Demons are more thorough about contract

The Amrita

Other than that it was a cure-all elixir, I had no knowledge of its origin, ingredients, or the extent of its potency. But as expected of something so rare that only one character was known to have it, everything from the golden luster to the beautifully crafted bottle screamed precious. It even floated majestically above the demon lord's palm.

'If this is a game, that would be something like an end-game reward, probably...'

I couldn't help but gulp. Without realizing it, my body had leaned forward, like I was in a trance. Maybe because I was.

On that small little box was a gleaming hope, a long-awaited moment of being freed from pain. Something that I desperately prayed for in my previous life, until I was numbed of everything and just gave up. Gave up until my body gave in and I faded.

And now it was there, at the tip of my fingers, just by stretching my hands for a little bit...just a little bit...

But I couldn't reach it, for a strong hand grabbed my stretched arm, stopping my finger from touching it.

And I broke.

Forgetting about being tactful, about holding back, I snapped and looked at the demon lord with contempt. Anger. Frustration. Why?

"Why?!" raising my voice should be the last thing I do, but I couldn't hold into any reason at that moment. I glared at this demon, who stood between me and my freedom.

But when I saw his face—more surprised and concerned than offended—a little part of my mind that was still a little bit sober mustered up some conscience. A realization that I was at the mercy of his pardon, and I felt desperation come up into my throat.

"Please...please..."

I begged. In a weak, desperate, broken voice, clutching into him like a beggar asking for money.

It was a pathetic sight—the hero's companions would have a field day if they saw me like this. What about the demon then? Would he laugh? Would he mock me? Would he tell me to sing and dance and lick his shoes while at it?

I'd do it. There was no such thing as dignity for a dying man. So what if I didn't have any pride? Pride didn't prevent the piercing pain I had to endure every morning as I woke up, didn't heal the constant throbbing of my muscle, didn't chase away the needles pricking my organ.

But that golden liquid might. And this demon could.

I'd gravel, I'd kneel, I'd—

"Hey," suddenly my view was covered by a solid chest, and I realized I was pressed into his body, arms circling my back. And then a caress, on my hair, and a gentle pat on my back. "Calm down," low, soft advice flowed into my ears.

I blinked into his chest, slowly feeling my tensed body unraveling between the pat and caress. His skin was cold, but his touch was strangely warm. No, it was strangely familiar. Or was it just my mind that desperately craved contact? It had been so long since someone hugged me—years, since I became too weak to even move from my bed.

Oh, he hugged me.

"Breathe," he spoke again, and I realized I had been holding my breath all this time, too agitated to function my body properly. "I'll give it to you, so calm yourselves, mm?"

Ah...I was quite sure now that the author modeled this man from that doctor. I got it now, why it felt familiar—the gentle touch and the voice pattern when he tried to calm me was exactly like the doctor.

For better or worse, it did work as my body relaxed involuntarily and my lungs worked again, and I pulled away with a burning feeling on my face. When I turned my head away in embarrassment, he grasped my chin so I faced him again.

As I pressed my lips to hide any nervous sound, he scrutinized my face and body, going as far as turning my face here and there. The embarrassment that I felt made everything seem to be moving terribly slowly, and it felt like hours before he nodded in satisfaction.

Satisfaction about what, I couldn't tell.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't give you the entire bottle," he said.

I wanted to react violently, but the embarrassment from earlier compelled me to react more mildly. "Why?"

"Because you don't know how to use it," the bottle was no longer floating, but grasped securely on the demon's hand. "From the look of it, you're probably planning to drink the whole thing."

Eh, why? So I shouldn't?

"You'll die if you do."

...oh. Oh. Like an overdose? I bit my lips, realizing my hindsight about this substance. Of course something this rare wouldn't be that simple. Again, he explained it to me.

"This whole amount is something that had been accumulating for a hundred years. It's a substance that directly impacts one soul. If you ingest more than your soul could take, your soul will explode," he looked at me firmly, like a lecturing teacher. "You understand what will happen if one's soul explodes, do you?"

I actually didn't, but Valmeier knew—it was common knowledge anyway. Simply put, our existence would vanish, not just our bodies. There would be no resurrection, not even in a forbidden way like a lich transformation.

"So this will stay in my hand, and I'll give you the amount you need to fix your mana system. That would be the deal," the bottle vanished from his hand for a while, and he opened up his palm at me, a deep smile on his face. "In exchange, you'll be my bride."

Well...did I really have any other choice?

Maybe, if I had more time to think about it. But he didn't give me the time to ponder much. "You have one chance."

Damn, he really was a demon. I pressed my lips and hesitatingly put my right hand on top of his palm, which he grasped tightly. With his other palm, he covered the back of my hand and suddenly, they glowed.

My eyes widened and I looked up at him, which gazed at me with that moon-like orbs. Again, a sense of familiarity pricked my heart with uncomfortable feelings. I keep telling myself to remain vigilant, to not lose my sense of caution. But those unwavering eyes, that face, the calming smile, all the nostalgic sense and feeling I had about him—about who he resembled—muddled my judgment.

And that thought distracted me from the piercing coldness that flashed on the back of my hand. When the glow between us was gone and I looked down, there was a carving there, in the same dark shade of blue as the pattern on the demon lord's skin, shaped like a circle made of two wings.

A brand. He branded me.

"The contract is made," he informed me, and I realized the same brand was carved on the inside of his palm that he used to brand me.

Well, there's no going back now...

I stared at the brand—the demon contract—for a while. There was not much the humans knew about the demon kind, but one of the things that they knew was about the demon's peculiarity and insistent on contracts. So I guess that one was true. I was quite ashamed, actually, that I didn't think about demanding a proper contract before blurting out my request or my agreement.

But now that the contract was finalized, it meant...

"I told you earlier, that I will only give you a taste," he said at my eager expression, which deflated it.

"A taste?" I asked in disappointment. What was this about? What else now?

He chuckled at my sulking face, and tilted my face again with his cold fingers. "A good medicine should be taken gradually, lest it inflicts more harm than benefit," he said in a tone that could be used to calm children in a tantrum.

That child was me.

I narrowed my eyes, just for the fact that he resembled the doctor more and more. Right, just like proper treatment, nothing could be as miraculous as insta-heal. So I just sighed and nodded.

With a satisfied smile, he gave me a command. "Open your mouth."

I opened my mouth without hesitation as a habit of someone who consumed medicine all his life. But instead of giving me the Amrita, he stared at me silently, with unreadable eyes and a slightly raised brow.

"...what?" I asked after he stayed unmoving for a long time.

"You suddenly become so obedient," the smile was back on his face, a hint of amusement on the way it curved.

I tilted my head slightly at that, staring at him with confusion. I opened my mouth because he told me to; because he would administer the cure orally, right? If people in charge of your drugs told you to open your mouth, you did. If they told you to give them your wrist, you did.

Was it something that warranted a reaction like that?

He put a thumb on my lower lip, and tug it down, so I opened my mouth again. The small, pretty bottle was in his hand again, this time with its cork unscrewed. I watched as the golden liquid tilted to the opening, and my heart beat faster. It was drumming so much in anticipation that I could hear it in my ears. The shimmering golden liquid finally touched the bottle's neck, and it dripped, once, straight into my throat.

And my heart stopped beating.