And so the Sorceress and the Champion began to sign the pact.

The contract had been drafted by Lyselle long ago. Of course, she wasn’t a prophet—she couldn’t predict the future. Originally, this pact wasn’t meant for Champions at all. It was designed to hire familiars.

As a Sorceress, hiring familiars was as natural and reasonable as an auto repair guild carrying wrenches.

But honestly? She was just lazy.

Too lazy to clean her house. Too lazy to cook or do laundry. And hiring familiars was incredibly cheap—just a trickle of magic, and those adorable little creatures would solve nearly all her daily troubles.

The problem was, the terms that satisfied familiars wouldn’t sit well with a Champion.

"After signing this Master Servant Pact," Shall read aloud, his voice thick with disbelief, "the servant must obey the master’s every command without question? Even if ordered to commit suicide, the servant must die smiling?" He looked up at Lyselle, utterly incredulous.

Lyselle’s voice dropped, a flicker of guilt in her tone:

"W-What? It’s not like I’d actually make you kill yourself! And it’s not like we can’t change it..."

Her usual familiars were elementals. Death meant nothing to those cute little beings. They’d even stage dramatic "resurrections" right before her eyes just to earn her praise.

But Shall wasn’t one of those eager-to-please elementals vying for their top patron’s favor. He pushed the contract back to Lyselle.

"Then change it to what we agreed on earlier."

Lyselle took the parchment and grudgingly began editing.

But the more she revised, the angrier she grew.

*Hold on,* she thought, *the Champion’s the one begging me for help—not the other way around.*

*She* was the boss here!

Why was Shall calling the shots while she meekly adjusted the terms?

No way. She couldn’t let the Champion get the upper hand. Time to sneak in a little trap!

Casually, she added a clause:

"The servant must use honorifics when greeting the master."

Still unsatisfied, she flicked her Magic Wand and added another:

"The servant must address the master as 'Master'."

She almost added more—like forcing the servant to speak only truths when alone with the master, or slowly developing affection over time, even falling in love... only to snap back to clarity upon separation.

*That’d be hilarious.*

But she stopped herself. It felt... weird.

Shall was deeply in love with the Priestess—who was actually her in disguise. In a way, he already loved *her*. Adding those clauses would be like... cuckolding herself?

She was a pure love warrior, not some bull-headed chieftain. Even self-cuckolding was out of the question.

Besides, if she wanted to win Shall over again, she’d rely on her charm—not some cheap contract.

She’d made him fall for her once. She could do it again.

So Lyselle stuck to their original agreement and quickly finalized the edits.

"Here," she handed the contract back. "Fixed."

"That fast?" Shall took it. "Let me see."

The Champion began reading the revised pact intently.

Lyselle openly studied his expression.

She wasn’t worried he’d spot her hidden clauses. Shall was utterly clueless about magic—even his only spell, the Luminous Spell, was something she’d taught him personally.

To fool him, she’d rewritten the entire contract in obscure, arcane runes. Not even a high-level mage could decipher it without breaking a sweat.

*Amusing.*

She watched him pretend to read, biting back a laugh.

This was the fate of a magic illiterate. Forced to bluff through incomprehensible text just to save face. In the end, he’d swallow the bitter fruit of his own pretense.

*Truly, a victim of his own lack of education.*

Shall had no idea what she was thinking—or what the contract actually said.

But he wasn’t stupid. The terms had been in Common when he handed it to her. Now? Pure gibberish.

Even a fool could smell a rat.

He set the parchment down.

"I can’t read these runes..."

Lyselle was ready with an excuse: *Of course it’s in runes! Only arcane script pleases the Pact God and ensures validity. If you can’t understand it? Tough luck. Don’t sign if you’re nervous.*

As the Sorceress—the authority on all things magical—she could easily bamboozle this magic-blind Champion.

But Shall didn’t question the terms. After a brief pause, he said simply:

"...But I trust you. I’ll sign."

"?"

Now *Lyselle* felt uneasy.

She shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs and placing them neatly under the table.

"Don’t be ridiculous," she muttered, her tone oddly strained. "Of all people to trust... you pick *me*?"

She leaned back in her wicker chair, fingers interlaced over her stomach, one eyebrow raised.

"Aren’t you afraid I’ve tampered with it?"

Shall scratched his head.

"I am... But I still owe you for last time’s damages. And now I’m asking for another favor. Together, they weigh more than my life."

His expression was calm.

"So long as you don’t order me to destroy the world or commit unforgivable evils... I’ll sign. I’ll become your servant."

"—Only then can I repay your kindness."

Lyselle narrowed her eyes.

She knew he meant every word. Shall was that straightforward.

Principled. Not some selfless saint, but someone who repaid kindness with kindness and vengeance with vengeance. In many ways, he was utterly ordinary.

That’s why he’d chosen to trust her.

Or...

*Is this an open scheme?*

He must have sensed the contract’s tricks. Yet he stayed silent, offering himself like sacrificial bait.

Like the Buddha offering his flesh to save a dove—Shall sat before her, serene and benevolent, trying to redeem her with his own surrender.

Lyselle almost snorted.

*Heh heh.*

She might be the Monkey King, but Shall was no Buddha.

Especially since this "moral trap" tactic was *her* idea.

Long ago, she’d told him: *When facing a tough enemy with a shred of conscience, use an open scheme. You’re the Champion—the embodiment of virtue, a walking moral salesman, the Pan Continent’s purest beacon of hope. Why not weaponize that?*

Anyone with even a sliver of conscience would buckle under such moral pressure.

Too bad.

Lyselle had no conscience to begin with.

Like a farmer finding a rabbit crashed into his tree stump, she felt only gratitude for this gift.

*What a stroke of luck.*

But she kept her face perfectly composed—shifting into a mask of profound remorse.

"Sorry!" she blurted, snatching back the unsigned contract with theatrical urgency. "I just remembered... I missed something earlier."

Shall’s eyes softened with fatherly approval.

He had no idea she wasn’t removing her hidden clauses—she was adding the *other* rules she’d considered earlier.

This time, she wasn’t lying.

—How could she? She was, after all, an honest and reliable little Sorceress.

After editing, the "honest and reliable" Sorceress handed the contract back.

"There. Perfect now."

Blissfully unaware of her scheming, Shall was moved by her apparent change of heart. Without a second glance, he signed his name:

"Shall Green."

He returned the parchment.

*Oh, oh, oh. You walked right into this yourself. Don’t blame me later.*

Lyselle signed with a flourish:

"Lyselle Charlotte."