The moment that mercenary opened his mouth, the others instantly drew their weapons and aimed them at him.
No one could guess what his wish might be.
If it were the kind of wish—or contract—that endangered them all, then the so-called bond of comradeship between mercenaries would be worthless.
Satan, meanwhile, regarded the Sarkaz warrior with an amused gleam in his eyes.
Once, someone had asked him for a wish: make my annoying teammate disappear.
Satan hated such frivolous requests that reduced life to nothingness.
What if that teammate was also a potential customer?
His original plan had been to provoke a bidding war—whoever paid the higher price would receive the better weapon, the sharper power.
But if the petitioner insisted, Satan could not refuse. His reputation as the merchant who always fulfills a wish was too valuable to tarnish.
So he fulfilled it in his own way. He severed the man's perception of his teammate.
Even if the teammate held a gun to his head, he would never notice—until the bullet claimed his life.
And so, to him, the "annoying teammate" truly had disappeared.
Was that not, in the end, what he asked for?
---
"Speak your wish, my nameless friend."
Satan strolled casually up to the mercenary, ignoring the tense atmosphere.
Hoederer and the others did not dare strike.
Once a contract was proposed, the transaction had already begun.
No one knew how this enigmatic merchant might react if they interfered.
If the man's wish truly threatened their lives, then the only countermeasure… was to make a contract of their own.
In this arena, only a wish could oppose a wish.
The wish would certainly be granted, but the manner of its fulfillment would depend entirely on the price paid.
---
"Can you let me speak once more with my deceased parents?"
The mercenary's voice was low, almost trembling.
Silence fell over the camp.
Though they were comrades, few had ever cared to dig into one another's pasts.
For the Sarkaz, both past and future were often too distant to dwell upon.
"…Of course."
Satan answered smoothly, smile never faltering.
"But you must understand—there are many ways I can fulfill a wish."
He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately.
"Are you certain this is what you want? Not power? Not wealth?"
"I'm certain."
Without hesitation, the mercenary took the parchment Satan offered.
And with the name his parents had given him, he signed.
"…Then the deal is sealed. Your left eye shall sometimes act beyond your control."
Satan snapped his fingers.
The mercenary instantly collapsed into a deep, dream-laden sleep.
"What did you do to him?!"
Ines reacted instantly, sword raised, its tip leveled at Satan.
She did not believe in resurrection. The only explanation in her mind was illusion—this merchant had ensnared her comrade in some kind of hallucination.
"That's why I dislike dealing with people who approach me first," Satan sighed, his smile thinning. "It always makes me feel like some lowly salesman begging for attention. Miss, you wouldn't understand."
Impatience flashed across his eyes.
He snapped his fingers.
Ines's body was hurled backward as if struck by an invisible force, crashing into the tents of the camp.
"I apologize on her behalf," Hoederer said quickly, voice tense. "She's… impulsive by nature. But even so, allowing the living to speak with the dead—it is hard for anyone to believe."
He cast a worried glance toward Ines, relieved to see she wasn't seriously hurt, before bowing his head again toward Satan. He could not afford a conflict with this man whose true power was utterly unfathomable.
"I don't want there to be a next time."
Satan leaned close to Hoederer's ear, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"I don't do business with those who aren't Sarkaz. I have no patience for those who will never be my customers. Tell that fake Sarkaz of yours not to test my bottom line again."
Hoederer nodded hurriedly.
He hadn't even understood what had just happened. There had been no sign of Originium Arts, no surge of power—just a snap of fingers, and Ines had been sent flying.
This merchant's true strength is beyond comprehension…
"How tiresome."
Satan adjusted his immaculate suit, brushing off nonexistent dust.
"I'm in a foul mood. For today, this one deal will be enough. The rest of your supplies—buy them elsewhere. Farewell."
He gathered up the parchment, and in the blink of an eye, vanished.
W sauntered over to the slumbering mercenary, crouched down, and knocked her knuckles lightly against his skull.
"Oi~ still sleeping like a rock, huh?"
Even she suspected Satan had used an illusion. The idea that the dead could truly speak again was simply too outrageous.
"Don't touch him. Let him wake naturally," Hoederer ordered.
He was furious that his subordinate had gone behind his back to strike a deal, but curiosity gnawed at him even more. He wanted to see just how Satan would grant such a wish.
---
In the Sarkaz sea of collective consciousness, two broken fragments of soul stirred.
Drawn by the contract, they were pulled toward a waiting whole—and fused into it.
---
"Hey, you awake? Just what the hell were you thinking?!"
"Didn't think you had the guts, signing a contract of all things."
"That poser… did he really grant your wish?"
The mercenary said nothing. His comrades crowded around, their voices a confused chorus.
Only after a long silence did he speak, his voice rough.
"…Who are you?"
Then his expression shifted. His tone turned sharp, desperate.
"Wait… wasn't I already dead?"
The hardened man who had endured wounds without a sound, who had always kept his silence in the worst of battles, suddenly trembled.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"…Father… Mother…"
---
Incomprehensible.
Kashchey's mood soured.
Ines's reckless interference was one thing—but what unsettled him more was the mercenary's wish.
What is family?
He could not grasp it. His own birth was a mystery, his origin unknowable. Parents? Such a concept was alien to him.
Every time he brushed against that emotion, whenever he tasted even a fragment of it, discomfort followed.
Enough. Such things are irrelevant.
Satan removed his suit jacket, pressing the parchment against his chest.
The name written upon it began to writhe, sinking into his skin as though alive, until it was branded into him.
If you long for your parents… then I shall let them remain by your side, forever.