Meanwhile, in the royal palace, Velmira.
"Princess Emilia has requested your services, Captain Beldroth," a royal scribe commanded from beyond Beldroth's door. "I'm coming in."
The tiny man looked comical sitting at such a large and imposing desk, surrounded by mountains of paperwork.
"The hell does she want?" Beldroth erupted like a volcano at the man who had barged into his office. "I'm being worked to death over here already!"
"Language, Captain. Do not speak about the princess in such a rude tone," the royal scribe said coldly.
Beldroth despised the pompous clowns who were exempt from taxes simply because they were willing to sell their souls and loyalty to the crown. However, Soul Contracts existed for better or worse, and this royal scribe's soul was in the hands of the princess; if she died, he died. At least the pay was supposedly good.
