Became the Unjust Contract Slave of the Archamage’s Book

The lich Balram groaned at the sharp call reverberating in his head.

– Balram, Balram!

– Someone has destroyed the altar. What happened?

“Suddenly asking me like this won’t—”

Crackle!

Despite being a spirit bound to bones after losing his body, he never got used to this pain. It was, perhaps, fitting. This was divine retribution from the one who held his soul hostage.

– I don’t want to hear your excuses!

The cursed sword berated him.

– Check the altar. Didn’t you say the Duke or whatever was approaching? His soldiers might have found it.

“But the entrances to the hidden alcoves are all concealed by magic. Ordinary soldiers would never find—”

– Balram!

“…I’ll check it.”

The sword’s temper was short. Trapped in the underground catacombs of Rotfallen, the cursed sword relied on Balram as its messenger.

– Do you know how much life energy it takes to create just one altar? Find the destroyer and kill them!

Recently, reinforcements had arrived on the human front, which had been in a stalemate with the undead. As the sword suggested, perhaps some soldiers had been lucky enough to find the hidden entrance.

The altars, created by the sword’s dark magic, were like temples. The dark mages acted as priests, and Balram was the high priest.

The sword absorbed endless life energy, growing stronger, and in turn, created more undead to seek out that energy from humans.

Rising with magic, Balram flew in the direction indicated by the sword. Human soldiers came into view. They were inside the front line, a place they wouldn’t normally be seen.

‘Could these be the ones who destroyed the altar?’

“Your Grace, shall we proceed?”

The Duke’s forces, comprised of key soldiers, were waiting near the alcove for Binaeril.

Binaeril had insisted he could handle it alone, but the Duke had opposed. After persistent persuasion, they agreed that the Duke and a few knights would wait nearby.

“Let’s wait a bit longer. It hasn’t been that long since Sir Binaeril went in.”

“But what if something happened to him?”

“He single-handedly wiped out the dark mages at Paguin Castle. Trust him and wait.”

It was dusk, the light fading into twilight. One of the knights noticed a long shadow in the sky.

“What’s that, a bird?”

He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked up. The shadow was too large to be a bird. Besides, what bird hovers without flapping its wings?

“What is that?”

Balram was looking down at them. He had no intention of hiding his presence.

“Humans. Armed knights.”

Given their position near the alcove, they were likely the ones responsible.

“Disgusting vermin.”

Balram felt a surge of anger. Because of these ignorant humans, he had to face the wrath of the cursed sword.

Balram extended his palm towards them and began his incantation, the same spell he had used to kill the lord of Paguin Castle.

“Your Grace, there’s something above us.”  

The Duke turned to see Balram’s figure. Due to the backlight, it was hard to discern what it was, but when the figure extended its hand, the Duke felt an inexplicable sense of dread.

“Raise your shields!”  

The discipline of the Duke’s army was strict. The knights obeyed his command instinctively before their minds could fully grasp it. The black magic shot out and collided with the knights’ shields. The Duke swung his beloved flail, deflecting the dark energy.

Balram’s hollow eyes widened in shock.  

‘He deflected my magic?’

Magic was a product of mental strength. The reason Balram could wield destructive magic with his frail body, and why a mage’s strength was often said to increase with age, was because magic was the product of the mind. Hence, Balram was astonished. Resistance to magic indicated a powerful soul, and to deflect a cast spell so effortlessly was beyond surprising.

Unbeknownst to Balram, Torben Dux, the Duke of Dux, was a warrior who had survived numerous deadly battles in the frozen North. He was undoubtedly one of the strongest souls in the Empire.

“Dark mage! Capture him!”  

Torben Dux raised his finger and commanded. But the knights couldn’t comply with this order.

“Your Grace, how are we supposed to capture him?”  

Balram attacked from a height unreachable by mere swords. Capturing him would require a net or a slingshot.

“Baron! Hand me a dagger.”  

Baron drew a dagger from his holster and handed it to his lord. The Duke took the dagger, raising it with a poised stance. His bulging muscles were evident even through his clothes.

“What foolishness is this? Do you think you can hit me with a thrown dagger from this distance?”  

Balram sneered. But then the dagger struck with chilling speed.

Balram twisted in shock. The inhuman strength was terrifying. The Duke’s dagger embedded itself deeply between his ribs, so deeply that only the hilt was barely visible.

“His Grace has struck the dark mage!”  

The knights cheered, but the Duke remained cautious.

‘That creature doesn’t seem affected by a dagger to the lung.’  

His suspicion was correct.

Balram grabbed the shallowly protruding dagger hilt and pulled it out with force, dragging rotten innards with it. He threw the dagger away and lowered his altitude, approaching the Duke’s forces.

“He’s coming down!”  

“Is he surrendering?”

No. He merely wanted to see the face of the human who had injured him.

“Who are you?”

The voice filled with a foul, musty power that had once filled the dungeons of Paguin Castle now echoed in the knights’ heads.

“Ugh…”

Some of the knights, with weaker mental fortitude, couldn’t help but retch at the unsettling voice. Duke Dux stood firm, resisting the dark power.

Balram admired the Duke’s unyielding spirit.

“I am Torben Dux, Duke of the southern part of the Empire. Who are you?”

“So, you are the Duke Dux?”

With his back to the setting sun, Balram faced the Duke and removed his hood. The light reflected off his skeletal form, revealing his gaunt frame.

“A skull… He’s not alive!”

“I can see that,” the Duke replied.

Sir Asdal, glancing between Balram’s smooth skull and the Duke, thought briefly of there being three suns, but wisely kept the irreverent thought to himself.

“I am the conqueror of the South. The only Duke of the Empire. Hero of the Northern Front. Husband of Melina and father to my precious, only daughter, Vivian Dux.”

“Melina? Vivian? Who are they?”

“I’m not finished. I am the father of Vivian, who is like the morning dew in the dawn and the gem of the sunset in the evening, providing shade like a grand tree in summer and warmth like the midday sun in winter…”

“Your Grace, please…”

Sir Baron realized for the first time that even a skull could look confused.

“…such is the father of Vivian. Now, who are you?”

“You speak in riddles. My name is Balram.”

“A dark mage?”

“Do not compare me to those novices. I am the executor of the cursed sword, an immortal being. A lich!”

Balram expected shock and fear, but instead, Duke Dux looked down at him with a disdainful expression.

“What’s that? Some kind of children’s game?”

“…These insolent fools!”

“The stature of a being isn’t determined by a few adjectives. You won’t frighten me with words a teenage boy might use.”

‘You just gave a much longer introduction,’ Balram thought, but there was no time for friendly banter. The Duke swung his flail at Balram’s skull.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Regardless of what you are, you’re clearly our enemy. So, die.”

Whoosh—whoosh—

The Duke’s flail swung with a menacing whistle, the iron ball attached to the chain the size of a grown man’s head. A hit from that would leave nothing behind.

Balram floated upward again.

“Cowardly scum!”

“You attacked first. Doesn’t that make you more cowardly? Aren’t you ashamed to be called a Duke?”

“This is the Empire’s way of welcoming you!”

Even the Duke’s knights had never heard of such a greeting. Balram, however, was not caught off guard this time. He summoned his dark power heavily, chanting his spell.

“Rain down death and decay!”

Black rain began to fall from the sky. The first to feel its touch were the horses, their skin sizzling and melting upon contact.

“Hiiing!”

The horses writhed in agony. The Duke and his knights dismounted swiftly, assembling a shield wall above their heads.

“Hah! How long can you hold out?” Balram sneered, pouring more power into the spell. The rain intensified, hissing as it corroded the knights’ shields.

“Ugh…” The sound of shields corroding filled the air. Their round shields were ill-suited for this kind of attack, and soldiers began to groan as the rain seeped through the gaps in their armor.

“Damn it…”

“Your Grace, you must retreat without us. We’ll do our best to distract him.”

“What nonsense is this!”

“We have no way to counter his magic. It’s better for you to escape alone.”

“Baron! Don’t talk foolishness! Who do you think I am!” The Duke twisted the chain of his flail with both hands. “I am!”

With a powerful twist, the chain groaned under the strain of the Duke’s strength.  

“The Iron-blooded Mercenary King of the North!” He broke the chain with his bare hands and stepped out of the shield formation, ignoring the knights’ protests.  

“I am Torben Dux!”

He swung the chain with the iron flail head, gaining momentum as he faced Balram, who floated above.  

“Is he even human?” Both the Duke and Balram were taken aback by the display of raw power. The flail flew through the air, targeting the lich.

Balram couldn’t maintain his spell while defending against the attack; his body wouldn’t withstand it.  

“Black Magic Barrier!”

Cancelling his spell, Balram conjured a defensive wall of dark magic. The impact of the iron flail was felt even through the barrier, sending shivers through Balram’s bones. He was chilled by the Duke’s sheer strength.

He released the barrier, glaring at the Duke below.  

“Is that all you have? Now it’s time for you to die, Duke!”

But today, nothing seemed to go Balram’s way. As the standoff between the Duke’s forces and Balram continued, Binaeril Dalheim emerged from the alcove.