, rip out your intestines, and gnaw on your bones!”

One of the barbaroi, still strong enough to stand, pressed his face against the bars and cursed at the Margrave in Imperial tongue. The Margrave reversed his grip on the spear and struck the warrior’s head through the bars.

“Do it if you can. I wonder who will die first—me or you, rotting away in this prison.”

“Did you come here just to mock us?” another barbaroi shouted.

“Yes, it feels quite satisfying to drive a blade into the helpless bodies of you lot,” the Margarave sneered as he struck the heads of the prisoners one by one with the spear shaft, mocking them.

“But that’s not why I’m here today. A special guest is coming. It would be troublesome if you savages caused any unnecessary commotion. I’m just here to make sure everything is in order.”

One of the prisoners, after being struck, moved swiftly and grabbed the spear shaft.

“What the—! You scoundrel!” The Margave, startled, quickly grabbed the lower part of the spear and twisted it to the side. The wooden shaft collided with the prison bars and snapped.

“You insolent fool!” The Margrave thrust the shortened spear at the warrior who had grabbed it, but the man ignored the pain of the blade cutting into him and tried to wrest the remaining piece of the spear away.

Feeling a chill of fear, the Margrave hurriedly pulled back the broken spear. The last thing he needed was to get injured in a scuffle with these brutes; that would be a disaster.

“These… savages!” he spat.

“The man who can only insult others from behind bars is no warrior,” said the man who had seized the spear shaft.

The Margrave’s face turned red with anger, and he trembled with rage.

“Hmph! You’re just rotting away in this prison, with nothing but your mouths still working!” he snarled as he fled the scene.

“What will we do now? Provoking him won’t do us any good,” one of the prisoners asked the man holding the spear shaft.

“Cherokee Khan, you are the bravest warrior among those of us left,” the prisoner continued.

The warrior who had provoked the Margrave and broken his weapon was indeed the Cherokee Khan, the chieftain of the Cherokee tribe.

“We must break down this prison door,” Cherokee Khan declared, striking the bars with the broken spear repeatedly. But the bars didn’t budge. Even with other barbaroi warriors joining in, trying to twist the bars apart, it was no use. The Margrave’s underground prison was specially designed to be nearly impenetrable.

“Cherokee Khan, we’ve all tried that before you arrived. It’s hopeless,” said one of the warriors, a tone of defeat beginning to spread among the prisoners.

Frustrated, Cherokee Khan pounded the wall with his fist, venting his remaining anger.

‘…If only he were here,’ he thought, recalling his eternal rival and dear friend. The warriors of the Cherokee and Inya tribes had always competed for the greatest glory, both proud warriors. And Cherokee Khan had always believed that the Inya Khan of his time was the greatest warrior, greater than himself.

Now, only the mightiest barbaroi, whose fate was unknown—Inyakan—could possibly help.

“KSHPAL!” Cherokee Khan cursed bitterly, spitting out his frustration.

Cherokee Khan continued to strike the prison bars with the broken spear shaft, over and over again.

Meanwhile, Margrave Valhardt stormed out of the underground prison, his face flushed with anger. He threw the broken spear shaft at one of the soldiers in a fit of frustration.

“For the next three days, don’t give those worms a single drop of water!” he barked.

“Yes, sir!”

‘Arrogant savages. I’ll starve them all to death!’

Just then, a voice called out to him. “Your Grace.”

“What is it?”

“Your awaited guest has arrived.”

“What? The manor has been quiet—when did they arrive?”

“They arrived while you were in the dungeon, Your Grace. They came in a single carriage with minimal retinue.”

“Where are they now?”

“In the drawing room, Your Grace.”

Margrave Valhardt quickly composed his expression, smoothing out the rough look on his face. As a powerful figure in the northern reaches of the Empire, Valhardt wielded nearly as much power in his territory as the Emperor himself. However, even a man like him had someone he both feared and respected.

This visitor was an illustrious figure who had achieved the greatest feats against the barbarians and had risen to the highest ranks of the Empire, earning a title only the most distinguished could hold. He was also Margrave  Valhardt’s former superior officer from his younger days.

“Have you arrived, Your Grace?” Valhardt greeted.

The guest’s bald head gleamed, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the window.

“The northern scenery is always beautiful, don’t you think, my dear?” the man said, standing by the window as if he owned the room.

“It’s a tiresome sight to me,” replied the woman beside him.

“Is that so? Perhaps it’s because my youth is buried in these lands,” the man mused.

Duke Torben Dux, standing in the sunlight near the window, was having a conversation with Duchess Melina. He only noticed Margrave Valhardt after a moment and greeted him warmly.

“Valhardt! How long has it been? You haven’t changed a bit since your younger days!”

“And neither have you, Your Grace.”

“Me? Ha! Don’t try to flatter me with such empty words. The dull life in the south is slowly killing me.”

“Oh, darling, don’t say it’s dull,” Duchess Melina interjected, causing the two men to laugh heartily as they took their seats.

“Anything unusual happening in the north?” Duke Dux asked.

“I have good news, as a matter of fact,” Margave Valhardt began, eager to share his plans.

He was about to inform Duke Dux that he would soon be able to deal with the hated barbaroi once and for all. It was the culmination of years of effort, during which he had managed to coerce several tribal Khans into submission. Margrave Valhardt was confident that Duke Dux, who had spent much of his life fighting on the northern front, would be pleased to hear of his success and would surely commend him for it.

“Ah, hold on, hold on. Let me speak first.”

Just as Margave Valhardt was about to share his news, Duke Dux preempted him, raising a hand to stop him.

“Sorry about that. If I start listening to your story, I might forget what I need to say. I didn’t mention this in the letter, but there’s a reason I’ve come to the north after all this time.”

“What is it?” Valhardt asked, intrigued.

“I’ve come to convey the will of the two Empresses.”

The mention of two Empresses gave Valhardt pause. Even though he was stationed in the far reaches of the Empire, he hadn’t missed the news that a new ruler had ascended to the throne. The fact that there were two Empresses, the first female rulers in the Empire’s history, was something known throughout the entire continent, not just within the Empire.

Duke Dux had risen to prominence by playing a key role in the great purge that preceded the new Empresses’ coronation, which had cemented his already formidable influence.

‘I wasn’t involved in any treason, so why would the Empresses concern themselves with someone as far-flung as me?’ Valhardt thought, puzzled. He had no significant ties to the new Empresses, which made the Duke’s statement all the more perplexing. However, he decided to listen.

“Duchess, the document, if you please. Ah, here it is.”

Duke Dux cleared his throat and began to read from the imperial decree.

“The Great Albrecht Empire, having buried its long and tumultuous history, seeks to establish an accord with its northern neighbors, the barbaroi. There will be no more war. And the brave warriors of the north shall no longer suffer from hunger.”

“What is this…?”

“It’s not finished yet. Listen closely. The Empire has decided to provide ample food and supplies to the barbaroi, who have been wounded by the prolonged war. Additionally, some territories in the north will be ceded to the barbaroi.”

“What???” 

To Margrave Valhardt, this news was like a bolt from the blue.