"[angry]Is this all you've got this month too?" Cold rain pelted the cobblestones of the old district. Down on one knee in the muddy back alley, Leon Crawford looked up at the leather pouch thrust before him. Inside were a few copper coins. Every last bit of wealth he'd managed to scrape together this month. "[cold]Principal's twelve gold coins, interest is three. Fifteen total. Your monthly payment is thirty silver coins. At this rate, how many days' worth is that?" The debt collector Vincent flashed a grin, white teeth gleaming. Behind him stood three rough-looking men. Beneath their rain-soaked cloaks, the dull glint of brass knuckles was visible. Leon bit his lip. His dull blond hair clung to his forehead, plastered down by the rain. The old scar on his left cheek twitched. His thin eighteen-year-old body, wrapped in patchwork leather armor, trembled. *(Again. This is all I have.)* He pictured the request forms posted on the guild bulletin board in Ferkete. As a G-rank, the jobs he could take were, at best, herb gathering or exterminating rats in the sewers. The rewards ranged from five to ten silver coins. To pay back thirty a month, he needed to complete three to six jobs. But even that wasn't enough. If he failed a request, compensation fees got piled on top. That was the "Adventurer Liability Law" of this country, the Kingdom of Forsten. Every mistake became the contractor's burden. And Leon was naturally clumsy—he'd overlooked traps, mixed up medicinal herbs with poisonous ones, let monsters escape into the city during simple extermination requests... He'd messed up more times than he cared to count. Thanks to that, his debt only kept growing. "[sarcastic]Ah, right. I saw it at the guild reception desk. You failed another request, I hear." His underlings chuckled low in their throats. "[cold]Herb gathering in the Growden Forest, wasn't it? A simple job even a G-rank can handle. And yet you tripped and nearly fell off a cliff. What an idiot." Leon couldn't argue back. He had indeed tripped. To be precise, he'd found a young beastfolk child crouching on the cliff's edge, tried to help, and lost his footing. The child was saved, but all the herbs he'd gathered were swept away by the river. The request was marked as a failure. *(Not that anyone would believe me.)* Vincent jerked his chin. "[cold]Do it." The next instant, a heavy blow sank into Leon's stomach. His breath caught. As he staggered, a second man slammed him against the wall. The cold sensation of stone shot through his back. A third grabbed him by the collar and rifled through his pockets, pulling out the remaining four copper coins. "[cold]Next month, I'll be taking a finger." With that, Vincent spat onto the wet cobblestones. Then, as he turned to leave— *Splash.* A loud, dramatic splash echoed through the alley. Vincent had stepped straight into a puddle. And it was apparently quite deep—soaked up to his knee. For a moment, he stood frozen, face blank with confusion, before turning bright red and shouting. "[angry]Dammit! What the hell is with this puddle?!" His underlings desperately stifled their laughter. Leaning against the wall, Leon watched the scene in a daze. *(...I don't know if I'm allowed to laugh.)* Clutching his aching stomach, he let out a small breath. The rain still showed no sign of stopping. --- Ferkete Canalberg Branch. The three-story stone building loomed against the night darkness. The courtyard out back was overflowing with broken equipment, old used-up request forms, and junk no one knew the purpose of. Commonly known as the trash dump. Leon sat slumped against the wall. Every breath made his ribs creak. His left eye was swollen, only half-open. Rain seeped into his wounds. "...It hurts." He murmured quietly in a place where no one was around. This city—Canalberg—was a commercial hub sprawling along the middle reaches of the Rugen River. It housed a hundred and twenty thousand people and bustled with river trade and the adventurer industry. But Leon was in the old district. An area now called the slums, where rent was thirty copper coins a month. Even that, he often fell behind on. *(Maybe... I've reached my limit.)* Vincent's words from earlier crossed the corner of his mind. —*If you can't pay up like this, it's a slave contract.* This country had a "Slave Contract System." Those unable to repay had a magical contract seal carved into their necks, forcing absolute obedience to their employer. Defying orders caused excruciating pain. Legally, it was called a "labor contract," but in reality, it was no different from slavery. *(Anything but that.)* Leon clenched his trembling hand. That was when it happened. At the edge of his vision, something gleamed. "...?" He lifted his head. Deep within the pile of garbage, something emitted a metallic luster despite being drenched in rain. A black leather cover, a silver lock—it was unmistakably a "book." *(Why is something like this here?)* Leon slowly rose to his feet. Drawing closer, he saw that the old tome was mysteriously dry. Raindrops were repelled from its surface. A fairy tale he'd heard from someone long ago flickered through his mind. *The Seven Great Grimoires.* Seven grimoires with will and personality, said to have appeared simultaneously about eight hundred years ago. One alone could destroy a nation, and its contractor could draw upon mana like a river. But to commoners, that was just a fairy tale. *(Still, somehow... I feel like it's calling me.)* It was an intuition he himself couldn't explain. Leon stretched out a trembling finger. The moment he touched it— *Click.* The silver lock unfastened on its own. "[surprised]Huh?" The next instant, the old book emitted light. A jet-black aura surged upward, blasting away the pile of garbage. Leon's body flew about three meters through the air and slammed back-first into the stone wall. His already aching ribs screamed even louder. "[crying]That hurts! Why have I been slammed into a wall twice today?!" Tears in his eyes, he looked up at the sky to see a pillar of jet-black light stretching toward the night sky. Eventually, the light converged. Standing there was— A girl. No, that was his first thought. But it was wrong. She was certainly small, about a hundred and forty centimeters tall, but her presence was overwhelming. Her long jet-black hair swayed gently despite the lack of wind. Her skin was translucent like white porcelain, and in stark contrast, her eyes burned a fierce crimson. Her slender body was clad in a black dress adorned with deep crimson embroidery. Silver chains decorated the hem, producing faint metallic sounds. She slowly looked down at Leon. "[cold]Well, this is the worst." A voice like a ringing bell. But it held no warmth. Her crimson eyes crawled over Leon from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, observing him. Her gaze was as if she were looking at trash. "[sarcastic]You're beyond pathetic. G-rank? You're joking. Are you sure you're not rankless?" "[surprised]Wha—what are you saying..." "[cold]I am the 'Black Apocalypse.' One of the Seven Great Grimoires, a spirit who guides her contractor to become the strongest." The Seven Great Grimoires. So it really wasn't just a fairy tale. She—Lilia—grabbed Leon's wrist. Contrary to her appearance, her slender fingers were as strong as steel, and her body temperature was hot enough to burn. "[cold]Do you understand just how miraculous a thing you've stumbled upon? Right now, in this world, there are almost zero humans capable of becoming a contractor. Normally, a grimoire chooses its partner. But this is..." She paused for just a moment, narrowing her crimson eyes. "[cold]Well, it was a coincidence. I just happened to be bored, so I answered. That's all." "[angry]I don't understand what you mean! Let go!" He didn't even have time to shout. Searing heat shot through the back of his hand. "Gah—...!" As Leon groaned, a black pattern surfaced on his skin. A contract seal. Lilia's slender fingers slid from his wrist to his fingertips, as if checking the brand. The gesture was strangely intimate, and for a reason other than the pain, Leon's face flushed hot. "[gentle]Hmm. The seal's fixation seems fine." The corners of her mouth relaxed just a tiny bit. --- That pillar of light had been visible even from inside the guild building. "[scared]Leon?!" The one who burst into the courtyard was a girl with flaxen bobbed hair swaying. Her large green eyes were filled with surprise and worry. Ferkete's receptionist, Misha Irving. Eighteen years old. Leon's childhood friend. Her white shirt and navy skirt—the receptionist uniform—were soaked through by the downpour. The shirt clung to her skin, faintly showing the line of her shoulders. "[surprised]Misha, your... clothes are..." "[angry]Your injuries! You're all messed up again! What happened?!" Misha cut off Leon's words and grabbed his face firmly with both hands. Her green eyes checked each wound one by one—the swollen left eye, the split lip, the scrape on his forehead. Her fingers were warm and trembling slightly. "[angry]It was the debt collectors again, wasn't it! No matter how many times I tell you, you always try to handle it alone!" Misha's voice seemed about to vanish into the sound of the rain. "[sad]I've been... worried about you this whole time." She said it quietly, then tightly gripped the edge of Leon's jacket. In the rain, the distance between them shrank. A droplet falling from Misha's wet hair landed on the back of Leon's hand. *Plip.* It was warm. For some reason, Leon's chest felt restless, and he couldn't breathe properly. *(...Somehow, Misha feels different today.)* That was when it happened. "[sarcastic]Oh my, planning to scavenge already?" An icy voice sliced through the space between them. Misha looked up. "[surprised]Huh? Wha—who is this beauty?! Where did she come from?! Wait, a spirit...? She's not a beastfolk either... Could she be a ghost?!" With a genuinely confused expression, Misha pointed at the girl in the black dress standing behind Leon. *(Beastfolk, huh.)* In this world, there were beastfolk—the Besta tribe, possessing animal ears and tails. They made up less than ten percent of the population but had long been targets of discrimination. Misha's bewildered reaction was a typical response in this city, unsure how to deal with an unfamiliar presence. "[cold]I am a spirit. Of the highest order, at that. Are you an acquaintance of Leon's?" "[serious]Acquaintance or whatever, I'm his childhood friend! Just who are you?!" The two girls' gazes sparked in the rain. --- The next morning. The guild's front entrance buzzed with activity from daybreak. As Leon was thanking Misha for the previous night, someone suddenly tapped his shoulder. "[excited]Hey, Leon! I saw that pillar of light last night. That was amazing—what the heck was that?" Turning around, he saw a young man with handsome features grinning at him. Senior adventurer Zack. A capable C-rank, he was well-liked by those around him for his bright and friendly personality. Today, too, he wore light leather armor with a well-maintained longsword at his hip. "[friendly]You okay? Your face looks terrible." "[embarrassed]Ah, yeah. A few things happened... I picked up an old book." For an instant. Just a fleeting instant, Zack's eyes narrowed. What surfaced there was, if one had to describe it, a dark light. A sharp, cold gaze that seemed to appraise something. "[friendly]I see. Don't go picking up weird stuff." The very next moment, Zack was already patting Leon's shoulder with his usual good-natured smile. "[serious]Let me know if anything happens, alright?" Watching his retreating back, Leon tilted his head. *(...What was that just now?)* --- That night. A room in the inn "Migratory Bird's Nest." A shabby room