Panic won’t help. So don’t.

Focus on how to bluff your way past Shall—that’s the real priority right now.

Lyselle prided herself on being a master of deflection. What topic should she throw out now to live up to that reputation?

Decision made—

Bring up resurrecting the Priestess. *Now.* Shall was a hopeless romantic through and through. Mention the late Priestess, and he’d come running like a dog spotting a bone.

But this time, Lyselle miscalculated. Before she could even open her mouth, Shall spoke first:

“What did you just call me?”

*Lyselle wanted to snap back: What else could I call you?*

Leech. Blockhead. Third wheel. Dumb mutt. Anything but…

“M-Master…”

The Pact forced the word out again.

Her body was honest. Her mouth was obedient.

—Even as she cursed internally.

*That damn Pact must be glitching!* Or maybe the Champion’s unique Magic Nullification was interfering. As a professional Sorceress, she had to trust her judgment. She’d crafted countless Pacts without a single flaw. If it failed now with Shall? *His* fault.

The Sorceress’s face flushed crimson.

She ground her little fangs, eyes blazing with murderous intent, looking ready to pounce and bite.

“No!” Each syllable cracked like brittle ice. “Don’t you *dare* make me call you… M-Master again!”

“Or I won’t help you bring your lover back!” she threatened.

That struck Shall’s soft spot dead-on—but still, he mumbled a defense:

“I didn’t *make* you say it. You called me that yourself.”

“…”

Lyselle saw red.

*Fuming over this dog of a Champion.jpg*

She raised a finger at Shall, sputtering “Y-you—!” Her usually sharp tongue tied itself in knots. Worse, the Pact’s power bound her words—turning her furious “You!” into a flustered “Y-you, *sir*!”

The weapon of her words was now wrapped in sweet frosting, sprinkled with nuts. Harmless. Delicious. Satisfying.

Shall nearly burst out laughing.

On his face, Lyselle saw four glowing words:

*So. Adorably. Flustered.*

He didn’t say it aloud, but his expression screamed it: *You’re cute like this.*

Lyselle’s vision went fully red.

She shot up, jabbing a finger at Shall’s nose, ready to scream “What a shitty Champion! Adorable my ass!”—but she forgot about the Pact she’d tampered with. Like a teen-safe filter auto-loading, her venomous words flipped into their sugary opposite:

“Stupid Master! I hate you!”

Shall finally lost it, laughing—but at least he turned his head away.

His laughter still scraped against Lyselle’s ears.

And she was powerless to stop him.

She had fangs and claws, yes—but the Pact had blunted her fangs. She couldn’t out-curse him. Her claws might shred others, but they’d slip right off Shall’s Magic Nullification.

No cursing. No fighting. What now?

Lyselle realized with despair: threatening to withhold the Priestess’s resurrection was her *only* leverage. Yet every day she delayed “creating” the Priestess, her true identity risked exposure.

She was spiraling.

Meanwhile, Shall could uncover the truth anytime—and now, thanks to that glitchy Pact, he’d somehow become her *Master*. Per the secret clauses she’d added, he could command her to do *anything*.

*Including lewd stuff.*

No! She had to save herself. Shall was a good person, a noble Champion—but Lyselle would never surrender control. Not even to him.

Her mind raced.

Back in the Brave Squad, she’d studied Shall’s Magic Nullification.

A unique legacy across the Pan Continent. Only Champions chosen by the gods could wield it. Though technically magic itself, it erased all other magic. At its peak, it could shatter *any* spell—even the Demon King’s.

Of course, its *only* effect was nullification. Logically, Champions shouldn’t cast *any* other spells.

Magic Nullification merely leveled the battlefield. Victory always came down to their monstrously honed bodies.

—Every Champion had inhuman physical prowess. Less “human hero,” more “dragon in human skin.”

Even Shall Green, the outlier among Champions, possessed terrifying strength beyond mortal limits.

*Why was he an outlier?*

He was the *only* Champion who could cast spells beyond Nullification—and the *weakest* physically.

Ironically, that was Lyselle’s doing. To perfectly play the “pure-hearted Priestess,” she’d exploited a loophole in Nullification, teaching Shall the Luminous Spell. Thanks to that, she could now claim to understand Nullification better than anyone alive.

Even the Old Sages of the White Tower couldn’t match her.

She knew Nullification *could* break a Master Servant Pact—since the Pact itself was magic. Shall had agreed to sign it precisely because he thought he could nullify it anytime.

But Nullification *erased* magic. It didn’t *reflect* it.

And Shall was a total magic illiterate…

Lyselle sat back down. She shot a suspicious glance at the still-chuckling Shall, forced herself to breathe, and analyzed calmly:

Shall was likely innocent.

If not him… who?

Only two people had touched the Pact. Eliminate Shall, and the suspect was… herself?

The thought felt absurd.

*Impossible…?*

Then she remembered.

All magic—especially contracts—relied on *Essence*. Signing a Pact wasn’t just writing a name; it imprinted your unique spiritual signature.

Countless “Lyselle Charlotte” and “Shall Green” existed across kingdoms. But each had a distinct *Essence*. Only by recording both Essences could the Pact enforce its terms.

Three years ago, to infiltrate the Brave Squad, Lyselle had *altered* her Essence.

Essence was an identity certificate. She’d forged a fake one.

She’d been smug about it—*such* a pro double agent, covering every detail. Not even the White Tower’s Old Sages could see through her.

Because *essentially*, she wasn’t the DawnDusk Witch Lyselle anymore. She was the Brave Squad’s Priestess, Lyselle.

After faking her death, ditching the Squad, and reclaiming her Witch identity… she’d barely settled back into her hideout when Shall showed up.

She hadn’t reset her Essence yet.

So right now, her Essence was still *Priestess*. Not Witch.

Normally, no big deal—but she’d forgotten one critical thing: the Master Servant Pact she used wasn’t freshly crafted. It was an old contract she’d made to hire elementals.

Back then, to save time, she’d pre-imprinted her Essence onto the scroll.

Meaning three signatures bound this Pact:

Champion Shall.

Priestess Lyselle.

*And* Witch Lyselle.

A two-person movie now had a third name in the credits.

The Pact had activated—but in a glitchy, jury-rigged way. Like code that runs fine: *don’t touch it, trust brute force*.

Faced with three tangled identities, the Pact chose the weirdest solution:

*Why decide who’s Master and who’s Servant?*

*Let everyone be both.*

Shared authority. Shared duty. No messy labels needed.

To test this earth-shattering theory, the Sorceress swallowed hard and called out:

“Shall?”

No “Master” this time. The Pact must’ve deemed *her* the authority now.

The confused Champion instinctively replied:

“What is it?”

“Try calling me.”

“…Okay.”

No hesitation. He spoke:

“M-Master?”

Lyselle guessed he’d meant to say “Sorceress”—but the Pact twisted his will, just as it had hers. The wind had shifted. *She* was Master now.

Confirming her suspicion, Lyselle ignored the dazed Shall and stared at the Pact lying quietly on the table.

*Was it… a genius?*

*Did it have flexible judgment?*

Lyselle’s head spun.

This wasn’t a contract. It needed a new name—

*The Unsealed Manual!*

[To Be Continued]