Chapter 132: Contract Market X
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The clerk returned faster than most men could run when money was involved.
He came with two assistants, a lacquered tray, and the expression of someone who had just witnessed a customer walk into a fruit stall and casually ask for the entire orchard.
"Sir," the clerk said, bowing slightly, "the Contract Market acknowledges your intent to seal two separate agreements. Please follow. We will conduct the sealing under Contract God authority."
Auri’s gaze flicked over the assistants first, then the tray, then the clerk’s fingers. Her instincts were simple and effective.
If a man held a pen like a dagger, he was still holding a dagger.
Sekhmet nodded once and followed without hurry.
They moved through a short corridor and entered a sealing chamber that looked like a courtroom that had been designed by an accountant.
A circular platform sat at the center with a stone pedestal, carved with layers of contract runes. Above it, a suspended ring of metal hovered without chains, rotating slowly. Each turn produced a faint hum like a distant choir practicing a single note.
Around the platform were benches and counters. Two guards stood at the doors, their palms marked with glowing runes. They did not look like ordinary guards.
They looked like the kind of men who did not bleed unless they wanted to.
The clerk gestured with practiced reverence.
"This chamber is bound," he explained. "All contracts sealed here are written with the authority of the mid-level Contract God. Once both parties sign, neither party may break the contract unless their strength surpasses the Contract God. If anyone breaks it anyway, the Contract Market investigates, then passes judgment. Punishments vary."
He said the last words like a man listing weather conditions.
Rain, wind, teeth removal.
Sekhmet’s expression did not change.
"I understand," he replied.
The clerk gave a polite smile that said he did not care whether Sekhmet understood. Understanding was optional. Payment was mandatory.
One assistant placed two thick contract scrolls on the stone pedestal. Another assistant set down three ink bowls, a thin-bladed quill, and a small silver knife meant for blood signatures.
Mira stood to the side, calm, eyes alert.
Vera and Vela stood together, wrists still wrapped in those decorative bands that were not restraints but also definitely not freedom.
Sekhmet sat on the bench facing the pedestal.
Auri remained behind him like a second shadow.
The clerk cleared his throat, then spoke as if reciting law.
"We will seal the Bonded Retainer Contract first," he said. "Candidate: Mira of Unknown House."
Mira stepped onto the platform with controlled steps, as if she had done this in her mind a hundred times already.
The clerk unrolled the first scroll, and its surface shimmered faintly as the runes awakened.
"Contract terms will be read aloud," the clerk said. "Any objections must be spoken before signature. After signature, objections become comedy."
One of the assistants coughed once, as if that joke had been repeated so many times it had become tradition.
The clerk began.
"Bonded Retainer Contract. Parties: Contract Holder, Sekhmet Dawn. Contract Candidate, Mira."
Mira’s eyes flicked very slightly at the name Dawn, but she did not react further. She had likely already learned it during the private meeting arrangements. The Contract Market did not keep names secret once money moved.
"Duration," the clerk read, "ten years from the moment of sealing."
Mira’s jaw stayed tight.
Sekhmet remained still.
"Role," the clerk continued, "Bonded Retainer. Administrative and operational duties assigned by Contract Holder, including but not limited to: ledger management, correspondence handling, negotiation scheduling, staff coordination, procurement oversight, and confidential errands."
Mira’s eyes sharpened slightly at "confidential errands," but she did not object. She had chosen this path. She knew the world did not reward innocence.
"Compensation," the clerk read, "monthly base pay: one hundred chaos stones. Quarterly performance bonus: negotiable by Contract Holder. Lodging: provided under Contract Holder’s household. Food and basic medical: provided."
Mira spoke calmly.
"Add one clause," she said.
The clerk looked up, mildly annoyed.
"What clause?"
"Education and cultivation resources," Mira said. "Minimum."
The clerk glanced at Sekhmet.
Sekhmet nodded once.
"Add it," he said.
The clerk sighed like a man forced to write extra lines on an already long receipt.
He tapped the scroll with the quill. Runes glowed, and new text formed smoothly, as if the paper itself was obedient.
"Cultivation Support Clause," the clerk read, "Contract Holder shall provide reasonable access to cultivation resources, training opportunity, and growth-related materials commensurate with the household’s capacity. Minimum provision: monthly access to one approved training method or resource."
Mira’s eyes settled.
Acceptable.
"Protection Clause," the clerk continued, "Contract Holder assumes protection responsibility while Candidate remains under contract, excluding acts of deliberate self-harm or treason against Contract Holder."
Auri’s gaze sharpened at the word treason. She liked that word. It made things simple.
"Confidentiality Clause," the clerk read, "Candidate shall not disclose household secrets, private dealings, or Contract Holder’s personal nature and practices. Violation triggers Contract Market investigation and judgment."
That line made the air feel colder.
Because it was a reminder.
The Contract Market did not care if the secret was business... or monstrous.
It cared only about obedience to paper.
Mira’s lips pressed together briefly.
Then she nodded.
"Exit Clause," the clerk read, "After ten years, Candidate may leave with all earned compensation. Candidate may not take proprietary documents or copied ledgers. Candidate may not recruit household staff."
Mira’s eyes flicked once.
"Agreed," she said.
Sekhmet’s gaze remained steady.
"Termination Clause," the clerk continued, "Contract may only be terminated early under mutual agreement, death, or Contract God judgment."
Mira inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
Sekhmet did not move.
The clerk looked at Sekhmet.
"Do you request any additional clauses."
Sekhmet’s voice was calm.
"One clause," he said. "Obedience to direct orders related to business operations and household stability."
Mira’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not protest. That was already implied.
The clerk tapped the scroll again, and the words formed:
"Obedience Clause: Candidate shall follow Contract Holder’s reasonable orders within scope of retainer duties. Candidate may refuse orders that violate Contract Market rules or require harm to innocents outside lawful defense."