Lyselle made a decision that defied generations of tradition—

She would unilaterally tear up her contract with Shall!

Why should she be the master while Shall was also a master? What class of person was Shall to share her status?

This contract was utterly unworkable. Unfair! She demanded a rewrite!

So she opened her mouth to command:

“Shall… Master! I order… I ask you to sign a new contract with me!”

Her tone was sharp and bossy, yet her words came out obedient and gentle—even using honorifics.

This truth only deepened Lyselle’s shame and fury.

She snapped her mouth shut, eyes flashing with menace, and slammed the contract onto the table before Shall.

“Sign it again!” she ground out through clenched teeth.

Even Shall, slow as his reactions were, finally understood what was happening.

He glanced at the contract, then at the seething Lyselle.

“Is there a problem with the contract?” Shall ventured. “Did you… also become a servant?”

Lyselle refused to waste words. She shoved the parchment forward and snapped coldly:

“Less talk! Sign it again!”

She’d expected Shall to guess the truth. This Champion might lack a strong body, but he had a relatively sharp mind. Yet so what? From what she knew of Shall, this reasonable, honest man would eventually agree to renew the contract—he was the Champion, after all.

A gentleman could be deceived by his own principles, and Champions were always the most reasonable people under heaven.

Lyselle was confident.

But this time, Shall seemed unwilling to comply.

He pushed the contract back.

Lyselle froze.

“What do you mean by this?” she blurted instinctively. “Don’t you want to sign a new contract with me?”

The Champion stayed silent.

Lyselle found it utterly unbelievable.

Panic edged into her voice:

“But we agreed! I’d help you resurrect your lover, and you’d sign a Master Servant Pact with me. You wouldn’t go back on your word, would you?”

Normally, this would’ve been her final warning—no excuses later. Her tone was fierce, demanding. But that cursed contract twisted it into a desperate plea with zero intimidation.

Still, Shall had always responded better to softness than force. Begging might work better than threats.

Just as Lyselle thought this, Shall shook his head.

“Let it stay as it is,” he said quietly. “This… isn’t so bad.”

“Huh?”

Lyselle stared blankly.

What was good about this? She was losing everything! Originally, she’d control Shall while he obeyed her every whim. Now Shall held master’s authority too—meaning she’d have to obey his commands.

What if Shall suddenly decided to take advantage of her? She wouldn’t even be able to resist!

And if he discovered the truth and, in rage, tried to turn her into a cream puff?

They’d probably end up bickering like children—

Shall ordering her not to resist, while she ordered him not to forbid her resistance. Commands stacking endlessly until one collapsed from exhaustion or got their mouth covered.

But honestly, none of that truly worried Lyselle.

Shall could counter contracts with Magic Nullification. As the DawnDusk Witch, she had ways to temporarily void contracts too.

What terrified her was…

Lyselle couldn’t bear to think further. She forced out:

“But you promised me before…”

The usually reasonable Shall seemed utterly resolved today. He wouldn’t negotiate.

So he said:

“I’m sorry. Though you promised to resurrect Lyselle for me, I can’t fully trust you. Keeping things as they are… is safer for me.”

Even Shall seemed to feel the baseness of his words. He added:

“But I swear on my name as Champion—I’ll never command you to do anything beyond resurrecting Lyselle. And from now on, you needn’t use honorifics or call me ‘Master’.”

As his voice faded, Lyselle felt invisible shackles silently dissolve.

It wasn’t imagination. She tested it, silently cursing Shall twice under her breath—and succeeded in saying his real name, not that hated title “Master”.

Yet this didn’t satisfy her. She lifted her head, voice firm:

“No! I still… I still can’t trust you. I command you to sign a new contract!”

She even invoked the contract’s power.

But she failed—because Shall activated Magic Nullification.

The Champion strained to temporarily block the contract’s influence, then slowly rose.

Lamplight in the witch’s den stretched his shadow long across the floor, engulfing the seated witch.

His expression was blank. Oppressive.

The witch swallowed subtly, her hand slipping under the table to grip her Magic Wand.

“What are you doing?” she asked instinctively, her voice trembling slightly.

“I won’t command you. I won’t harm you,” the Champion paused, then vowed softly, “—I swear it on my name as Champion.”

Before the witch could react, he turned away, pulled out his vine chair, and left the den without looking back.

Lyselle stood frozen.

She wanted to stop him, but Shall walked too decisively. His back vanished through the door before she could speak.

All the reckless words she’d prepared died in her throat.

Damn Champion. Her worry wasn’t about honorifics or calling him “Master”. Those didn’t matter.

She was terrified of the hidden clause she’d slipped into the contract—

*“When servant and master interact, the servant unconsciously speaks their true feelings. Over time, they’ll develop affection—even love—for their master. But once separated, they’ll instantly regain clarity.”*

Despair crashed over Lyselle.

How could she ever tell Shall she’d added *that* to the contract?!

…

Meanwhile, Shall, the Champion who’d just left the witch’s den, was also troubled.

Not knowing what to do, he found a tree stump to sit on and pulled a handkerchief from his chest.

He’d guarded it carefully—kept it close to his body, terrified of damage or dirt. Though three months had passed, it remained pristine.

After all, it was Lyselle’s only keepsake.

Shall stared at the handkerchief, silent for a long time, before a bitter smile touched his lips.

“Was I wrong?”

He whispered the question—to himself, or perhaps to his lost love.

Then he bowed his head, spreading the cloth over his knees. He buried his face in it and inhaled gently.

After three months, Shall once more smelled the familiar scent of golden roses.

—Lyselle’s scent.

Amidst the faint fragrance, Shall saw his departed lover smiling at him.

In that fleeting, dreamlike vision, he reached for her—but could never touch her.

He knew better than anyone that Lyselle was gone. Yet he refused to accept it. He stubbornly believed he could bring her back. He’d consulted the White Tower’s masters, sought the Elves’ Mother Tree—but every attempt ended the same way—

Nearly everyone told him: no one could resurrect the dead.

Except that one person.

“You know the Forest Sea? A witch lives hidden there. Her name… I don’t recall. It was long ago. But she might be able to resurrect your lover.”

Back then, Shall had almost asked if it was true. But before he could speak, that person seemed to read his mind:

“Don’t ask if it’s true. It makes me wonder if you even want to bring your lover back… Go now. If anyone in this world can do it, it’s her.”

So Shall came to the Forest Sea and found the reclusive DawnDusk Witch.

Even now, he still didn’t know her name.

But perhaps that didn’t matter. What mattered was the warning from the informant:

“Oh, and the DawnDusk Witch is no saint. She lies constantly. More cunning than any witch you’ve ever fought. Never believe a single word she says.”

Shall had heeded that warning. He’d trusted nothing the DawnDusk Witch said—not even when he’d tricked her using the Master Servant Pact.

Yet strangely, he felt no triumph. Only guilt. Unease.

Because in his eyes, the DawnDusk Witch wasn’t irredeemably evil. In fact… he found her surprisingly reasonable.

He’d accidentally destroyed her painstakingly built dimensional portal array and couldn’t pay reparations. Yet she’d forgiven him like a magnanimous elder, even agreeing to resurrect Lyselle.

While he—the Champion—had broken his word. Betrayed trust. Used the contract to blackmail her.

Could someone like him still be called a Champion?

Shall sighed unconsciously.

Compared to him, even the DawnDusk Witch seemed more virtuous.

He felt lost.

Who should he trust—himself? The DawnDusk Witch? Or the one who’d given him the tip?

*If Lyselle were here… she’d know what to do.*

Shall folded the handkerchief carefully and tucked it back against his chest.

At the same time, he made his decision—he’d visit his beloved’s grave to think.

*[Perhaps Lyselle’s spirit will guide me.]*

So, without alerting anyone, the Champion slipped quietly away from the Forest Sea.

[To Be Continued]