A master–servant pact… no matter how you spin it, it reeks like old chains in damp air.

The thought pricked Aphelia’s pride like frost on steel; her heart pulled back like a retreating tide. She had once strode the continent like thunder, and now she’d serve a youth who seemed weaker than her?

But those twisted sigils rose in her mind like coiled thorns, and that contract breathed malice like smoke from a smoldering pit. She sighed, like wind through bamboo, and spoke.

“Fine. A master–servant pact, then. In return, I want the story of where that thing came from, in detail.”

“No problem,” Nero said, voice calm as drizzle on slate. “Consider that a bonus. How about this—name five conditions. If I can do it, I will.”

Since Aphelia yielded a step, Nero wouldn’t eat like a wolf at the table; he loosened his grip like opening a fan, which made their future dealings smoother like a paved road after rain.

Aphelia didn’t answer right away; her thoughts weighed options like stones on a scale. Five conditions were five blades; she had to place them like chess pieces on a misted board.

“First condition,” she said, steady as a lantern in wind. “I want timely intelligence on the Human Realm. That shouldn’t be hard for you.”

“Oh?” Nero’s gaze narrowed like shutters at noon. “For someone with little chance to leave the Demon World, what good are Human Realm reports?”

His question came sharp as a hook; the words waited like a snare at the ford, ready for her step.

“That concerns why I came here,” Aphelia replied, face calm as still water under moonlight. “I’d like to keep some privacy.”

Friends in the Human Realm were stars she couldn’t let dim, and the Church’s pursuit was a cold knife; she refused to trail behind in the fog.

“Alright. Go on.” Nero flicked a hand like brushing dust off silk, meaning no offense.

“Second condition,” she said, voice crisp as breaking ice. “Get me a suitable weapon. Preferably near Title-grade.”

“That’s… difficult,” Nero murmured, brow pinching like a fold in paper. “Even in the Demon World, near Title-grade weapons aren’t plucked like fruit from a branch.”

Materials for such weapons were strategic ore, mountains locked behind iron gates; even the power behind him couldn’t move them like pebbles in a stream.

“I’ll promise that,” Jasmine cut in, words bright as a spark on dry tinder. “In exchange, you must promise me one thing.”

She leaned forward, pupils burning like amber lit from below; expectation and haste ran in her eyes like spring flood.

Aphelia didn’t agree at once; her stance held like a blade on the table. She was negotiating with Nero, and though Jasmine was a guest or friend, she wasn’t his tongue.

Nero barely paused and nodded, the motion smooth as a falling leaf. Jasmine’s bond with him was forged in fire and blood; as a friend and for profit, he wouldn’t refuse. One condition for one condition—no strategic ore moved, Aphelia got her demand, Jasmine kept her face; it was profit carved clean like jade.

“Jasmine, do it like this…” Nero murmured, words low as a drum behind a screen.

Jasmine left with footsteps light as a cat. The door closed like a fan, and the room held its breath.

“Alright,” Aphelia said, voice steady as a ridge line. “Third request.”

She cleared her throat like clearing fog and met Nero’s gaze head-on, eyes bright as polished obsidian.

“Never use me as a disposable piece,” she said, oath firm as a carved seal. “As long as I breathe, I won’t abandon you in storm or fire.”

Nero didn’t answer at once; his silence sat like a stone in deep water. Then, after careful thought that moved like clouds, he spoke.

“I agree. I’ll mark this as a key clause in the contract.”

While he spoke, Aphelia’s eyes flicked between his pupils and cheek muscles like a hawk tracing currents. Fine shards of Arcane Power dusted the air like pollen, and she felt his heartbeat and flow like a drum beneath silk.

She let out a slow breath like warmth from a cup; he wasn’t lying. If thought and word split like forked lightning, she would have seen the crack.

Don’t be fooled by her Hero’s mantle; from assassination to interrogation, she had learned shadowed arts like knots tied in darkness.

“Two remain. Go on,” Nero said, generosity laid out like wine and meat.

His boldness surprised her like sudden sun through cloud, and it steadied her guess about who he truly was, a shape looming like a mountain behind mist.

“I’ll reserve the last two,” Aphelia said, vow clean as spring water. “I swear I won’t take the initiative to harm you.”

“Interesting.” Nero’s smile was a blade in silk. “Since your terms are done, it’s my turn.”

He wasn’t a fool; her little snare lay in plain view like a trap drawn on sand. This was mutual testing, lines etched like borders on a map.

Even now, neither had dropped their guard; recruiting a clever head was silk that could spool smooth or tangle like vines. “Not active harm” meant storms of fate might still bring cuts.

“My condition is simple,” he said, voice ringing like a bell in a temple. “During the pact, as my guard, you must carry out my orders. I’ll pay rewards rich enough to satisfy you.”

Aphelia nodded, motion quiet as falling snow. The sooner they sealed it, the sooner she joined his house like a banner raised, and the closer she drifted to the Human Realm like a boat finding current.

“I’ve already asked Jasmine to arrange it,” Nero said, smile warm as lamplight. “Everything’s ready. We can finish it now. Are you willing?”

“Of course,” she answered, words firm as a driving stake.

Nero stood and walked to the door, knuckles tapping wood like raindrops. A weary voice answered like wind through reeds, and Nero gestured please, palm open like a path.

“O All-knowing, All-powerful, Most High,” the uncle intoned, words rising like smoke. “Your children call your glory down…”

He painted the floor with strange pigment that gleamed like oil on water; his chant rolled like a tide, and his pocket watch’s hands froze like a stopped moon.

Aphelia stood at the center of the array like a lone pine in snow. She sealed her Arcane Power tight as a clasp, so it wouldn’t stir the ritual like a gust in ink.

Though Nero and the others said nothing, she felt it—each stroke birthed a force vast as a sea, fear rising like cold mist in bone. She didn’t dare disrupt the old man; if that inscribed Arcane Power burst, the center would become a furnace, and she wouldn’t walk out.

“…Seraph as lock, spiral as key…” Nero murmured, lifting a ceremonial short sword that shone like an antique star.

His whisper flowed in a tongue not of the continent nor of demons, syllables glinting like unfamiliar constellations. Yet meaning brushed her mind like a breeze she somehow knew; she set it down as memory gifted by the Demon King and kept her Arcane Power still as a held breath.

“…I hereby declare—the contract begins!”

The uncle laid the final stroke like lightning closing a circuit. A huge, intricate Arcane system bloomed beneath her feet like a city of light, a lattice beyond any map she’d studied.

Her sealed Arcane Power slipped free like water through fingers; it surged like a spring, and the complex structure seemed to replace her body like a mirror body of runes. It took over her Arcane cycle like a great wheel, then sent her flow around its circuits like river around stone, and back into her again.

Pure Arcane Power washed her through like rain scouring a temple, leaving marks within her body like fine engravings. It cleansed the risks of her transformation like fire burning chaff, and flushed every impurity out like silt from a channel.

Heat rose to her cheeks like dawn’s first blush—not for any shame, but because her whole body woke like drums in festival. She could feel it—her state was better than ever, bright as polished jade.

Nero ended his chant, the ceremonial blade resting on her right shoulder like a feather of iron. His own pitch-black Arcane Power flowed along the edge like ink down paper, into Aphelia.

“Don’t resist,” the uncle warned, voice low as thunder behind a hill. His fingertip turned the watch’s hand one notch like moving the sun, and he threw Nero a glance like a spark.

Nero nodded and raised his voice like a banner on wind.

“In the name of the king, I declare: Aphelia, swear to the king—be the king’s knight!”