When I answered Byakuya’s questions without hesitation, he closed his eyes for a moment, covering his mouth with his fan as if lost in thought.
Then, to my surprise, he made an unexpected proposal.
“What if I were to form a Spirit Contract with you? Would you accept?”
“You want to make a Spirit Contract with me?”
In this world, spirits like Byakuya—those who possessed exceptional abilities but failed to accumulate enough karma to ascend as Constellations—were known as Spirit Entities.
They were generally regarded as a tier below Constellations, but that didn’t mean forming a contract with one was easy.
Unlike Constellations, who could connect with multiple contractors through Stigmas, Spirit Entities were strictly bound to a one-on-one contract, becoming permanently affiliated with their contractor.
To put it bluntly, a Spirit Contract was essentially an advanced form of a master-servant pact.
But what truly surprised me was that Byakuya was the one initiating this contract.
Normally, players had to overcome a series of trials to receive training in Onmyōdō from him—or, at best, only characters entirely focused on an Onmyōji build could formally take him as a mentor.
And yet, here he was, offering a contract outright.
“Well, it’s not a bad proposal for me, but why would an Onmyōji of your caliber lower yourself like this?”
“Indeed, in life, I once believed myself to be the greatest sorcerer in the Middle Heavens.
But only in death did I realize I was nothing more than a frog in a well.
Now, albeit belatedly, I wish to reach for the moonlight beyond the well—riding the bucket that is you.”
“Quit the poetic metaphors and just tell me what you really want.”
“You lack the magic power and spiritual energy to manifest my full strength.
So, in exchange for using my power, I plan to take karma as payment.
I will accumulate that karma and, one day, rise to the position of a Constellation myself.”
“Do you really think that’s possible? It might not even happen in a thousand years. And ordinary humans barely live past a hundred. It’s like trying to fill an ocean by drawing water from a well with a bucket.”
“I know it’s nearly impossible. But spending eternity in this ‘House of Paper,’ playing make-believe with my fake family, has reached its limit. That’s why I’m betting everything on you, an anomaly in this world.”
I looked at Byakuya’s face, filled with a deep sense of ennui, and fell into thought.
In truth, this Spirit Contract was a massive advantage.
Byakuya wasn’t aligned with either good or evil—he was a neutral entity who merely pursued balance.
Among all Spirit Entities, he was one of the least likely to betray his contractor.
On the flip side, this also meant that if I were in mortal danger, he was highly unlikely to sacrifice himself to save me.
In short, he was a cold and indifferent contract partner.
But even knowing this, I couldn’t just accept the offer without hesitation—it would look too desperate.
So I closed my eyes and silently counted to 100 before finally speaking.
“Alright.
I’ll form a contract with you, Byakuya.
But let me say this one more time—your goal of becoming a Constellation is nearly impossible, and I won’t be offering any help to make it happen.
Keep that in mind.”
“Ah, of course.
I sincerely appreciate your willingness to form this contract.
If you had refused, I was prepared to explain the kinds of sorcery I could offer… but it seems you already know everything.
Now then, before the contract is sealed, let me say my farewells.”
Byakuya lightly waved his folding fan, and in an instant, the beautiful mansion, the butterflies, and even the women all scattered into nothing more than pieces of paper.
I had always known that everything in Byakuya’s dwelling was made of paper, but seeing it firsthand filled me with a sense of life’s impermanence.
In the end, even Byakuya himself dissolved into paper and scattered into the air—before reassembling and attaching himself to my back.
Feeling a slight weight on the stigma on my back, something I hadn’t noticed before, I spoke up.
“Alright, now send me back to where I was. You’re not going to charge me karma for this, are you?”
Of course not.
I’ll send you back immediately.
The countless paper fragments swirling in the air gathered together, forming a massive origami crane.
As I climbed onto its back, it soared into the sky, and in the blink of an eye, I found myself back in the familiar cave.
Then, I suddenly remembered—I had promised to take the night watch, yet I had completely abandoned Iris.
Panicking, I rushed toward the cave entrance.
But to my shock, the real issue wasn’t the night watch—it was the fact that morning had already arrived.
The time I had spent in the House of Paper had felt like less than thirty minutes, but in reality, nearly half a day had passed.
Naturally, Iris was already awake, stretching as part of her morning routine.
Feeling awkward, I spoke with a sheepish tone.
“Ah… I’m sorry. I stepped out for a bit, but I was so tired that I ended up falling asleep.”
“It’s fine.
Realistically, it would have been difficult for you to leave the cave just to take care of business.
Now then, let’s do our best to survive another day.
I’ve already finished my meal, so you should have a light breakfast before getting back in the carrier.
Be careful not to overeat—it could upset your stomach.”
Following Iris’s advice, I quickly finished my meal—barely enough to sustain myself—and climbed back into the carrier attached to the backpack frame.
Immediately, I activated the Constellation’s Awareness and spoke.
“Was there anything unusual last night?”
Actually, that human, Kim Sunghoon, suddenly wandered deeper into the cave last night.
I found it suspicious, so I left your side for a moment to keep an eye on him.
But it turned out he was just sleepily looking for a toilet.
Truly, for someone so powerless, he’s an endless source of pointless trouble.
“I see.
That explains why you didn’t respond when I called for you.
While you were gone, a few lingering spirits appeared and tried to intimidate me.
They kept asking if I could hear the sorrowful cries of my dead younger sister and told me to atone for my sins.
But you already told me that Ines is alive.
I found them unworthy of my attention, so I simply cut them down with my aura.”
Well done.
Spirits like those thrive on ignorance, always trying to provoke the darkest parts of a human’s heart.
I responded calmly with praise, but internally, I was breaking into a cold sweat.
Even though I had dismissed them as mere wandering spirits, the fact that they could perceive Iris’s unconscious guilt about her sister suggested they were high-level wraiths.
They must have been drawn to the yin energy accumulated through her Moonlight Divine Art.
And yet, at the very moment she needed reassurance and protection, I had unknowingly abandoned my duty as her Constellation.
Fortunately, Iris had overcome it on her own.
Still feeling a bit uneasy, I refocused on my role as her human radar, scanning the surroundings—when suddenly, in the distance, I saw hundreds of fist-sized butterflies fluttering toward us, releasing clouds of pink dust into the air.
Unlike Byakuya’s paper butterflies, these were real—which made the sight all the more shocking.
“Nameless King, what in the world is that…?”
Stay calm.
Get as far away from that pink powder as possible.
It’s a sleeping agent so potent that it can knock out an elephant in a second.
I’ll explain why those butterflies exist while we move.
In most battle royale-style games, developers implement mechanics to prevent players from hiding indefinitely in secluded areas without engaging in combat.
This could take the form of shrinking force fields or poison gas, but since such lethal methods couldn’t be used on students, the academy instead relied on sleep powder.
Any student who succumbed to the powder would likely be automatically eliminated and sent back to the Albatross, even if their bracelet wasn’t destroyed.
“So what you’re saying, Nameless King, is that these butterflies are meant to shrink the battlefield and force students into more direct fights? Then who controls them?”
Professor Parkelas, the instructor in Insect Arts.
He prefers locking himself in his research lab, but you must have seen him wandering around the academy at least once.
“So this is what Chief Instructor Maxim meant when he said things would get tougher on the second day.
But putting aside the increased fights, what should we do if an untouched opportunity gets buried under that sleep powder?
Should we just give up on it?”
What a wasteful thought.
Why throw it away?
First, head toward the valley and collect some reedmace (bulrush).
Peel off the stem’s outer layer, then grind the cordyceps root you saved from yesterday.
Use the mixture as a temporary filter.
After that, tear off a piece of your clothing to create a makeshift mask.
This should let you resist the sleep powder for about three hours.
If you prepare extra filters, that powder will become completely irrelevant to you.
“Understood. But if I use a trick like this to bypass the battlefield restriction Professor Parkelas set up, won’t he take issue with it?”
There’s a way around that too.
I’ll explain when the time comes.
For now, let’s hurry to the valley.
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