Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

“I told you, I can’t interfere in the conflict between the Fragments. That was the agreement,” Elfenbine said, her voice calm but firm.

“What agreement? With whom?” Priya pressed, her frustration evident.

“Dekypleio.”

Binaeril listened, recognizing the voices of Priya and Elfenbine. He remembered that they were sisters, but couldn’t interact with them. He wanted to open his eyes, to speak, but his body felt paralyzed, as if he were trapped inside a solid stone. Unlike before, he could now feel his surroundings, making the sensation of being stuck even more suffocating.

‘Why can’t I move again?’

He tried to use his magic to force his body to respond, but it was like trying to break free from a prison made of dense, magical substance—something similar to a mana crystal, though without the ominous energy typically associated with such things. It was a pure concentration of magic, difficult to manipulate even with his own powers.

As Binaeril struggled, Elfenbine and Priya continued their conversation.

Elfenbine had gone silent for a moment before finally speaking again. “I can’t interfere in the fight between the Fragments. That was the promise I made.”

“What promise? With whom?” Priya’s voice was sharp with impatience.

“With Dekypleio,” Elfenbine replied.

Binaeril recalled something Elfenbine had once told him: ‘I have a covenant with him.’ She had made some kind of pact with Dekypleio, the original source of the Fragments, which prevented her from directly intervening in the matters of the Fragments. She couldn’t seize them, nor could she directly involve herself in the conflicts they created.

‘But wait…’

Binaeril thought back to the first Fragment he obtained after contracting with Veritas—the spirit ring that housed Eden. The original owner of that ring had been Elfenbine, the Tower Lord herself.

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

If Elfenbine was truly bound by a covenant that prevented her from taking possession of a Fragment, then how could she have owned the spirit ring, which was a Fragment? It was a glaring contradiction.

‘Did the Tower Lord lie?’

-No, she didn’t lie.

Veritas’s voice cut through his thoughts, providing an answer.

-She is indeed bound by a covenant. In this game, her role is akin to that of a judge. Now I understand.

‘…??’

-But more importantly, do you know that the ring you had is broken?

Binaeril’s thoughts immediately went to his spirit, Eden, who had sacrificed herself to protect him from Starfall’s attack. Thanks to her, he had survived, but at a great cost.

‘What happened to Eden?’

-Is that a ‘question’?

Veritas’s response carried an unmistakable intent—he was trying to prompt Binaeril to use one of his limited ‘questions.’ Each time Binaeril acquired a new Fragment, he was granted a question he could ask Veritas, and it was clear Veritas was trying to exhaust this resource.

‘I’ll use a question if you tell me everything about Eden.’

-Always scheming, aren’t you?

But Binaeril was no longer naive enough to fall for Veritas’s leading questions. He knew he had to ask something as comprehensive as possible since Veritas rarely provided more information than necessary.

Veritas chuckled, as if humoring him. 

-Alright. I’ll tell you what you want to know.

-She’s badly injured. So much so that recovery will be difficult.

‘Is she gone?’ Binaeril thought, his heart sinking. Spirits like Eden didn’t age or die in the way humans did—they were beings of pure natural energy, immune to time’s decay. However, they could be destroyed by magic, and Binaeril feared that this might be Eden’s fate. 

– No, she hasn’t perished, 

Veritas clarified. 

– That one was a sort of avatar.”

‘An avatar?’

– Yes. I was fooled too. I didn’t expect her to go that far for you.

‘Whose avatar?’ Binaeril asked, though he already suspected the answer.

– Isn’t it obvious? Who else would do such a thing?

There was only one person who would go to such lengths: the Tower Lord, Elfenbine.

– Why do you think she knew everything about you? Every person you met, every event that transpired—how else would she be so informed?

‘Are you saying the Tower Lord created an avatar to spy on me?’ Binaeril found it hard to believe. ‘But you said that ring was a Fragment.’

– I was mistaken. And I’m not obligated to tell you everything. Questions about the Tower Lord don’t count as using your question rights.

As always, Veritas avoided giving away any critical details.

‘So Eden is safe?’ Binaeril pressed.

– It depends on how you look at it… But you seem eager to hear it, so yes. However, with the ring broken, it’ll be difficult to meet her again.

Even that small assurance was a relief. The thought of Eden being destroyed while protecting him would have been unbearable.

– But that’s not the end of it,

Veritas added ominously.

‘What do you mean?’

– Now it’s time to compare strengths.

‘What kind of comparison?’

– How many Fragments do you have?

Binaeril mentally tallied the Fragments he had acquired so far.

‘Veritas, the Spirit Ring, the Royal Scepter from the Empire’s castle, the cursed sword Mimung, and the Word Spirit of Inya from this Barbaroana journey.’

– You need to subtract one. The Spirit Ring was never truly a Fragment. I was deceived as well.

‘So that leaves me with four.’

– Four… You’ve been busy collecting them.

Indeed, he had.

– But what matters isn’t how many you’ve gathered. The real issue is how many your opponent has.

‘Yunnaeril?’

When Binaeril first made his contract with Veritas, the latter had mentioned that the total number of Fragments wouldn’t exceed ten.

‘Does that mean my brother has five?’

– I can’t say for certain. No gambler shows all their cards at the table. But one thing is clear.

– The maximum number of Fragments that Starfall holds is four.

***

Cardinal Cristopho’s footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as he approached the solitary cell where Yunnaeril Dalheim was held. The Church had spared him the indignity of a filthy underground dungeon, but his confinement was no less severe. Yunnaeril’s limbs were bound in white cloth, and his eyes and mouth were covered, leaving him pinned to the wall in silence.

“You’ve got quite the brother,” the Cardinal said, his voice echoing in the stillness.

Yunnaeril’s condition was similar to Binaeril’s—he couldn’t see or move, but he could still hear.

“We’ve lost four more Paladins,” the Cardinal continued. “Paladins Antero, Lucio, Sixto, Gregory, Callisto, and Matthias. All soldiers your brother has taken from us.”

“And now you, the Commander, stand here, guilty of trying to cover up your brother’s crimes and protect him. Do you understand your mistake now?”

Yunnaeril had not hidden Binaeril’s existence out of brotherly love. He did it for his own reasons—reasons that meant nothing to the Cardinal.

“We’ve lost half of our Twelve Knights. You are imprisoned, and our Order is left powerless to seek revenge. What do you say to that, Commander?”

Of course, Yunnaeril could not answer. His silence was all the more damning.

“I agree. Your brother is a mage, isn’t he? We’ll need magic to fight him.”

Yunnaeril heard a series of clinking sounds, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. He recognized the sound immediately—it was the sound of his beloved weapon, the holy sword Starfall.

The Cardinal held the Church’s sacred relic in his hands, running his fingers slowly along the blade.

“A beautiful weapon, as always,” he remarked, lifting the sword to Yunnaeril’s face, letting the blade trace the contours of his cheek.

“I didn’t choose you as my sword because of your abilities, Commander. No, I chose you because a parricide who murdered his own mother and has no home to return to would make a desperate and obedient hound, one that wouldn’t dare bite its master, even when pushed to the brink.”

When Yunnaeril was a child, he had fallen into heresy. He read heretical scriptures, secretly meeting with others who shared the same beliefs. Eventually, the Church discovered their activities. Declaring war on heresy, the Church hunted down and killed the heretics without mercy. Yunnaeril was no exception. Terrified, he tried to save himself by shifting all the blame onto his younger brother, Binaeril.

But it wasn’t Binaeril who bore the weight of that sin. Their mother, realizing the danger, shielded Binaeril, confessing that the heretical scriptures were hers. The small, insignificant Dalheim family survived the purge thanks to her sacrifice alone.

In the end, the Church didn’t eradicate the heresy. Even among the high-ranking clergy, heretical groups had taken root. Cardinal Cristopho himself had been nurturing heretical followers throughout the Piglruben Federation, including the Kingdom of Ruben.

The Cardinal absorbed the ruined sons of noble families destroyed by the war against heresy into the Church, using them as his personal army. Yunnaeril had become a central figure in this force. Though his family was minor nobility, his training as a knight and natural physical strength had made him an asset.

But it seemed that chapter was closing. The Cardinal had grown tired of their charade—of playing the loyal servant and the trusting master. Now, he was ending the act.

“Thank you for your service, Sir Yunnaeril. See you in hell,” the Cardinal said, his voice dripping with finality.

Yunnaeril heard a metallic clink, followed by a familiar, ominous energy spreading through the room.

It was the sinister power of the Fragment embedded in the Cardinal’s bishop’s staff. The dark energy wrapped around Starfall and began to seep into Yunnaeril’s body.

For the first time, the Cardinal seemed taken aback, letting out a startled gasp.

The gray holy energy emanating from the Cardinal unraveled the cloth binding Yunnaeril’s face. As the cloth fell away, Yunnaeril’s eyes took in the sight before him: Cardinal Cristopho’s face flushed with exertion and fear, his entire body drenched in cold sweat. The once imposing figure now seemed pitiable and repulsive.

“Things aren’t going quite as you planned, it seems,” Yunnaeril remarked calmly.

Though Yunnaeril was the one bound, and though the Cardinal held the sword to his throat, their expressions could not have been more different. Yunnaeril’s face held an air of serene confidence, while the Cardinal’s demeanor was that of a man on the brink of collapse.

-This is the moment we’ve been waiting for.

A sinister voice echoed through the cell, reverberating off the cold stone walls.

“This… This can’t be…” the Cardinal stammered.

“Your Eminence,” Yunnaeril began, his tone composed and almost conversational, “you made several mistakes when you took me under your wing.”

The Cardinal did not respond, likely because he couldn’t. His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he struggled to maintain his composure. Yunnaeril continued, unfazed by the Cardinal’s silence.

With a slight exertion, the restrictive cloths that bound him fell away, useless on the floor.

“Your first mistake was bestowing upon me the title of First Knight, along with all the honor, status, and power that came with it.”

Yunnaeril stepped slowly down from the platform, his feet touching the cold stone floor. The tip of Starfall, held by the trembling Cardinal, wavered as it pointed at his throat, unable to maintain its threatening position.

‘He intended to drive this sword through my heart,’ Yunnaeril mused, his eyes flicking to the blade.

“Before that, your mistake was raising me as your most trusted servant, ensuring that the Holy Sword, Starfall, became my possession.”

Yunnaeril walked around to the side of the Cardinal, each step deliberate and measured.

“Your mistake before that was taking me in, letting my mother die, and spreading the heretical doctrine to other lands.”

Yunnaeril reached out and lifted the Cardinal’s chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met. The Cardinal’s eyes were wide with fear, his pupils dilated.

“And your most fundamental mistake,” Yunnaeril said, his voice dropping to a cold whisper, “was your boundless greed. Your arrogance, believing that the world would always bend to your will.”

Yunnaeril grasped the blade of Starfall, and the sword began to drain the Cardinal’s gray holy energy into itself. The Cardinal’s corpulent form began to wither, his flesh shrinking as if all life was being sucked out of him. He grew gaunt, like a mummified corpse, as his life force was consumed.

“Thank you,” Yunnaeril said, his tone mockingly polite, “for giving me this opportunity to exact my revenge. I’ve waited a long time, enduring your insults and humiliation.”

Yunnaeril wrenched Starfall from the Cardinal’s grasp and held it in reverse, aiming the tip at the Cardinal’s heart.

“Farewell. The Fragment is mine now.”

With a swift motion, Yunnaeril drove the blade into the Cardinal’s chest. Cristopho, the once-powerful Cardinal, did not even have the strength to scream as he died, his body collapsing into itself, a husk of what it once was.