"I hate this endless war. What on earth are those two rulers thinking? They used to be heroes who fought side by side to defend Kazdel—siblings, no less. How did it come to this?"
"Politics is like that… Didn't you read those textbooks? The ones Mr. Satan risked so much to bring in from the outside."
"Uh… you know I can't read."
"You slacker! We were both taken in by Mr. Satan. I couldn't read at first either, but he gave us books to study from. Why can't you make the effort?"
"Not everyone's like you. You've got a natural gift for learning. You can teach yourself. I can't."
"Didn't I tutor you afterwards? You're just lazy!"
"Alright, alright, stop scolding me. It's not that I don't try—I'm just slow. My brain can't keep up. Still… wouldn't it be great if Mr. Satan became the king of Kazdel?"
"…That's nothing but a daydream."
"I don't think it's so far-fetched. Look—sure, Mr. Satan is stingy about everything, always doubling the costs he spends on us and recording every money in his books. But at least he gives us a way to repay it."
"…"
"At least we have a future. At least we aren't fated to die nameless and forgotten."
"…"
"'Life is the most precious form of wealth.' That was the very first lesson Mr. Satan ever taught us. So why do those rulers trample on our lives so carelessly? Why did our parents have to die, why was our home destroyed?"
"…You're so naïve it's almost laughable."
"You've only read a few more books than me, so don't act like some high-minded intellectual. Haven't you ever thought the same?"
"…Of course I have. But I also know it's nothing more than a useless fantasy."
"…True enough. Mr. Satan has no interest in ruling anyway. He only cares about making deals… But tell me, what kind of price would I have to pay to make him want to be king of Kazdel?"
"…A price you could never afford."
---
Satan returned to camp with Hoederer and W at his side.
"Hoederer, why are you bringing a stranger back here?"
A black-haired woman with the faint trace of Sarkaz horns rose from beside the bonfire, eyeing them carefully.
Just as she began to instinctively check the shadow of the man in the suit—
"Child, if I were you, I wouldn't misuse that little ability of yours to pry into other people's privacy."
Snap. Satan flicked his fingers lightly.
Hoederer and W instantly shifted, ready for combat.
For Hoederer, that small gesture could only mean one thing: the suited man had taken offense at his privacy being violated, and this was the signal to fight.
For W, it was different. Hoederer had protected her countless times, but Satan had once saved her life. She could not allow the two men to clash—she had to stop it.
"Don't be so tense. I'm only protecting my own right to privacy."
Satan raised both hands casually, showing he meant no harm.
The Sarkaz-looking woman—Ines—was unharmed.
"…Forgive me. I may have overreacted."
Ines offered an apology.
She now realized who this smiling man in a suit and high top hat really was.
The devil of Kazdel—Satan.
The bomb-loving madwoman—W—treated that eerie merchant's business card like a priceless treasure.
Ines had once caught her staring at it in a daze.
When Ines tried to snatch the small card to see what had W so entranced, W exploded like she'd swallowed a stick of dynamite—lashing out without hesitation.
Ines never understood. What was so precious about that card?
Not everyone longed to strike a deal with the devil.
She can't possibly be that foolish… can she?
Her wary gaze flicked to the suited man before her.
Her ability had activated successfully, yet the visions she perceived were all wrong.
From his shadow, she saw the warmth of a happy family, glowing like firelight.
She saw a starving drifter, bloated and rotting with the stench of decay.
She saw a Sarkaz warrior praying to the terra, surrounded by blood and madness, and yet filled with an uncanny calm.
But none of these were the "shadows" that the devil of Kazdel should bear.
"Business requires a degree of confidentiality, you know~"
Satan spoke with an easy smile.
Even as mercenaries rushed in to surround him, he remained utterly unruffled.
With so many contracts bound to him, dismantling a mere mercenary band would be child's play.
[You shall die in my stead, someday, unknown to you.]
Such a contract allowed the bearer to perish in Satan's place.
[Your power will falter from time to time.]
Such a contract let Satan borrow the wielder's strength.
[Your possessions will occasionally vanish.]
Such a contract allowed Satan to summon any item owned by the signee.
The truth, however, was that these contracts didn't run on his own energy at all. They drew upon the collective consciousness of the Sarkaz people.
That was his limit—he could only form contracts with Sarkaz.
In short, he exploited the fact that the Demon King had not yet mastered his own authority. He siphoned off fragments of that power, weaving them together with arts he himself understood, to keep the contracts functioning.
Kashchey had spent years preparing for this moment, crafting countermeasures against the Demon King.
After all, that mad monarch had left a scar far too deep in his memory.
Through years of research and war-born familiarity, Kashchey had finally created this special vessel—"Satan."
It might not be enough to slay a complete Demon King. But to disgust him, to weaken him—that much was possible.
---
"This is the arms dealer I called in," Hoederer explained to his subordinates. "You should know the rule: the simpler your wish, the more feasible it is, the less it costs. A straightforward trade of money is cheapest. We just came out of a battle. We need to replenish weapons."
On the surface, Satan's smile was flawless. But within, he was already bored.
Another profitless deal…
To draw customers, he kept his monetary trade prices low.
Yes, he could jack them up, forcing the poor and desperate into contracts. But such a tactic would only poison his reputation.
Kashchey had determined long ago that a mixed reputation was best for survival.
A good reputation meant he would never be utterly alone—there would always be allies, protectors, or hopeful fools.
A bad reputation meant that anyone who sought to harm him had to be ready to pay dearly for it.
Of course, Hoederer's authority as a mercenary captain was enough to keep most of his men from even thinking about contracts.
Contracts were unpredictable, uncontrollable. Their prices too high.
And yet, in any group, there were always some who let desire overwhelm reason.
"…May I pay the price? I wish to make a deal with Mr. Satan."