The secretary’s breath caught in his throat at Lucius’s words. For a long mont, he stood frozen, his lips trembling with sothing he desperately wanted to say but couldn’t.
Finally, after forcing the words out of his dry mouth, he spoke.
"I—That is...I... do want to help. I’ve wanted to for a long ti. But I don’t have any great skill, nothing that makes special."
"My talent lies in planning, analyzing numbers, organizing. That’s why I was made secretary. I don’t have the strength to lead soldiers. I never did."
His voice cracked at the end, heavy with self-loathing.
Lucius looked at him with a steady gaze, his tone even.
"Physical strength is not the only thing that makes soone strong. You think you’re weak because you’ve been running away from yourself. Nothing more."
The secretary bit his lip until it nearly bled, turning his face away. His steps faltered before he muttered.
"If I had control over myself, I might have done sothing. But I gave that up... I handed control of my life to another man just to survive. That mistake cannot be undone."
Those words struck Lucius harder than expected. They reminded him too much of his own cursed situation, his own binding. He stayed quiet for a breath, then asked softly.
If you had the chance to break free, to take back that control—would you take it?"
The secretary flinched but shook his head.
"I don’t know. And I don’t want to think about it."
Lucius’s lips curved into sothing unreadable.
"Then start thinking. You may not have as much ti as you believe. Freedom might co sooner than you expect."
The man stiffened, but before he could reply, they reached their destination. The heavy doors of the general’s quarters lood over them, and the secretary quickly composed his expression before pushing them open.
Inside, the air slled faintly of roasted at and herbs. General Ryan sat at the table already, his bulk filling the chair like a predator waiting at his den.
He stood when Lucius entered, a smile spreading across his lips.
"Ah, there you are. Lord Lucius, welco. It’s an honor to share a table with you."
Ryan bood, spreading his arms.
The secretary bowed out quickly, leaving Lucius alone in the lion’s den.
The dinner was modest, but compared to the rotting scraps in the soldiers’ quarters, it was a banquet. at, bread, cheese, and a flask of spiced wine were neatly laid out.
Lucius’s sharp eyes took it all in—every bite here ant less for the starving n outside.
Ryan raised his cup.
"Since you’ve given so much to this settlent, I’d like to repay you. Not just with words, but with a binding promise. A contract of loyalty between Lumious Settlent and yourself."
At his signal, a soldier brought out a rolled parchnt sealed in red wax. As the paper was placed in Lucius’s hand, his senses sharpened.
A wave of demonic mana pulsed from it, foul and suffocating. His eyes narrowed.
The parchnt throbbed faintly in his grip, and imdiately Lucius knew—it was a binding contract, nearly identical to his own curse.
Only this one was even more restrictive, a chain that latched onto the very soul.
His gaze flickered upward, just in ti to see the secretary flinch, eyes wide with guilt and sorrow.
In that instant, Lucius understood. The soldiers, the secretary—everyone bound to Ryan was shackled by this sa cursed contract. No wonder they couldn’t rebel. No wonder the entire settlent had sunk into despair.
Lucius set the contract down slowly, his expression unreadable. But in his mind, the decision was already made.
General Ryan leaned back in his chair, his thick fingers drumming against the wooden table. His smile stretched wide, though his eyes carried a sharp gleam.
"This contract is fair and balanced. It binds both sides equally. I would never—never—abuse my own people. Everything I do is for their survival."
He said smoothly, sliding the parchnt closer to Lucius.
Lucius glanced down at the parchnt, then back up at the general. His lips curved into a faint chuckle, low and dismissive.
"Fair and balanced? I trust your greed more than I trust your words, General."
Ryan’s smile faltered.
"Greed? What do you an by that?"
His tone hardened as he leaned forward.
Lucius tilted his head slightly, eting the man’s stare with cool detachnt.
"Nothing of importance. But... if you expect to sign, I’ll need half an hour to go through every line."
He said simply, the amusent never leaving his voice.
The general’s suspicion was plain in his narrowed eyes. His pride clearly didn’t like the idea of being doubted. But Lucius held his gaze calmly, waiting.
Finally, Ryan gave a short nod.
"Half an hour. Think carefully. A contract is not sothing to take lightly."
He agreed, though his voice carried a warning edge.
Lucius smiled faintly.
"That’s why I want to be thorough."
He carried the parchnt to a quiet corner of the room, settling into a seat beneath the dim lantern light.
Ryan turned his attention back to his wine, pretending not to watch, though his eyes flicked over more often than he likely realized.
Lucius unfolded the parchnt slowly, letting his eyes scan the demonic glyphs crawling faintly across the surface.
The mana within them pulsed like a heartbeat, foul and suffocating. His fingers brushed over the text, and he felt the sharp sting of its binding nature.
Just as he suspected. It was nothing more than a chain disguised as an agreent.
He reached into his inventory, and with a subtle flick of his wrist, produced a slim bottle of black ink and a pen. Gifts from Belphegor himself—tools designed for this exact purpose.
The ink shimred faintly with demonic resonance, invisible to anyone who lacked the right sight.
Lucius dipped the pen, his movents calm and precise. Stroke by stroke, he traced over the binding terms, altering glyphs with practiced ease.
Where once the contract funneled authority into Ryan, the lines now bent and twisted, redirecting control to himself.
The mont it was signed, every chain Ryan used to hold his soldiers—and his secretary—would shift hands.
It was delicate work. Too much alteration, and the magic would unravel. Too little, and it would still serve Ryan. But Lucius’s expression never wavered.
When the final glyph burned faintly and faded back into the parchnt, he set the pen down, capping the ink bottle.
His eyes lingered on the rewritten terms, a shadow of a smirk curling his lips.
He turned, holding the parchnt out casually.
"Here."
General Ryan took it with a grunt, clearly expecting hesitation, resistance, even negotiation. What he didn’t expect was calm obedience. His pride swelled as he grabbed the quill.
"Good. You made the wise choice, Lord Lucius."
Ryan said, not even skimming the words.
And without a second thought, he scrawled his signature across the glowing script. The contract pulsed once, then sank into his skin. He grinned and slid the parchnt back across the table.
"Done."
The mont the ink dried, a ripple of power swept through the room. Subtle, but undeniable.
The secretary’s eyes widened, his hand clutching at his chest as though sothing inside him had loosened. His breath hitched sharply, a sound halfway between relief and disbelief.
Lucius caught the flicker imdiately. His eyes t the secretary’s, and in that instant, he sent him a signal—a small, sharp glance, a silent command.
Do not speak. Not yet.
The man froze, lips trembling as though words clawed to be free. But he understood. He bit them back, bowing his head quickly.
Across the table, General Ryan raised his cup, utterly oblivious.
"To our alliance."
He declared proudly, as though he had already won.
Lucius lifted his own cup in return, his smirk hidden in the rim. The general had just signed away everything—and he didn’t even know it yet.
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