Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

Binaeril and his group followed the faint wheel tracks as they headed westward. The farther they moved from the village, the more the tracks faded, eventually becoming nearly invisible. The landscape gradually turned whiter as they progressed, marking their entrance into the barbarian lands of Barbaroana.

“Ugh… it’s freezing,” Dominic muttered, hugging himself tightly as he shivered in the cold, something he had never experienced before.

“Here, wear this,” Binaeril said, pulling out thick leather coats from his artifact pouch. However, he quickly realized there were only two.

The three of them exchanged glances, each aware of the dilemma.

“Only two coats…” Dominic noted.

“I’ll pass. I can use magic to keep my body temperature up,” Binaeril offered, but Inyakan quickly grabbed the two coats and tossed them to Binaeril and Dominic.

“No need. I’m from here. You two wear them,” Inyakan insisted, though his own clothing was the thinnest among them.

“Are you sure?” Binaeril asked, concerned.

“What do you take me for? An Inya warrior doesn’t flinch at this level of cold,” Inyakan replied with a hint of pride.

With that, there was no more room for protest. Binaeril and Dominic bundled themselves tightly in the coats. As they ventured deeper into the snowy wilderness, the falling snow grew heavier and more intense.

“The wheel tracks are completely gone now,” Dominic observed, squinting through the flurries.

“What now? Are we going to search the area?” Dominic asked, glancing at Binaeril.

The tracks they had been following were now entirely buried beneath the snow. Binaeril opened the window of the carriage and scanned the surroundings, seeing nothing but a vast, snow-covered landscape. Yet, something about the scenery felt oddly familiar to him.

“Inyakan… could it be that we’re near that place?” Binaeril asked cautiously.

“How do you know that?” Inyakan responded, surprised.

Dominic, clueless about the exchange, looked back and forth between the two. “What are you talking about?”

“Which direction is it?” Binaeril pressed.

“…It’s that way,” Inyakan finally answered, pointing in a specific direction.

“Just as I thought,” Binaeril muttered to himself, realizing that the area resembled a scene he had glimpsed in the past, a memory brought forth by Veritas. Although the snow-covered surroundings made it easy to mistake one place for another, he felt certain.

“Let’s head there,” Binaeril suggested.

Inyakan immediately protested. “Binaeril, didn’t I tell you? That place is a living hell. It’s crawling with far more demons than the village we left behind. It was so overrun that even I had to abandon my family’s remains to escape. So why, why would you want to go there?”

Binaeril met his gaze with resolve. “But with the tracks gone, that’s our only lead. We can’t just wander aimlessly in the snow without any direction.”

Binaeril’s reasoning was sound, and Inyakan couldn’t find a counterargument. He knew Binaeril was right, even if the decision filled him with dread.

“If they went there, they must be ready to throw their lives away,” Inyakan muttered darkly.

“We’re just going to check. That’s all,” Binaeril assured him.

“Fine, but let’s do it this way. We’ll only approach as far as a spot overlooking the village. From there, you can use that damn magic of yours to scout it out. I have no intention of stepping foot in that place.”

With that, the two reached an agreement.

“…So where exactly is ‘that place’?” Dominic, feeling left out, asked in frustration, his question hanging unanswered like an echo.

The “place” they were referring to was the village of the Inya tribe. Following Inyakan’s directions, Binaeril guided the magic carriage toward it. As they got closer to the village, the snowstorm seemed to grow fiercer, almost as if it was trying to warn them away.

“Hmm…” Inyakan’s low grumble deepened in tandem with the intensifying storm.

Binaeril, with one hand resting on the power core of the carriage, continued to infuse it with mana while closing his eyes to focus on scanning the surroundings. He was juggling multiple tasks: steering the carriage, powering it, scanning the area, and listening to Inyakan’s directions. The strain of doing so many things at once caused cold sweat to bead on his forehead.

Then, something faint caught his magical senses. 

When Binaeril suddenly shouted, the other two men, who had been chatting, snapped to attention and stared at him.

“I can sense something,” Binaeril said, turning the carriage toward the presence he had detected.

“Binaeril, you’re going the wrong way. If you continue in that direction, we’ll just circle back,” Inyakan warned.

“Just a moment,” Binaeril insisted.

The presence, initially faint, grew clearer as they approached. It was unmistakably Priya’s mana.

“…Found it,” Binaeril murmured as he brought the carriage to a stop in front of an ice cliff and jumped out. The two men, still confused, quickly followed.

“Let’s break this,” Binaeril said, pointing to a massive block of ice.

Without fully understanding the situation, the men drew their weapons, ready to follow his lead.

“Don’t strike too hard,” Binaeril cautioned. “If we damage it too much, the inside could collapse.”

“Step aside. I’ll handle this,” Inyakan said, clashing his bracers together as he confidently stepped forward. He threw a powerful punch at the ice wall, causing a sharp cracking sound, followed by a deep rumble from within the ice.

“Inyakan! I said not to collapse it!” Binaeril shouted in alarm.

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Inyakan retorted.

“Move aside, barbarian. Let me give it a try,” Dominic said, stepping up with the sword Binaeril had bought for him. He swung with all his might, but instead of slicing through, the blade got stuck in the ice.

“Uh, it’s not coming out,” Dominic said sheepishly.

“…Let me do it,” Binaeril said, sighing. After helping Dominic pull the sword free, Binaeril stepped up to the ice wall. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take over, focusing his energy on the task at hand. 

When Binaeril first learned magic, one of the assignments given by Professor Freud was to break an egg inside a cube without damaging the cube itself. Breaking the ice wall without causing a collapse in the cave was a similar task.

As Binaeril chanted, the massive ice wall began to crack internally, the fractures spreading audibly through the structure. Yet, it was a curious sight—the cracks were visible to the naked eye, but the ice wall itself remained standing. Binaeril had destroyed the internal structure of the wall, making it fragile and ready to shatter with the slightest impact.

Inyakan, watching from behind, couldn’t help but murmur a low, impressed “Oh…”

“It’s done,” Binaeril said, satisfied.

Inyakan and Dominic, arms crossed, grumbled as they watched the scene unfold. “He could have just done that from the start.”

Now, breaking the ice, which had become as fragile as glass, was no difficult task. As the ice wall shattered, an entrance was revealed, leading into a deep cave.

The moment Binaeril and his companions stepped inside, a sword came thrusting out from the darkness, aimed directly at Binaeril. Dominic, reacting quickly, intercepted the blow. He was startled by the heavy recoil that traveled up his arm.

“Who are you?” Dominic demanded, his voice tense as he held his ground.

Hearing the clash of swords, Inyakan barged in, roughly pushing aside the fragments of ice. “What the—?”

“Sister!” he shouted.

Inside the cave was the very person they had been searching for. However, not all reunions are joyous. Binaeril, who had eagerly called out Priya’s name, found his voice trailing off awkwardly when he noticed who was with her.

“Sir Binaeril…,” Priya greeted, her tone laden with the tension of the situation.

“Paladin Callisto,” Binaeril acknowledged. This was their third meeting, and the previous two had not ended well. Callisto’s expression hardened into a cold mask.

“It seems you were looking for the Sister,” Callisto remarked, his tone icy.

“Yes. But what brings you here, Sir Callisto?” Binaeril asked cautiously.

“I’ve been traveling with her,” Callisto replied.

As the awkward silence hung in the air, Binaeril noticed that Callisto’s right arm was missing. “What happened to your arm?”

Callisto turned away, as if revealing something shameful. “It was due to… certain circumstances.”

From Callisto’s perspective, Binaeril was the enemy who had killed Paladin Matthias, a man Callisto considered a brother. The relationship between the two men was nothing but a string of ill-fated encounters. They were not on terms where they could casually share their weaknesses or exchange warm greetings.

“Why don’t you both put away your weapons and take a seat? We’ve confirmed who we all are,” Priya intervened, trying to ease the palpable tension between them.

“Sister, I have no desire to sit and chat with Binaeril,” 

“Why not?” 

“Why not? Because he is my…” 

Callisto, on the verge of calling Binaeril an enemy, or perhaps even a nemesis, closed his mouth. Priya had been present at the scene where Matthias had died; there was no way she didn’t understand the depth of his animosity.

“Sir Callisto, at least for now, let’s not fight,” Binaeril said calmly. “We all have a common enemy at the moment.”

“A common enemy?” 

“Isn’t that Yunnaeril Dalheim?”

Hearing Yunnaeril’s name, Callisto finally relaxed and lowered himself to the ground, his tension visibly easing. Once Callisto sheathed his weapon, Binaeril and his companions also stepped further into the cave to warm themselves by the fire.

“You met my mother?” Priya asked, sounding surprised. “And Kaya as well?”

“Yes, at the Three Names Festival of Steelbelt,” Binaeril replied.

“I didn’t know my mother still cared about that festival. As for Kaya… to be honest, I barely remember her. I think the last time I saw her was just after she was born, over ten years ago.”

As Binaeril listened to Priya’s reflections, he couldn’t help but ask, “Kaya was born over ten years ago? That means she’s younger than me?” The thought surprised him; given how naturally Kaya had treated him, he had assumed she was much older.

He recalled that the Tower Lord Elfenbine, who Kaya resembled, was likely over a hundred years old, yet Kaya herself seemed to be in her teens.

“So, how old are you, Sister Priya?” Binaeril asked, genuinely curious.

“Don’t ask such things,” Priya quickly deflected, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. She swiftly changed the topic. “You’ve figured out where I am, but why did you come looking for me?”

Binaeril hesitated, glancing at Inyakan, who seemed anxious. It had taken a long and winding path to keep his promise to Inyakan.

“We came to find you to ask about the Inya tribe,” Binaeril explained.

Inyakan, visibly nervous, began tapping his foot restlessly. If Priya chose to feign ignorance, Binaeril would be in a difficult position to press her further.

“Binaeril, how do you know about the Inya tribe?” Priya’s question was a subtle admission that she understood the significance.

Inyakan could no longer contain himself and suddenly stood up. “You—are you involved in the death of my tribe?” he demanded.

Priya looked at Inyakan, then her eyes drifted to the unusual bracers adorning his wrists. “Those bracers… I had hoped it was just a coincidence.”

“Answer me!” Inyakan’s voice trembled with barely restrained anger.

“Inyakan, calm down,” Binaeril urged.

“Calm down? Do you know how long I’ve been searching for this? Binaeril, you know, don’t you?” Inyakan’s voice quivered as he spoke, his agitation palpable to everyone in the cave.

“Inyakan… I see,” Priya said, her memory finally clicking into place. She remembered that “Inyakan” was a title that referred to the chieftain of the Barbaroi tribe. “So, Inyakan… it means you’re the chieftain of the Inya tribe. You survived because you weren’t there on that fateful day.”

“Hurry and answer me!” Inyakan’s voice was harsh, his face distorted by the flickering firelight, making him look almost monstrous. “Are you the one who killed my family?”

Priya didn’t shy away from Inyakan’s intense gaze as she answered, “I’m sorry, but it wasn’t me.”

She then shared the story she had previously confided to Callisto with the others.

“Starfall…?” Binaeril asked, his voice trailing off.

“It’s the name of the sword Yunnaeril wields. The sacred sword of the Order, Starfall,” Priya explained.

As Binaeril listened, he began to piece together the truth. He had encountered something similar before—an uncontrollable surge of power. It was a rampage triggered by the acceptance of the fragment’s power. And as a result of that rampage, no one from the Inya tribe survived.

“There was nothing I could do,” Priya continued, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of the past. “The mana of Starfall was unlike anything I had ever seen—thick, dark, and overpowering. All I could do was wait for that horrific event to end. When it finally did, I took the unconscious Yunnaeril and fled. That was all I could do.”

Her story ended there, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Binaeril cautiously glanced at Inyakan, trying to gauge his reaction.

Inyakan had been trembling with rage as he listened to Priya’s account, but at some point, even that trembling had ceased.

“I see,” he finally said, his voice hollow. This was the truth he had longed to hear for so many years.

Why didn’t they save them?  

Why had they sought out the Inya tribe?  

Why couldn’t they prevent the massacre?

Countless questions clawed at his throat, but none of them found their way out. The emotions that surged within him after learning the truth weren’t solely anger. But what exactly were they?

Was it futility? Emptiness? No, it wasn’t quite that.

It was something closer to the opposite of emptiness. His emotions, long suppressed, had finally filled to the brim and were now overflowing. Inyakan felt the dam of pent-up feelings, which he had held back for years, burst open.

His knees gave out beneath him, and he collapsed, unable to hold himself upright. His body curled in on itself, wracked with sobs as if he were a cloth being wrung dry.

Binaeril quietly approached Inyakan and placed a comforting hand on his back, offering silent support as the warrior finally let his grief spill over.