“Already corrupted?”
[Yes. Which means there’s no need for me to stir up unnecessary trouble. Playing around with a contract is a burden even for a demon. If I can reclaim the soul anyway, it’s safer this way.]
“So a human can fall into corruption on their own, without a demon’s involvement?”
[That’s not rare. Every human has the potential for their soul to corrupt. On the other hand, a soul can also be elevated into a hero. Most humans wander somewhere between those two extremes.]
Corruption doesn’t necessarily require a demon’s help—just as a hero isn’t born by someone else’s hand.
“...Antero’s wish was to become a Paladin, take multiple women, and forget you, so that it would feel like his own achievement.”
[Right. His wish itself already provided a perfect condition for corruption. Three of the Seven Deadly Sins are contained within a single wish.]
The Sins Bune spoke of must have been pride, greed, and lust.
Frondier asked,
“So corruption means that? Committing many acts that correspond to the Seven Sins?”
[It’s not about the number. Nor does it have to be one of the Seven. When a human willingly moves toward denial, that is corruption.]
A remarkably clear explanation.
And judging from that, even by Frondier’s eyes, it was regrettable but clear—Antero was heading dangerously far in that direction.
[Frondier. I’ll say this now—my contract with Antero cannot be broken, not even by a god. Give up on saving him.]
“I wasn’t planning to save him.”
Frondier had spared Antero not out of mercy but because the aftermath would be troublesome.
And besides, Antero was far too aggravating to deserve mercy.
Losing one’s soul to a demon was pitiful, sure—but Frondier didn’t have the luxury to save every fool who made a stupid choice.
“Why does Antero use Carla?”
Carla had been gathering information about demons. Judging from the circumstances, it was because of Antero.
Meaning, Antero himself was collecting information on demons—though he should have forgotten Bune’s existence.
‘And now Antero’s a Paladin. If he wants information about demons, he could easily gather as much as he wants.’
Yet he purposely had Carla do it for him.
If it wasn’t simply to torment her, then it meant there was information Antero couldn’t access in his position as a Paladin.
[Who knows. I haven’t spoken with him since our contract. But from what I’ve seen, he’s been collecting items related to demons. Anything he feels carries demonic energy, he gathers.]
“So it’s not just an eccentric collecting habit...”
Antero’s abnormal obsession with demons—perhaps that obsession was what led him to Bune, one of the 72 Demons, in the first place.
Ultimately, only Antero himself would know the reason.
Judging by his warped mind and behavior, it wouldn’t be an easy answer.
“Come to think of it, if Antero didn’t wager his soul for the contract, then what did he offer instead?”
Ordinarily, humans don’t gamble their souls so readily. Bune had just said so himself. Which meant he had offered something else in exchange.
But what else could a demon possibly desire from a human besides their soul?
Bune answered,
[He gave me the right to use his body whenever I wished. Said he wouldn’t care how I used it, as long as his limbs remained intact.]
“...He gave you the right to handle his body?”
Frondier had assumed Bune’s manifestation required specific conditions—like a battle situation or when Antero’s life was in danger. Even with those restrictions, it would have been a perilous contract from Antero’s side.
But to give away his entire right of bodily control—
[That’s right. Which is why I’m here talking to you like this. I can make this man, who has no talent for combat, into a Paladin. Of course, I can only move to fulfill his wish, but as you know, contracts like this are full of loopholes.]
“...Yeah.”
At that point, it wasn’t even a condition anymore.
Bune fully intended to grant Antero’s wish. As long as the process continued, he could seize control of Antero’s body at any time.
‘So in the end, I won’t be able to hear from Bune why Antero seeks knowledge of demons. That’s something only Antero’s own mind holds.’
A human reckless enough to make such a contract—what could he possibly be planning to do with demonic knowledge? The thought was unsettling.
“All right. Then my last question.”
[You sure have a lot of curiosity.]
Frondier honestly agreed with that remark. He did have many questions.
And this last one arose from a faint inconsistency he’d felt throughout his talk with Bune.
Something was missing.
Something he had misunderstood.
Listening to Bune’s story, Frondier finally realized it.
“I understand that divine power and demonic power are very similar in nature. And that demons grant power to humans through contracts.”
[...]
When Frondier began to speak, Bune stayed silent.
But his gaze turned unpleasant—uneasy.
“...Then, conversely, when a god gives divine power to a human—”
[It’s also a contract. That’s what you’re asking.]
Bune finished the sentence. Frondier nodded.
“If divine power, like demonic power, is given through a contract, that means humans must’ve placed something on the scales in return. What do humans offer gods for divine power? Is it a contract entered with human consent?”
Humans born with divine power are predetermined from birth.
If a contract existed between god and human, then humans with divine power would have signed before they were even born. Impossible.
Then how did such a contract form? Or was the entire premise wrong?
[...Before I answer, I’ll say this first.]
“Go ahead.”
[I don’t know the details. I’m no god. And whatever I say from here, you may doubt it, but I won’t answer further. Even if the truth later appears different, I will have only been ‘mistaken’ or ‘lying.’ Nothing more.]
“Quite polite of you. You didn’t have to spell that out—I know.”
[I must say it anyway. Because the act of saying it matters.]
The act of saying it matters—even if it’s something already known.
Feeling the weight of those words, Frondier’s eyes grew still.
[As you thought, gods made a contract with humanity. Divine power arises from that process.]
“...How could they make a contract with humans who weren’t even born yet—”
[It’s not an individual contract.]
Bune’s words.
Not an individual contract—meaning not between each human and a god.
Frondier blinked twice.
Then, in the eyes that opened next, a vast fury burned.
“...Nonsense.”
[I told you. Doubt me all you want. If you can’t believe it, then take it as a lie.]
Frondier didn’t answer.
Bune continued.
[A long time ago, humans and gods made a contract that altered the entire future system of humanity. I don’t know the details, but those born with divine power are its byproduct.]
“...A contract made by ancient humans that still binds the humans of today.”
[Bind, huh. Maybe the humans of that time didn’t see it that way.]
True enough.
Only a very small number felt divine power as bondage—Frondier, Aster, perhaps Edwin. Elodie recognized its danger but still used it, as did everyone else.
[Frondier, to your eyes Antero must look like a pitiful human. I agree. But still—]
Modern humanity now suffered for what their ancestors had done.
Thinking that, Frondier felt a nauseating similarity to himself.
Disgust welled quietly inside him.
[Those humans of the past—at best, they were just a little better than Antero.]
***
Frondier sent Antero away. As for the memories, he left them in Bune’s hands.
Bune probably didn’t want Antero and Frondier to meet again any more than Frondier did. He’d handle it well enough.
Frondier wandered outside to clear his head.
Evening wind brushed his skin, lingered at his lips, and drifted past.
'...I thought it was settled.'
And it was, technically.
Frondier had resolved Carla’s curse and gained her promised support.
Without the curse, Carla was now an ordinary human—no need to keep the Atlas wiretaps running or meet nobles to gather information on demons.
He had also planted real fear in Teacher Giotto, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) ensuring easier days ahead as an instructor.
Lady Achaia was still a concern, but for now his bluff would hold—at least while she wasted effort hunting a shadow that didn’t exist.
'I learned too much. The kind of thing I never wanted to know but had to.'
In trying to discover who controlled Carla, he had learned of the similarity between gods and demons—and of the incomprehensible ancient contract between gods and humankind.
Gods had been Frondier’s enemies since long ago—ever since he first brought Weaving into reality, and Thanatos appeared.
Frondier had struggled to avoid game over. One might say he did it to save the world, but for him, it was never that noble.
He simply didn’t want to see the words “Game Over.” He didn’t want to die. That was all.
To achieve that, Frondier alone was not enough. He needed to foster the protagonist, Aster, and build relationships with those around him—make allies, support them.
Over time, those companions had become more than tools to clear a game—they had become precious to him.
But even after overcoming challenges no one had ever beaten, the game still wasn’t cleared.
Most of the comrades who had fought beside him to cross those hurdles were no longer at his side.
“...Ha.”
He could feel it now, unmistakably.
It was no longer a matter of clearing the game.
He had already touched something too immense, something irreversible.
And above all, he could no longer pass that role to anyone else—not even to Aster.
Frondier raised his languid eyes toward the sky.
His expression was unreadable—even to himself in a mirror.
That was simply the nature of the Roach family, and Frondier’s indelible sloth only made the dullness deeper.
He had given up trying to read Selena’s acting, realizing it was impossible—and most people must have felt the same when looking at him.
—Were you hurt anywhere?
Before leaving the continent of Falind, Selena had asked him that when he returned.
Though she had said she couldn’t protect his heart, she still asked again. And Frondier hadn’t been able to answer.
Why was that?
He truly wasn’t hurt anywhere.
He could have easily said something to put her at ease.
'...Selena.'
“I’m fine.”
Frondier finally gave the answer—belatedly, alone, looking up at the sky, in a small, faint voice.
“I wasn’t hurt.”
