Chapter 134: Contract Market XII
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"Service Clause," the clerk continued, "Candidates shall serve as protectors and household guards. Duties include: escort, defense, training participation, and tasks assigned by Contract Holder within reasonable scope."
"Training Clause," the clerk read, "Contract Holder shall provide training opportunity and resources. Candidates shall accept structured cultivation regimen. Refusal without cause constitutes breach."
Vera’s eyes sharpened at the word structured.
She liked structure.
It meant their lives would not be left to mood.
"Protection Clause," the clerk continued, "Contract Holder assumes responsibility for Candidates’ safety under household domain, excluding Candidates’ deliberate betrayal, criminal breach of Contract Market rules, or willful acts that invite judgment."
Then the clerk paused.
He looked at the twins.
"And now," he said dryly, "the special clause requested by Candidates."
The room felt like it leaned in.
Even the guards looked faintly amused, which was impressive because contract guards usually had the emotional range of a door hinge.
The clerk read, voice perfectly professional, as if announcing the price of potatoes.
"Intimacy Fulfillment Clause," he said. "Candidates demand recognition of consummation intent."
Mira’s eyes widened slightly in the background before she controlled her face again.
Auri’s expression did not change, but her eyes sharpened as if she wanted to strangle the entire concept.
The clerk continued, completely merciless.
"Candidates request that Contract Holder shall not permanently deny intimacy. Time and conditions shall be determined by Contract Holder, but Contract Holder must not declare indefinite refusal."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Vera spoke calmly.
"We do not want the contract to become a prison where we are never even touched," she said.
Vela added, voice quieter but firm.
"We do not want to die as paper," she said. "We want to be acknowledged as women."
Sekhmet stared at them.
Then he spoke, tone flat.
"I will not force," he said. "Consent is required."
The clerk nodded, and his quill tapped the scroll.
The runes shifted again.
"Consent Clause added," the clerk read. "Any intimacy requires mutual consent. Coercion constitutes breach and triggers Contract Market investigation and judgment."
Auri’s eyes softened a fraction at that.
Vera nodded once.
Vela exhaled slowly.
The clerk continued.
"Non-Transfer Clause," he read, "Candidates cannot be sold, transferred, or reassigned. Contract Holder cannot loan Candidates to other houses. Candidates cannot be separated."
"Confidentiality Clause," he read, "Candidates shall not disclose household secrets or Contract Holder’s private matters. Breach triggers Contract God judgment."
Again that cold line.
Again the reminder.
This paper was backed by something that was not human.
The clerk lifted his eyes.
"Any additional clauses requested."
Sekhmet’s voice was steady.
"One clause," he said. "They serve as protectors. They are not to be treated as ornaments by staff. Any household member who disrespects their status will answer to me."
The clerk blinked, surprised.
Then he tapped the scroll, and the words formed.
"Household Respect Clause: Candidates’ status shall be recognized. Household members must obey Candidates’ authority within protective scope. Violations fall under Contract Holder’s internal punishment rights."
Vera’s gaze sharpened.
Vela’s shoulders loosened slightly.
That clause meant something in Null.
Because it meant servants could not casually bully them behind closed doors.
Now the seal was ready.
"Signature method," the clerk asked.
Vera answered first.
"Blood," she said.
Vela nodded.
"Blood."
Sekhmet did not react.
The clerk offered the knife.
Vera pricked her thumb without flinching and pressed her blood to the scroll.
Vela did the same.
Their blood sank into the paper, and the runes flared brighter than before.
For a moment, Sekhmet felt a faint pulse in the air.
Not his system.
Not his blood control.
Contract authority.
A god’s handwriting being written onto reality.
Sekhmet pricked his thumb again and pressed his blood to the seal line.
The suspended ring above the pedestal hummed louder.
A thread of light dropped and touched the scroll.
The air trembled slightly.
Then two small sigils appeared on Vera and Vela’s inner wrists—matching marks, twin-linked.
The decorative bands on their wrists loosened on their own and slid off like they had never been more than polite theatre.
The clerk rolled up the contract and placed it into the locked case with the first.
"Concubine contract sealed," he announced. "Debt cleared. Candidates bound. Contract Holder responsible."
Then he lifted his gaze to Sekhmet.
"By Contract Market rule," he said, "you may now escort the candidates out. Their movement is legally yours to command under contract scope."
He said it like he was selling furniture.
Auri’s eyes narrowed.
Mira’s hands clenched briefly.
Vera and Vela stood.
Now that the contract was sealed, their posture changed subtly.
Not softer.
Sharper.
Like chains had been replaced by purpose.
Sekhmet rose.
"Come," he said.
Mira stepped forward first, controlled.
Vera and Vela followed, side by side.
Auri fell into position behind Sekhmet, as if the group was a blade formation and she was the edge protecting the rear.
They left the sealing chamber and moved back through the Contract Market corridors.
As they passed the central hall, people watched.
Some with envy.
Some with hunger.
Some with that special Null expression that said, How much did he pay and what did he buy.
A beastkin merchant muttered to his friend, "Three million for two women. I cannot even afford three million for my own bad decisions."
His friend replied, "Maybe he is buying their debt, not their faces."
The first merchant snorted. "Same thing in Null."
Sekhmet did not react.
He kept walking.
Outside the Contract Market gates, sunlight struck their faces again, and the air felt cleaner simply because it was not filled with contract runes and desperation.
Mira walked slightly behind Sekhmet’s shoulder, already watching street patterns, already calculating how to move without drawing attention.
Vera and Vela walked together, eyes scanning with fighter instincts. Even with their family collapsed, even with debt crushing them, they had not lost the habit of reading threats.
Auri moved like a quiet warning sign.
Sekhmet led them through the city.
Along the way, people stared.
Not because he was famous.
Because he walked with a harpy shadow, a sharp-eyed clerk woman, and two Chaos Rank One twins who carried themselves like blades in human skin.
It looked like trouble.
And trouble, in Slik City, was entertainment.
They crossed merchant streets, then the cleaner district, then the road that led toward Dawn House.
As the mansion walls came into view, Mira’s gaze lifted slightly, taking in the scale.
Vera and Vela did not react much to wealth.
Their eyes reacted to defensible architecture.
High walls.
Good gate.
Lines of sight.
Auri’s wings shifted faintly beneath her cloak, as if she was pleased to return to a place where she could breathe without underground stink.
Sekhmet stopped in front of the Dawn House main gate.
The iron bars stood tall, the crest above them catching the light.
He did not enter yet.
He stood for a moment, calm, feeling the weight behind him.
Three new bindings.
One retainer contract.
One twin concubine contract.
A debt mountain paid.
And now he had to bring these women into a house already full of eyes, whispers, and internal politics.
He looked at the gate.
Then he stepped forward—
And the part ended, just before he crossed the threshold.