Chapter 40 – DASHA: Fear and Death

“Sign this.”

“W-what?”

From fear to confusion and then…

“Mmph!”

Dasha pulled him close and kneed him in the stomach. Paul immediately dropped down and clutched his injury as Dasha opened his inventory. A black parchment appeared and gently set on the ground in front of the sputtering Paul. The saliva and blood Paul coughed out did nothing to the magical piece of paper.

“This is the Contract of Obedience,” Dasha stated. “Sign it and you won’t die.”

“W-what—hack!” Paul’s arms supported him, his head tilting up and down from the black parchment to Dasha. “Contract of Obedience…?”

“You will become my servant and will obey my every command. In exchange, I will spare your life.”

“That’s—”

Dasha slammed his foot on his head, glaring down at the man. “Five seconds. Sign it or die.”

The fear escalated and he let out a whimper. “H-how? Where’s the pen!?”

“Your thumb and blood will be the pen.”

Hiiisssss!

Paul cried out as his thumb pressed into the black parchment. What was left was his fingerprint outlined in red. Blood.

[ A Contract of Obedience contract has been successfully made! ]

Dasha could feel the authority he held over Paul. It was like having a live pet who listened to every gesture he gave. Dasha ordered, “Do not speak of this event and go,” and like a dog Paul ran.

‘Now…Alex. What should I do about him?’

Dasha admitted he was cold. But was he cold enough to force him into a Contract of Obedience? Dasha was thorough. He had gathered a version of each contract from the Dark District. The contracts were his contingency. His experiments. His own powers weren’t powerful enough to influence people and the merchants and people of the Abyss weren’t open to letting him into their circles. They figured no one in the early levels could have as many points as him unless they did the special and hidden objectives. It would expose him. Guilds would target and keep watch of him.

If there was one thing Dasha hated, it was people thinking they were above him. Keeping him in check because they were afraid of what he could do.

The system was the same no matter if it was Earth or the afterlife.

Well, no more.

He was going to become the strongest and he would do anything in order to reach that.

“Alex.” Dasha put his arms behind him. He observed Alex’s lidded eyes and weakened constitution. He wasn’t healing nor was he dying. He was in a critical state. “Let’s make a contract…”

“W-what…? I can’t…really…”

“Open inventory.” His fingers flicked through the contracts. “A Blood Pact…maybe that will manipulate memories.”

“H-huh…?” Alex didn’t understand. Of course he didn’t with such a severe injury.

“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. At least you won’t remember that it will.”

***

The sun would rise and fall twice. In between the days, the group helped the injured blacksmiths. His team was filled with nice, helpful individuals, and they possessed the strength to aid in the hammering process, the most physical step. The main objective went along smoothly and small complaints were kept to themselves. Although somewhat stilted and awkward, the completion of the main objective was coming fast.

Dasha did sense trepidation from the blacksmiths. A looming fear that the bandits and ronin were coming and that they would be unable to defend themselves. Fujiwara hadn’t told them that Dasha was assigned to fight the bandits. A wise choice. Potentially, his fellow players would have caught on. Dasha didn’t want to share a drop of XP with them. They were stupid enough to believe his excuse about getting lost. There was no way any of them were valuable if they believed that.

“This steel is tough. Help me with the tempering.”

Yamato, a young boy that was partially foreign, was stuck with Alex. Fitted with his chainmail armour and his typical American enthusiasm, Alex annoyed Yamato to no end.

“I got it.”

“Do you?” Yamato sneered. “Don’t mess up like last time.”

“I won’t, promise.”

Alex was confident. Ignorant. He had no idea what had happened to him. He tempered the sword as instructed, all the while in the presence of someone who had tried to kill him, Paul. Paul was already finished with his sword. He seemed to have decent hand-eye coordination.

An hour later, it happened. The final sword was forged and the main objective was cleared.

[ Congratulations! Gate 3 : School of Muramasa

Main Objective: Help Muramasa’s students forge ten weapons — Complete!

Receive:

500 XP

1,000 PP ]

There wasn’t much friendship among everyone. Sarah and Emma were paired together, and Alex stuck himself to Pauline without considering. So when the return pop-up appeared, it was an immediate click and players left.

“Thank you very much,” Pauline said, the only person to give an actual farewell, before teleporting.

Alex did the same. From his body language, he was slightly uncomfortable from the fact that no one really talked or did anything. Alex sent Dasha and Paul a look.

“Are you two leaving yet?” Alex asked.

“After you.”

Alex shrugged. His index finger went forward and his body disappeared. There was no colour—he was there one second, then gone in the next. Dasha stared at the box.

[ Will you return to the White Abyss? Yes or no? ]

“Paul,” Dasha called out. His new servant perked up. “Let’s go.”

The students of Muramasa seemed confused as Paul got to his feet. “D-do you know where the bandits are?”

“I do.”

The terrain wasn’t terribly complicated. There were only so many locations bandits could hole themselves up.

‘And then there’s also the matter of how far this scenario goes. Just how much of the map can we really explore? I plan to find out.’

***

The forest was a vast landscape. It wasn’t a simple task to navigate through it. Without sufficient food or water, a player could die in it without having accomplished a thing. Dasha wasn’t one of those people. He never, ever got lost because he always created a map of the world around him. Back when he was watching over Alex’s recovering body and drilling Paul with rules to follow, he went out and got a general understanding of the forest. Not too thick, very few wildlife, and not too dissimilar to the forest it mirrored in real life. It was possible to make predictions on which path the bandits took. They were many and the starry night came and went as they explored each option.

It was why he didn’t ignore the main objective and just go for the bandits. If Fujiwara’s estimation was correct, then the bandits would be anywhere in a two hundred miles radius. That was an impossible amount of distance to cover. It was better to get the XP and PP from the main objective and then hunt for the special objective.

But even that took longer than expected. Dasha didn’t like to think he was incorrect but in this case there was a chance he was. He might have—ugh—wasted time.

The sun was back, an orange hue coating the sky along with it. It was time to run and search again. His servant was five steps slower and excruciatingly bad at maintaining speeds. If monsters had been wandering like in the forest in Kishkindha, Paul would have been a liability. Dasha stopped in the middle of running and Paul caught up, panting.

“S-sorry.”

Dasha eyed him up and down. Skinny, baggy-eyed, with acne on his nose and back. A long, unused hooded mage robe of deep, velvety indigo and of thinly magical quality. He was either a shut-in or an office worker without a future, accounting for his limited stamina and short bursts of motivation.

Yet all this time he had been with him, he hadn’t stopped to ask for his name. His real name, not the name he chose to cloak his crimes.

“Tell me, Paul. What’s your real name?”

There was no resisting, only compulsion. “I-it’s…Rick Miller.”

‘The most American of American names. No wonder he changed it.’

No person with a semblance of logic would be a killer and not change their name through the settings. Changing names had no limitations. Location and time were irrelevant. As a matter of fact, Dasha could change his name this instant.

For contracts, names were irrelevant. It was explained to him that they were tied to the soul, and names were merely one aspect of chaining the soul to the contract.

“From now on, you’ll be called Paul.” Dasha faced him. “I expect you to respond to that name and to never change it unless I say so. Got it?”

Paul dropped to his knees, eyes staring at the ground. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You mentioned you started killing because someone was blessed by the gods. Who is this player?”

“The one who killed the Slime Jack. H-he was…he was wrapped in dark energies. He HAD to be amped by some god because that…that wasn’t natural. It was…” Paul shivered, fingers mounting his shoulders. His pathetic eyes were full of fear that gave even Dasha pause. “I was so scared…I-I felt like if someone like that was around that I had no chance here. That just like on Earth, I’d end up a worthless piece of trash without purpose. I…”

‘Thought it would be different this time,’ Dasha finished in his head.

His fingers had signs of wear and his lower body strength was pathetic. His arms did possess a degree of power. Connecting the dots, Dasha stated plainly, “You were a truck driver.”

“Y-you…you’re also…a god loves you, doesn’t he?”

“Does a god love me…?” Dasha wanted to laugh. “In my life, there was not a soul in the world that loved me. So no.”

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