Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

Binaeril approached the fallen young man, leaving the terrified village chief of Billwood behind. Regardless of the chief’s attitude, his son was innocent. Examining the wound wasn’t a difficult task.

“How is he?” the chief asked urgently.

“Wait and see.”

The wound on the inside of the thigh was long but didn’t appear very deep.

“His life isn’t in any danger. The bleeding isn’t severe. As long as we can suppress the mana, the external injury won’t be much of an issue,” the hesitant doctor explained.

‘If I call Rike, she could easily heal this.’

Just because a demon inflicted the wound didn’t mean it was immediately life-threatening. Mana poison spreads slowly over time, corroding the area around the wound. The pain was simply unbearable for ordinary people without resistance. It was akin to a kind of poison.

‘Wait.’

Binaeril stopped himself from calling Rike as an idea came to mind. The chief’s son’s wound was caused by mana poison. Mana stones were the crystallized form of mana poison. Veritas fed on mana stones. So, in theory…

‘Veritas, can you extract the mana poison from the wound?’

– It’s not difficult.

‘What? You can do that?’

He hadn’t expected it to be possible. This meant he didn’t need to call Rike and could extract the mana poison with Veritas’s power alone. Now, the village chief’s son’s life was in Binaeril’s hands. However, Binaeril had no intention of granting this request without conditions.

With his hands behind his back, Binaeril held Veritas and brought it close to the wound. He would heal the son because he was innocent. But the chief needed a chance for reflection.

“Chief of Billwood,” the elderly chief looked at him.

“If we leave it as it is, your son will surely die. At the very least, the wounded leg will have to be amputated,” Binaeril lied deliberately.

The chief’s face turned grim.

“Is your son that important to you?”

“Of course!”

“More than your wealth or status?”

The chief was a vile person. Binaeril could tell from his attitude toward them, as well as his treatment of fellow villagers like Oswald and the village doctor. If he hesitated even a little in his answer, Binaeril intended to punish the chief. If wealth and status were more important than his son’s life, it would mean the chief was a selfish man who cared only for himself. Punishing such a person would not trouble Binaeril’s conscience in the slightest.

‘What will he say?’

“My son is my only remaining blood relative. Please, save him!” But in matters concerning his son, the chief of Billwood was not a selfish man. He knelt and pleaded with Binaeril.

Binaeril looked down at the kneeling chief and pressed on.

“You falsely accused young mages, threatened us with guards, and now you beg for your son’s life?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll never do it again. I’ll give you as much money as you want!”

“You’ll never do it again?”

“Of course, I won’t. Just save him!”

Binaeril seized on his words.

“That’s a promise you’re making,” Binaeril said. 

“What do you want me to do?” the chief asked. 

“Stop deceiving people, stop pretending to offer kindness while exploiting them unfairly, and stop threatening people. And…”

“Alright, alright! I won’t do it again!”

“I’m not finished yet. You must respect the villagers, not manage the village’s property alone, and trust the village guard captain.”

Binaeril glanced at the guard, Oswald. When the chief didn’t catch on immediately, Binaeril deliberately touched the wound on the son.

“Ugh!”

The chief, alarmed by his son’s groan, quickly nodded in understanding. To him, it appeared that his son was in a critical state, teetering between life and death.

“I can’t take the chief at his word. So, I’ll impose conditions to ensure he keeps his promise,” Binaeril said. The chief, not being a mage, couldn’t make a magical oath.

“The festering wound will miraculously heal,” Binaeril said, chanting exaggeratedly while emitting a burst of light. It was a meaningless act with no real magic behind it. But to the onlookers, it seemed like a mystical glow was surrounding the wound. Binaeril waited for them to witness it clearly.

“I have suppressed the wound with my magic. If the chief breaks his promise, this magic will be undone,” Binaeril said in a solemn voice, performing his role convincingly.

“If you want to save your son’s life, you’d better keep your word, Chief of Billwood.”

Within the dimming glow, the young mage appeared to the chief like the legendary Dekypleio, who saved villages and lives. But this was no Dekypleio—it was Binaeril Dalheim, the Archmage.

By the time the treatment and the clean-up were finished, it was nearly noon. Binaeril’s group did not delay any longer and left Fairhill.

“Thank you, mage,” 

“Take care,” the villagers said as they came out to bid farewell to the three young mages.

“Still saying their goodbyes. They should just go back in already,” Sylvia said, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand as she looked back at Fairhill.

“They weren’t all bad people,” Rike said, having taken care of the injured after the battle. Watching her heal wounds with magic had astonished the villagers, who called her a saint. An old man had even cried, calling it a miracle.

“The villagers weren’t all bad. It was just the chief and a few others,” Binaeril said sharply. The two girls looked at him.

“You don’t know who was involved and who was innocent. But it’s clear the other villagers at least went along with deceiving young mages.”

“There you go again, being cynical. What’s bothering you? Even that guard was respectful to you in the end.”

“He saw our power. He didn’t repent or regret; he was just scared.”

“Didn’t you make the chief promise not to do it again?”

“His son’s life was at stake.”

Sylvia clicked her tongue at Binaeril’s logic. “Good grief. If you couldn’t trust him, why did you make him promise in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Binaeril admitted. He didn’t expect the chief to change completely or even to keep his promise faithfully.

If the promise wouldn’t be kept, was it meaningless? If so, why did Binaeril negotiate with the son’s life as leverage?

Veritas answered Binaeril’s question for him. 

-To punish him. If he breaks the promise, you can impose a rightful punishment!

Binaeril felt that wasn’t quite it.

But Binaeril was still a young mage, uncertain in his own judgment. His head felt dizzy, making it hard to think clearly.

“Binaeril, are you alright? You don’t look well,” Sylvia said with concern.

“Hmm… I’m fine,” he replied.

It was difficult to hold a conversation while intoxicated by the energy of the mana stone. He had experienced this symptom before—it was mana poisoning. Binaeril imagined Veritas delighting in a grand feast in his mind.

“Let’s go quickly. Westward,” he urged.

“Sylvia, how far is it to the next village?” Rike asked.

“If we walk briskly, we should arrive by evening. We’ll make it, but…”

Even if they traveled for another day, they were still within Elfenbine’s territory. This meant that the next village might not be any different from Fairhill. Binaeril understood the unspoken part of Sylvia’s statement. He hoped the next village would be a decent place, as he was in no condition for camping out.

As they continued walking, Binaeril suddenly collapsed, as if someone had switched off his consciousness without warning.

Sylvia quickly caught the falling Binaeril, startled by the heat radiating from his body.

“He’s burning up like a furnace, Your Highness!” Sylvia exclaimed.

Rike, equally alarmed, placed her hand on Binaeril’s forehead. His fever was intense. Despite using all the healing magic she could think of, Binaeril’s breathing remained unsteady.

“Sylvia, can you carry him?” Rike asked.

Sylvia nodded. They hurried towards the next village, carrying the unconscious Binaeril. Running with the limp body was exhausting, and by the time they reached Rostock, Sylvia was drenched in sweat.

Rostock was a slightly smaller village compared to Fairhill, but Fairhill was unusually large for a village, and Rostock was not small by any means. The village chief of Rostock quickly assessed the visitors and instinctively welcomed them.

“Welcome, mages! Rostock welcomes you! Would you like to eat first? Or perhaps a bath?”

The familiar hospitality made them wary, expecting a repeat of Fairhill’s scenario, but their circumstances were different this time.

“We have a patient. Please give us a room quickly, and call a doctor if there’s one in the village,” Rike demanded.

Healing magic wasn’t a cure-all. It was best suited for visible injuries or wounds caused by demons. In a situation like this, with a mysterious fever, a doctor’s expertise was needed.

“Of course, but you see, our village has a high cost of living…” The chief trailed off, knowing that travelers in urgent situations were more likely to part with their money easily.

“Here,” Rike said, without hesitation, pulling out a Florin gold coin.

“Whoa!” The chief gasped. The value of the single gold coin wasn’t as significant as what he noticed next. He saw her purse brimming with shiny gold coins.

“Follow me this way…” The chief’s eyes gleamed with greed.

A boy who had collapsed, two girls, unarmed and cleanly dressed—they were clearly novice mages. The chief did his mental calculations, feeling that tonight might be a long one.

“I’m afraid I can’t determine the cause. There are no obvious signs of abnormality,” the doctor concluded, proving to be of no help.

Rike and Sylvia put their heads together, but they couldn’t easily diagnose the symptoms of mana poisoning. Binaeril lay on a clean bed, sweating profusely and in visible distress.

“Let’s take turns nursing him through the night,” Sylvia suggested.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Rike agreed.

Seeing Binaeril in pain, Sylvia felt guilty about their bickering earlier. The situation in Rostock was not much different from Fairhill. The village chief, delighted with the gold coin Rike gave him, provided a room. It was an exorbitant charge, but they had no choice. They couldn’t leave the patient outdoors.

“At least they’re kind when we pay them,” Sylvia noted.

“Indeed,” Rike replied with a bitter smile.

But the thoughts of the chief and others were different.

“They have a lot of money?”

“Yes, they look well-off. They handed over the gold coin without hesitation,” the chief confirmed.

“But you said they might be mages?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? They look like they’re not even twenty yet. They’re just kids,” the chief snapped at the hesitant young men.

“But Chief, they’re still mages. Their age doesn’t matter. They could kill us all with a flick of their finger,” one of the young men insisted.

“Hahaha. That’s why I prepared something,” the chief said with a sly grin.

“What preparation?”

“I spiked their food. I saw them finish the bread laced with a sleeping potion. Not one of them will be awake past midnight.”

“Even so…”

Assuming they were mages was purely the chief’s guess. Young people traveling without significant armament were usually mages. The mere name ‘mage’ instilled enough fear among the village youth. Seeing their reluctance, the chief pulled out his trump card from his pocket.

Clink.

“Do you see this?” He showed them the Florin gold coin Rike had given him.

“A gold coin. Not silver, not copper, but gold. And it’s brand new without a scratch. Those kids handed over such a coin without a second thought. If we find just a couple more gold coins in their belongings, it’s a fortune. Anyone who doesn’t want in can leave now. But those who leave won’t get a single coin.”

The glint of the gold coin caught the eyes of the village youths. The chief knew well how to manipulate the hot-blooded young men.

“Anyone still want to back out?” he challenged.

No one answered. The young men exchanged sinister glances.

“The room they’re in is at the end of the second floor. Gather here again shortly after midnight. Understood?”