Menezi was dead. Just as an unknown soldier once said:
"I have fought the good fight, walked the path I was meant to walk, and upheld what should be upheld. And now, the crown of righteousness awaits you..."
Humans are strange creatures. In the darkest moments, it is not water, food, or medicine that keeps them going—it is a sliver of love in their hearts, a flicker of hope. Menezi was no different. But the world does not stop spinning for a single tragedy. Whether they care or not, the living must move forward.
Punk held the parchment Menezi had given him before his death, weighing the unassuming ring in his palm. Hesitation flickered in his mind.
This was no ordinary parchment. Its value exceeded that of even an official-level mage. What Menezi had handed him was a contract under the gaze of the Judgment Eye, an entity that represented absolute justice in the multiverse. Though this version of the contract was limited in scope, only capable of binding official-level professionals rather than those of legend, it was still a treasure of immense worth.
To understand its significance, one must first understand the Judgment Eye itself. It was a god-like entity, a manifestation of cosmic order, a semi-living being fused into the very fabric of law and balance. As one of the two supreme arbiters of the multiverse—alongside Hell Alaya, the collective consciousness of the infernal realms—the Judgment Eye existed beyond time and space, ensuring fairness under the strictest interpretation of justice.
Unlike Hell Alaya, which presides over devil contracts filled with loopholes, deception, and cunning tricks, the Judgment Eye recognized only the purest form of law. Fraud, misdirection, and exploitation were meaningless before it; any who attempted such games would be erased from existence, body and soul.
That was why contracts under its scrutiny were feared and respected far more than those of the devils. But the cost of invoking its authority was staggering—obtaining such a contract required a sacrifice thousands of times greater than any infernal bargain.
Punk glanced down at the parchment, the symbol of a singular, watchful eye carved at its center. A fragment of the entity's power lingered within, ensuring its enforcement. The contract itself was deceptively simple, containing only two clauses:
Punk must do his utmost to escort Princess Nasya to the estate of Duke Nokarei in the Dylan Kingdom.
In exchange, the ring left by Menezi—containing all his accumulated official-level spell knowledge—would be unsealed for Punk's use.
On the surface, it seemed full of exploitable loopholes. The wording was vague, and technicalities could be argued—after all, "Punk" was hardly a unique name in the multiverse, and "open" did not necessarily mean "fully accessible." But no one would dare try to twist the meaning of a Judgment Eye contract. The entity was rigid but not blind—it understood intent. Unlike Hell Alaya, it would not turn a blind eye to deceit.
Punk exhaled slowly. Menezi had been thorough. How he had obtained such a contract was a mystery, but now Punk was left with no choice. Though there were legendary relics like the Filthy Bird Feather that could erase the effects of such a contract, those were treasures that even legendary powerhouses would covet. Punk was far from possessing such a means.
"Trouble is inevitable... but so is opportunity."
He thought of the official-level spells he desperately lacked, of the foundation Menezi had built over a lifetime. His decision was made.
He signed.
With a silent whisper of acceptance, Punk pressed his fingertip against the parchment's eye sigil. There was no grand spectacle, no blinding radiance. The Judgment Eye required no theatrics. It merely was. A trace of its presence flickered in acknowledgment, ensuring that the contract was entered willingly—and then, the parchment burst into pure white flames, its geometric, diamond-shaped embers vanishing into the void.
A faint purple sigil imprinted itself upon Punk's brow, and at that moment, the locks on Menezi's ring crumbled into nothingness.
Standing in the dim glow of the setting sun, Punk studied the simple brass ring in his palm. There had been no tangible sensation in the signing process, yet he knew—should he ever entertain the thought of breaking his promise, an omniscient gaze would bear down upon his soul, warning him with silent, immutable authority:
Do not forget your contract.
Carefully slipping the ring onto his left hand, Punk turned. He had no time to inspect his newly acquired knowledge—Sun Mira and Chicasa had already set, and the night once more blanketed the land. The enemy would soon be upon them.
The two warriors remained motionless, waiting. When Punk approached, their gazes met his, questioning and uncertain. Now that Menezi was gone, he was the strongest among them. Their next step would be his decision.
Punk ignored their silent inquiry, brushing the dust from his hood. His once-pristine robes were now so stained with filth that their original color had long since faded. He extended a hand toward Princess Nasya, who still sat on the ground, trembling from grief.
"Princess Nasya, our journey continues. Do not let your mother and Menezi's sacrifices be in vain."
Nasya lifted her tear-streaked face, her swollen eyes filled with sorrow. Her voice wavered with quiet determination.
"Yes… I must not waste Uncle's efforts…"
She turned, meeting the tearful gazes of the two warriors. The emptiness in her expression gradually faded.
"Let's go."
She reached for her gilded sword, her delicate figure casting a fragile shadow beneath the moonlight. Small, thin, and weary—but within her was the strength to persist. The princess forced a wavering smile.
"I will go on. I promised Uncle Menezi... I will live—with hope."
The final crystal tear slipped from her cheek, vanishing into the dust. It would never be seen again.