The emotionless, multi-voiced command echoed in our skulls. I glanced at Boldwyn and Elaina; they looked as lost as I felt. Alaric gripped his sword's hilt tighter... yeah, sometimes I wish everything could be resolved with brute force. I was up against a god who could probably come up with rules and they would be accepted no matter what. Fine. Proof. Kyle, you've already dealt with both unfair DM rules and weird legal documents. This one is... a bit grimmer situation than that, but I can still do it! Get a grip, god damn it!
"Fine", I said, thinking fast, "the threat is implied! Look at the consequences! 'Pay with Othburten and everyone in it'? That's not a contractual penalty, that's an existential threat hanging over his head every single day! That's precisely what coercion is! Moreover, it doesn't even say what 'paying the price' would mean! Enslavement? Annihilation? The lack of information is even more threatening!"
The comedy mask swooped down and flew over to me, its painted grin inches from my face. This time, the voice was a shrill, mocking whisper that grated on the ears. "Ohhh, fear! What a flimsy mortal concept! Was a weapon held to his head? Was his precious wife held hostage? Nooo~! He signed of his own volition! As a deity, I can confirm it!"
The mask flew back, now covering The Price's main, neutral mask.
"And the lack of information? Please. A punishment delivered by a god is not something a human can even comprehend. Ignorance is bliss~!", the voice was so kind and funny sounding that its words were even more horrific, "And besides, doesn't any ruler gamble with the lives of their men? It's a mayor's duty to shoulder such burdens! His signature, his problem!"
The mask zipped back to its orbit, now silently flying around the avatar. The chorus of indifferent voices was adamant:
"Argument invalid. No proof of direct threat. Next."
"Dammit", I muttered.
Think, Kyle, think. It's just a really, really hostile corporate merger. Law. Loopholes. Heh, loopholes. I wish I were Trojan Horse of Destiny or a Worm of Time now.
"Alright", I try again, shifting tactics, "let's talk about the exchange. A contract requires consideration – something of value exchanged between parties. The Lord Mayor gives you a quarter of the city's taxes and maintains the infrastructure. What does he get? What does the city get? Nothing! This contract is entirely one-sided! It's invalid due to the lack of consideration!"
For a moment, the chains comprising the entity seemed to still. The tragedy mask slowly, unwillingly drifted into the talking position.
"MORTALS... FAIL TO UNDERSTAND."
The voice was a deep, resonant boom that felt like a physical weight. It was a sound of sorrow, of pain and sadness. Sound of irredeemable loss.
"YOUR VOICE WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU. YOU CLAIMED THE LORD MAYOR GETS 'NOTHING'... WHICH IS CORRECT. HOWEVER, YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE VALUE OF 'NOTHING'. IF YOU WERE TO LIVE AS LONG AS I HAVE, YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND THE PAIN CAUSED... BY THE LACK OF 'NOTHING'. THE MIND WISHES TO HAVE 'NOTHING', AS IT GIVES... PURPOSE. THOSE WITHOUT 'NOTHING' WILL SUFFER MORE THAN THOSE WHO HAVE 'NOTHING'."
"Argument invalid. Consideration exists. Next."
The mask returned to its orbit, and the neutral voice seamlessly took over.
My heart sinks. This isn't working. We are arguing "fairness" with a god who define the terms. Boldwyn glances at me, a silent question in his eyes: Got any other brilliant ideas? Elaina is pale, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her hat. Alaric just looks ready to charge, consequences be damned.
What now? An appeal to feelings surely wouldn't work! That... thing lacks any empathy. Kyle, think! Think like some kind of ace attorney... contract, breach, validation, consideration, mistakes, 2nd party... wait a second. Mistakes.
Then it hit me. I have been attacking the contract's fairness, its morality, its balance. But that's not what this was about. This was about the letter of the law. The precise, unfeeling, absolute wording. If The Price wishes to argue contract word-for-word... then He will pay for it.
"Let me confirm something, Overseer of Punishments. It was not you who created this document and wrote the text, correct?"
"Confirmed. A church priest. The scribe."
Ha... haha. Got you now.
"Okay", I said, my voice steadier now, "can I take a look at the contract itself? The specific wording."
Of course, I didn't forget it, but... I needed to make sure I didn't misremember it.
A chain unspools from the entity's body, the end morphing into a stylus. It etches the words of the contract onto the wall of the house behind Him in shimmering, silver light.
"Nothing wrong. Nothing to argue. Perfect terms", the voice rings in our minds.
But you are so wrong... for an omniscient god, you sure lack literacy!
"Objection!", I yell.
Alaric, Elaina and Boldwyn look at me in confusion.
"Right there", I point my finger forward, "It says that Mortan Desbet Dyeyong II agrees to these terms. It names him specifically."
"Confirmed. The signatory. Bound."
"But the penalty clause", I continued, a slow, smug smile spreading on my face, "it says, and I quote: 'Mortan Desbet Dyeyong will pay The Price with Othburten and everyone in it.'"
The comedy mask froze. The tragedy mask halted its slow drift. The mask of neutral presence of the law seemed to focus entirely on me.
"It doesn't say 'the Lord Mayor of Othburten will pay'. It doesn't say 'the signatory will pay'. It uses the full, legal name: Mortan Desbet Dyeyong."
The chains that composed the avatar twitch. He finally gets where I'm going with it.
"Let me confirm something: is a person bearing a name of 'Mortan Desbet Dyeyong' currently alive and is in position to sign a contract with lives of all Othburten's citizens on the line?"
"Kai, what are you talking about?! We talked to the man 10 minutes-", started Elaina, but then she understood it, too, "Oh!"
"Mortan Desbet Dyeyong. Lord Mayor of Othburten. In his study. Now."
"For someone who claims to want to maintain the law, you are a very bad liar. The current Lord Mayor, who sits in his cabinet, drinking tea like the biggest asshole ever, is Mortan Desbet Dyeyong II", I chuckle, lowering my hand, "If I were to guess, Mortan Desbet Dyeyong was his father, or a grandfather, or a grand-grandfather... doesn't matter. What matters is that it is not him, and that the person obligated to pay such a price was probably not present when the contract was signed, and is probably unaware. Hence, the contract is... null and void!"
The chains of His avatar went utterly still. The floating masks ceased their movement, hanging motionless in the air. The oppressive, psychic pressure that had been affecting our minds lifted, replaced by a profound, deafening silence. If it was be some online game, I would assume the player behind The Price rage-quitted and went AFK.
Then, a sound began.
It started as a low, metallic grinding, like mountains of chains shifting deep underground. It grew, layering upon itself, becoming a cacophony of clinks, rattles, and deep, resonant booms. It wasn't laughter... at least, not in any human sense. It was the sound of a fundamental force of the universe experiencing a moment of pure, unadulterated amusement.
The comedy mask shot forward.
"Oh! Oh, delicious!", its voice screeched, not in our minds, but into the air, making the buildings tremble. "A scrivener's error! A missed numeral! The absolute, ludicrous stupidity of a mortal record-keeper! To think a single stroke of a pen could unmake a pact aged for centuries!"
The tragedy mask drifted, replacing the comedy mask. However, this time, its voice wasn't one of sorrow. It was a deep, approving hum.
"THE LAW IS A BLADE THAT CUTS BOTH WAYS. THE WIELDER IS BOUND BY ITS EDGE... AS SURELY AS THE TARGET. THE ARGUMENT... IS VALID."
Finally, both masks returned to their orbits, and the indifferent, neutral voice – the one that was talking in short phrases – finally spoke again. Its multi-voiced chorus was now carrying a faint, almost imperceptible tone of respect.
"Contractual obligation. Signatory 'Mortan Desbet Dyeyong'. Unenforceable. Current holder. Not bound party. Contract is void. Debt cleared."
The relief that washed over us was so potent it felt like a spell. Elaina slumped against Boldwyn, who let out a long, shaky breath he seemed to have been holding for an eternity. The hero finally released the death grip on his sword, his shoulder sagging.
The chains that had erupted from the ground began to recede, sliding back into the earth as if they had never been. The shifting form of the Lord of Chains' main avatar began to dissolve. His chains slithered away into shadows of the city like a legion of metallic serpents. The towering humanoid figure in front of us was no more... yet all 3 masks remained for a moment longer.
"Well played, otherworldler! Well played indeed... though, of course, the mistake was known in advance. Yet, someone had to point it out, you know! Try not to get yourself killed before we can have another such... discussion!", said the comedy mask, before it began to fade from existence.
"Wait!", I said.
"Speak", said the emotionless voice.
"I'd like to get a legal document that allows me to do something... normally punishable. Would that be okay? As a compensation for moral damages to us."
The Price, probably reading my thoughts, conjured a document in front of me that I grabbed... heh. Nice. Exactly what I wanted.
Finally, the presence of a deity was no more. The chains were nowhere to be seen; the masks had vanished from existence. The unnatural silence was replaced by the normal, eerie quiet of a deserted city district. We stood there, in the middle of the square, for what felt like a full minute, none of us saying a word. The only sound was the distant, panicked shouting of citizens who started to flood the city as evacuation was, seemingly, called off.
I can't blame Alaric and his friends. Until I noticed that small mistake, I was sure we are done for.
Baldie was the first one to break the silence. He let out a low whistle.
"By the Shattered Storm's last thunderclap... I need a drink. Several. A whole barrel."
"I... I think I need to sit down", Elaina murmured.
Alaric just stared at the spot where the deity had been a minute ago.
"We... we just argued with a god. And won", he looked at me with a strange mix of awe and confusion on his face.
"In my world, there's a saying: sometimes, a pen is mightier than the sword... especially when the pen is wielded by someone who is forgetful, like the poor priest who forgot the 'II'."
The moment of triumph was short-lived. We all turned our heads in unison towards the Lord Mayor's mansion. I may have saved him twice already, but this arrogant fool needs to pay. Nobody, and I mean it. NOBODY gets to gamble that hard using me. And with the document The Price gave me... Dyeyong is going to wish he had died young.
We found the man exactly where we left him, still sipping his tea as if god didn't just descend upon the mortal realm outside his window. He looked up as we filed back into his study. He wasn't surprised how grim we looked.
"Ah", he set his cup down with a delicate clink, "I take it from your dour expressions and continued existence that our mutual... problem... has been resolved?"
"You...", my voice was low and dangerous, "you knew. You knew the contract was flawed. And yet, you sent us. You gambled our lives on technicality you were too cowardly to use yourself."
The mayor's smug facade faltered for just a second before he plastered on a thin smile.
"A man in my position must use all the tools at his disposal. You were just a convenient tool – one that owed me, no less. Your debts are cleared, and you are free to go. A fair trade, I'd say."
Alaric takes a step forward. He rests his hand on his sword's pommel.
"A fair trade? You used us as a shield against a god! We could have died, and your precious citizens that you probably don't care about anyways could be taken with us!"
"And yet, that didn't happen, as I see. All thanks to my clever maneuvering. You have your pardon and free night at any inn you want. I suggest you take it and leave my city by dawn. There is much rebuilding to be done, and your presence is... disruptive. Our business is now concluded"
So much for "Are you sure you don't want to stay?", huh. His audacity was breathtaking. So, he was the hero of the hour. I felt the urge to give him a second silver poisoning. This time permanently.
Boldwyn laid a heavy hand on Alaric's arm, stopping him from drawing his blade.
"He's not worth it, kid. He's right about one thing. Our business here is done", the dwarf fixed the mayor with a glare that could strip paint. "But remember this day, Your Lord-Mayorship. You wagered a city and called a bet with someone else's coin. The Fate Playwright has a longer memory than any contract."
"Haste. Haste", I whispered.
Dyeyong was smiling at Boldwyn's words. He was not, however, smiling, when my fist connected with his face, sending him flying through the window. Followed by surprised, yet approving glares of Witch-hat, Baldie and Alaric, I jumped down. It was only a two-story drop, so, as a human from this world, he was still alive... I, however, with my ordinary Earth-human body, had to use Slow Fall to avoid breaking my legs. I did look cool during the descent, though.
"The hell... are you doing?! I just pardoned you, and now you assault me, you ungrateful f*ck?!", the anger was consuming him, but it was nowhere near mine. "I will make sure you rot in the dungeons, Saint or not! You dare break the law in this holy city consecrated to its very concept?!"
"Shut the hell up, you degenerate!"
I produce the document The Price made for me as "compensation". In His glowing script, it says plain and simple: "The bearer of this document, the Harmony Adept, is hereby granted the right to visit any action upon Mortan Desbet Dyeyon II, conditional upon said individual remaining alive and physically unharmed thereafter." There was some other text, but it was irrelevant.
"So, I'll beat you up real good, and then heal you back... seems like I won't be breaking any law after all, mister Hero-Of-The-Hour."
The expression on his face changes. The burning wrath was replaced by howling fear. He scrambles backwards, dragging himself along the ground. Not so noble now, are you?
Before he can even think about standing up to run – not that I would have any troubles catching up – I kick him in the stomach. Enhanced by 4 times my normal speed, the kick undoutedly broke several of his ribs. He curls into a ball, holding his stomach. Really now? The pain you were willing to inflict on your people is so much greater.
No, beating is not enough to teach this scum his lesson. You're a man of the law and paperwork, are you? Well then...
"Get up", I command. "We're going back to your study."
"W-what?"
He stares at me, eyes wide with a mixture of pain, disdain and utter confusion.
"You heard me. Get up. Or I'll drag you. And I promise, every single step on those stairs will be a memorable experience. Cure Wounds."
Reluctantly, he follows me back in his study. My party, who already exited the building, follows close behind. Elaina looks apprehensive, Boldwyn amused, and Alaric... Alaric just watches, his expression unreadable. He doesn't stop me.
In the study, I find a fresh piece of paper and a quill. I don't bother with the legalese. I write in plain, simple Common: "I, Mortan Desbet Dyeyong II, Lord Mayor of Othburten, hereby officially confess to the crimes of gross negligence, attempted mass murder via divine contract, and being a generally irredeemable asshole." I shove the paper and quill at him.
"Sign it. It's the least you can do. I won't force you to resign... even if it's what you definitely should do."
He stares at the words, then at me.
"This... this is slander! Extortion!"
"Sign. It."
"I won't! You can't kill me anyways! It would violate the document The Price given you!"
"Oh, please. I can come up with something worse than death. The document just says you must remain 'alive and physically unharmed thereafter', doesn't it? So, let's say, I Plane Shift you in another world, a void where you will be trapped for eternity, all alone. You will be alive and unharmed... but you'd surely lose your mind and wish for death within a week. And it would all be legal under your god's decree."
I am bluffing. I wouldn't have the guts to leave a man to die, even if I hate him... it's not a self-defense at this point. Yet, he wouldn't have any idea what kind of man I am.
"You... you little-"
"Sign. It."
The command leaves my lips with a force that doesn't feel entirely my own. For a split second, the air in the room chills. I can only imagine it is The Price... at least, I hope so. The alternative – that this power was indeed mine – would be far more troubling.
He flinches, grabs the quill, and scrawls his name at the bottom with a shaking hand.
"Good", I say, snatching the paper back. "Now, here are the terms of your new civic duties. You will personally oversee the rebuilding of every single home, shop and street destroyed by Alaric and Seraphine today. You will fund it from personal fortune first, before touching a single coin or whatever currency you use, of the city's budget. You will house and feed every displaced citizen at your own expense until their homes are restored. And you will do it with a smile. Because, I promise you, by The Price's name, if I hear even a whisper of complaint, I will have this confession delivered to every noble from Sanctus Spire to Sundered Wasteland."
"I may even tell it to the Demonlord themselves, when we'll come to their lair in order to slay them", I add, as I finish a second copy of the terms and thrust it towards him.
"My... my entire fortune? That will ruin me!"
His face is ashen.
"Ruin is a state of mind", I reply with a smug smile. "You'll still be breathing, which is more than you were willing to grant the people outside. Besides, your god shared some 'wisdom' with me during our debate. Perhaps, you'll learn to appreciate nothing. Consider it a lesson in responsibility. And leadership. And basic human decency, while we're at it."
As if forcing himself, he signs both the original document and a copy I made. I stand up, folding the confession and the copy, and tuck them into my robes alongside The Price's document. If I ever encounter this guy again, I will sure use my right if he failed to be even a slightly better mayor.
"Our business is now concluded."
We leave him there, slumped in his expensive chair amidst the ruins of his own hubris. I don't think I ever was this angry at anyone... as they say, there's the first for everything.
The city streets are beginning to stir with life as people emerge from hiding. It turns out a lot of citizens were not evacuated... just as I thought. Dyeyong was willing to let them die. The air smells of dust and ozone, but the oppressive dread of the divinity is gone. We find an inn that somehow escaped both the rampage of 2 warriors, and the descent of the chains. The innkeeper, a wide-eyed man who clearly recognizes us, doesn't ask for payment after one look at our faces. He even cleared out entire inn for us... though its emptiness did little to improve my mood.
The moment we enter and the door closes behind us, the adrenaline finally crashes down. I collapse against the wall, sliding down to the floor. Hands won't stop shaking. Boldwyn lets out a long whistle.
"Dog bo- Kai", Boldwyn caught himself. "When you decide to stop being a background character, you really don't do it by halves, do you?"
"I think I'm going to be sick...", Elaina murmurs, sinking heavily onto a chair.
Alaric was quiet for a long time, staring out the window at the damaged city. Finally, he spoke.
"You didn't kill him."
"What?", I look up.
"Back there. With the mayor. You had every right. You said it yourself. You could have done it, legally, as long as you technically leave him unharmed. I... I just fail to understand. I never saw you, – or anyone, besides maybe High Inquisitor – this angry... but you just... gave him paperwork", he turns to look at me, and for the first time there is no disdain, no competition, just genuine, baffled curiosity. "Why?"
Alaric, poor Alaric... too naive for his own good. He may have become a bit smarter and more skilled this day, but he still sees things in black-and-white. I let my head thud back against the wall as I close my eyes.
"Because killing him would not give me pleasure. Do you believe in afterlife?", He nods, to which I respond in a manner only a modern human from Earth could. "I don't. I personally believe that when you die, you just disappear. That... would never teach anyone anything. The best I can do to a man like him is to make him do his goddamn job."
The room fell silent again, absorbing this.
"Besides", I add, "I'm not a hero. You are, even if you are not the 'chosen' hero. Me? I'm a... what did that crazy woman call me again? A 'walking blasphemy' with a talent for rolling the dice and a serious aversion to being used. I just play to my strengths."
Boldwyn barks a laugh.
"Aye. I'll drink to that."
He takes one of the bottles from behind the bar and pours himself a drink... well, we just saved the city, so, I guess, this one is on the house. As he takes a long swig, he slides a glass of whatever it is to me. I take it. The liquor is harsh and burns all the way down, but it steadies my nerves.
We secure 4 rooms, 1 for each. It feels nice to actually be treated like a hero for once... strong words for someone who just said "I'm not a hero", hah... I lay on the bed which feels like paradise after the day I've had.
That won't do. This entire day has been a nightmare. From a duel where I first ended – albeit temporarily – an innocent man's life, to miraculously saving this scumbag from silver poisoning, to being almost killed by Seraphine, to being almost... whatever The Price was going to do to us... that won't do. I might be unable to combat gods, but I shouldn't be so defenseless against humans. I need to become stronger.
But how? It doesn't seem like this world abides generic cultivation novel rules, or RPG novel rules. Even though I am an Isekai protagonist, – even though I'm not a "chosen one" – I don't have a level, rank, realm or other stupid arbitrary numbers I can raise... I guess, I'll just have to experiment a lot next day. I need to find a perfect Spell that can be used against people who are faster than me, and powerful enough to combat people stronger than me... yet not a high-level one... eh, that's a problem for future me. Present me just wishes to sleep. What happened to the light-hearted journey where I complain about everything in a satirical manner? I honestly wish it would return to that.
Exhaustion claims me as I finally close my eyes. I am not religious whatsoever, but... if some god of this world hears me, please, let tomorrow be a better day.