“…Technically speaking, you’ve met the bare minimum requirements of the contract, so you haven’t violated anything.”
One of the clauses in the contract was straightforward:
[■■ must collect souls on behalf of ‘Death’ at least once per month.]
[Souls must be collected within one week of receiving the location, and ‘Death’ must factor in ■■’s position and travel time, ensuring it’s within a reasonable distance.]
Even after disappearing, Raven had continued collecting the souls assigned by Death without objection.
…Though in truth, Death only handed him a few tasks during the early stages of his disappearance, eventually stopping altogether—watching silently to see how long Raven would remain hidden.
“Still, the real issue is that you’ve done nothing for the past ten years to achieve the ‘goal’ you extended your life for. Even though you already know your final target’s face and location.”
“…That was always just the surface-level justification for the contract—and you know that.”
Why act like this was some shocking revelation now?
While slicing apart the monster’s corpse with his knife, Raven gave a faint nod. His voice, like his attitude, was laced with scorn.
“The true purpose of my contract is ‘the complete eradication of portals,’ isn’t it?”
The clause stating the contract would end once he killed his final target existed solely to let him choose when to die. From the start, it was designed so he could stay alive until every portal was wiped out.
Lucky him—his final enemy wasn’t someone who died easily, making that condition possible to exploit.
‘Actually, “complete eradication” is putting it nicely. It’s more like “take responsibility for the portal catastrophe.”’
But in the end, it amounted to the same thing.
After wiping down the magic stone extracted from the monster’s corpse, Raven pocketed it. Gesturing toward the portal’s core with his blade, he smirked crookedly.
“And right now, I’m closing portals. You’ve got no reason to interfere.”
So leave.
Even if I stay hidden, speak to no one, and vanish for ten years, when the time comes, I’ll kill that bastard—and this ends.
“…We’ll see.”
Despite Raven’s sharp tone and thinly veiled hostility, Death’s expression remained neutral.
“Do you seriously think shutting portals on your own will change anything? That’s why you trained disciples, isn’t it?”
“…But I failed.”
“I wouldn’t say you failed entirely.”
“…?”
“All your disciples became major players.”
The president of the Awakened Association, the president of the Soul Fragment Association, the president of the Sorcerers’ Association, the president of the Warriors’ Association—and one more, who now pulled the empire’s strings from the shadows.
Reflecting briefly, Death reviewed each of their current statuses. Though his gaze faltered for a moment, he feigned ignorance and pressed on as if nothing had happened.
“A basic system to handle the portals has been established around them. Smaller towns still struggle, but major cities, including the capital, have managed to endure the portal crises decently.”
“…And what’s your point?”
“Go find your disciples.”
Death smiled.
He’d seen Raven’s disciples gather, building that windowless room—but so what? It was all a product of Raven’s own actions.
Seeing Raven unmoving, he added:
“See how your past efforts have shaped the present. Figure out what’s lacking—and redefine your goal. At the very least, visit your youngest disciple. The solution to the portal disaster lies with him.”
“…Why?”
“To solve a problem, you return to the beginning. You know that—though you keep asking pointless questions.”
“…”
The youngest disciple… No, calling him that wasn’t right anymore. Raven didn’t want to face Deceiver—not until it was time to kill him.
…But there was no avoiding it. Rubbing his eyes with frustration, Raven sighed.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Is that all you came to say?”
“No. Now for the real reason I’m here.”
“…?”
“After watching you squander ten years, I had to step in. There’s no guarantee this won’t happen again. You might even decide eternal life’s not so bad.”
As Death spoke, a creeping sense of unease spread across Raven’s face.
It reached its peak when Death curled his lips into a slight grin.
“Let’s make a bet.”
…There it was—the worst-case scenario.
Raven’s nerves spiked. He instinctively backed away, eyes locked onto Death without blinking.
After a tense silence, Raven tilted his lips into a sharp, mocking smile.
“Nothing good ever comes from dealing with you. Now you’re trying to drag me in deeper? I’d have to be an idiot to agree to a one-sided bet.”
“If you win, I’ll revise one of your contract’s conditions: ‘Your body’s time is frozen.’”
“…”
“Want me to spell it out? I’m talking about the clause preventing your wounds from healing—the one you abused to reinforce your body.”
[From the moment the contract was signed, ■■’s body time was frozen.]
Good for immortality in terms of “not aging,” but it also meant injuries never healed. Originally, wounds mended upon resurrection, but Raven exploited that, killing himself whenever something annoyed him, forcing Death to rewrite the clause.
Now, even if Raven resurrected, only the fatal injuries healed—the rest lingered. It was maddening.
Raven’s gaze faltered, the flickering green of his eyes dimming into a dull, gray haze before returning to normal.
“…You’ll loosen the condition to how it was before?”
“No. You’d abuse it again.”
The question meant Raven was considering it. He was nearly convinced.
Death smiled faintly.
“I’ll let injuries deemed permanent by human standards—like lost limbs—heal upon resurrection.”
“…And if you win?”
“I’ll place a cap on your indefinite life extension.”
“Details. Now.”
Vague terms weren’t acceptable.
What if Death declared, ‘The limit is now,’ and snatched his soul on the spot?
“I’ll rewrite the clause so you get ten more years, counted from when the bet ends.”
“That’s still absurdly unfair… And besides, I wouldn’t call the last ten years a waste.”
“You’ve stretched your life by 150 years. The world’s balance is cracking under that strain. And if we’re talking about waste—what’s more wasteful than obsessively doing something you know is pointless?”
“…”
Harsh words—but hard to refute.
Yet… Raven’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re saying it’s been 150 years?”
“Yes.”
“Oh…”
He’d never bothered counting—but he hadn’t expected the number to be that high.
…He was what, twenty-four when he signed the contract?
“I’ve definitely… lived long enough.”
“Then—”
“But that’s one thing, this is another.”
Despite signs of earlier agreement, a mischievous grin stretched across Raven’s face.
“What if I refuse the bet?”
Death, clearly unprepared for a rejection, blinked before chuckling softly.
“Brave words—for someone living by my grace.”
“No, no. It’s a legal contract with strict terms. ‘Grace’ doesn’t apply.”
“Don’t forget who holds the upper hand.”
“That only matters after I die. Until then, I have no reason to fear you.”
“Have you forgotten what happened when I reinterpreted your terms? Or worse—what if I got annoyed, ignored the contract, and just took your soul?”
“You know you can’t.”
Ignore the contract?
Ridiculous.
Raven snorted, shaking his head.
“If that were possible, you wouldn’t bother using bets to modify the terms. You can only interfere with the dead. You can’t touch me—until the contract ends.”
“…”
“And even if you reinterpret it… what’s the worst? Some extra inconvenience? As long as I can move, I’ll manage.”
The contract only ended once his “goal” was fulfilled. Even if crippled, Death couldn’t trap him completely. As long as he could function, he’d push through.
“…You…”
Death’s presence flared, irritation evident as Raven countered everything.
Meanwhile, Raven’s flickering green eyes dimmed entirely, revealing dull gray irises.
In that dark gaze, a low, cold voice sounded:
“Do you really think that body’s alive?”
Raven’s eyes—completely gray, blind by appearance—gleamed faintly as he laughed.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Exactly because his body was alive, his soul felt so trapped.
He theatrically spread his arms, as if daring Death, a faint smile curling on his lips. His tone turned playfully bright.
“If it’s standing here, full of vitality, how can you call it dead?”
Death froze, startled by the sudden shift to formal speech.
No—it wasn’t the formality. It was the words themselves.
“The flesh hasn’t rotted, the blood still flows—how can the living be treated as dead?”
…A line from a funeral song.
A song born from desperate pleas to spare the soul of a loved one—not yet gone. And Raven quoted it shamelessly.
Death’s disbelief deepened, but Raven continued, reciting the lyrics like poetry, a sharp smile carved onto his face.
“It’s far too soon for you to come for me.”
In that moment, Death understood.
That playful tone was masking pure madness—born from a soul long since broken.
“I accept the bet. So if that’s all—leave.”
The hopeful plea to delay by three days had been replaced by a bold, arrogant demand.
Death, silent for a moment, let out a dry laugh.
“…So you planned to accept all along.”
“Well, yeah.”
At 174 years old, he’d lived long enough. The reward for winning wasn’t bad—and crossing Death further was pointless. Besides, Death clearly wasn’t leaving empty-handed.
If he won, Death wouldn’t nag about his extended life for a while.
‘With this wrecked body—even elven remedies couldn’t fully mend—this helps.’
Even small relief from injuries was worth it.
He only played hard to get to deny Death the satisfaction of easy victory.
“Aren’t you curious what the bet is?”
“No need. You’ll tell me eventually. Just send a raven later.”
“…I’ll tell you now.”
Watching Raven rub at his eye relentlessly, Death eased his presence.
At that cue, the dull gray eyes reignited with an eerie green glow. Death caught that unnatural shine—inhuman—and spoke slowly.
“I know you had a guardian spirit even before our contract.”
“…?”
The hand pressing at his eye froze mid-motion.
Why mention that now…?
“Do you know your guardian spirit’s true name?”
“Ah.”
No way…
As if reading the same thought, the guardian spirit stirred for the first time in ages, sending a message:
[The guardian spirit ??? frowns.]
“Your task is to discover the guardian spirit’s true name.”