"Employment Contract"
"Party A: Anan Doran"
"Party B: Ash Heath/Igula Bokin/Archibald Harvey"
Clause 1: Party A must ensure the personal safety of Party B.
Clause 2: Party A must guarantee Party B eight hours of rest each day.
Clause 3: Party B has the right to decide their own actions when injured.
…
Clause 39: Party B has the right to refuse unreasonable mating requests.
"Under the premise of adhering to these clauses, Party A can command Party B to do anything, as long as it does not violate the aforementioned clauses."
"Contract Duration: 101 days, starting May 2, 1668, at 19:15, and ending August 10, 1668, at 19:15."
When the three copies of the contract dissolved into golden light and vanished into thin air, the violet-clad Anan pressed a button. Instantly, the restrictive enchanted collars around Ash, Igula, and Harvey's necks were released.
"Welcome aboard," Anan said, spreading her arms wide as if embracing them. "The next 101 days will be an adventure for us all. I'm Anan Doran, head of the Mortuary Bureau. You can call me Director, Miss, or Boss. But personally, I prefer the nickname 'Violet Moth.'" She gestured to the young butler standing silently nearby. "And this is my butler, Banquet Mikalis, the Bureau's second member."
The young butler gave a courteous nod and handed each of them a handkerchief.
Igula took one with a cold expression, using it to wipe his face. Despite outward calm, he seethed inwardly. Time had been too short, and with no choice but to agree under pressure, the "absolute control clause" remained unaltered. Igula had only managed to insert protective measures for their rights.
Anan's reasoning was hard to refute: she needed them for highly sensitive missions. Without control, there was no basis for trust. And without trust, how could she reveal her true objectives?
Ash, meanwhile, stared at the handkerchief in silence before blurting out, "Wait a minute… Is it 1668 here as well?"
"Huh?" Anan tilted her head, picking up on his peculiar phrasing. "As well?"
"We're from the Blood Moon Nation," Igula interjected, his sharp gaze glinting. "By the Blood Moon calendar, today is May 2, 1668."
The revelation that two completely isolated realms shared the exact same calendar struck everyone as profoundly mysterious. Yet no one pursued the thought further. Some mysteries were better left alone.
"One more thing," Ash said. "If these are entirely separate nations, why are our languages and scripts so similar?"
A collective silence descended. Anan, ever sharp, smirked. "I see… The Blood Moon Nation must be a rather uncultured place, then. They've yet to implement basic education?"
Igula sighed. "I won't argue against that first part, but he is definitely an outlier. Please don't lump all Blood Moon citizens into the same category because of him."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Ash muttered, clearly lost.
Red-Hat leader Clio intervened, her voice calm but precise: "The original foundation of all writing comes from the names of arcane spirits. When a mage fully masters a spirit, they learn its true name and pronunciation. This means that any nation dominated by mages will naturally develop similar languages and phonetics."
Anan nodded. "The characters you didn't recognize earlier were likely 'derivative glyphs.' As the years go by, more of these are replaced by new 'core glyphs' derived from recently discovered spirits."
"So you're saying this world has a universal root language?" Ash asked, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. "Then… who created these root glyphs in the first place?"
"An excellent question," Anan replied with a smile. "Every generation of mages has tried to unravel the mystery of arcane spirits. The fact that you're interested means you might one day contribute to this grand pursuit. And, if you follow my orders for these 101 days, not only will you earn your freedom, but you may even gain enough power to glimpse the truth. Trust me, I don't shortchange my people."
Clio, still visibly agitated, suddenly turned to Anan. "Earlier, you said you only used the Gospel Book to track three outsiders, correct?"
"Yes, why?"
"Well…" Clio hesitated. "We've found another one."
At this, a Red Hat escort stepped forward, leading a white-haired girl. Ash and his companions recognized her immediately—the "little drama queen" from the sacrificial ceremony who had kept eerily calm amidst the chaos.
The girl clutched her dress nervously, her big, fearful eyes darting around like a frightened lamb.
Anan's tone melted into a sugary sweetness. "Aww, come here, sweetheart. Let me check your ears to see if you're hurt."
She examined the girl's ear, finding no countdown or markings. Still, if Clio vouched for her, there was no doubt about the girl's identity. Anan used the Gospel Book to confirm further.
The result was definitive: the Gospel Book couldn't trace her past.
Only those who had never lived in the Gospel Nation would have no history to uncover.
"Sweetheart," Anan cooed, crouching to meet the girl's gaze. "Do you remember how you got here? Where are your parents? I can help take you home."
The white-haired girl shook her head timidly. "I… I don't know… Bad people brought me here."
"And before that? Where were you?"
"I don't know… I forgot…" The girl clutched her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I can't remember anything!"
Anan confirmed the truth with the Gospel Book. The girl genuinely had no memories.
"She may have suffered trauma during the dimensional crossing," Clio noted. "Or perhaps the cultists tampered with her mind." She turned to Ash and the others. "Do any of you know her?"
"No," they answered in unison. Even Ash was shocked by his automatic response—clearly compelled by an invisible force.
Anan studied the girl, deliberating. An unknown outsider like this was a serious wildcard. If she couldn't be controlled, she might become a major threat. Yet, children were far more pliable than adults—a potential asset, if handled carefully.
"What's your name, little one?" Anan asked.
"Liss," the girl whispered after a pause. "My name is Liss."
Anan extended a hand, her voice as gentle as honey. "Shake hands with me, Liss. If you do, I'll take care of you. I'll buy you pretty clothes, yummy treats, and tell you bedtime stories every night."
But Liss recoiled, fear in her wide eyes as if Anan's hand were laced with poison.
For a moment, Anan's smile froze, then sharpened. The Violet Moth leaned closer, her tone still sweet but chillingly insistent. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Don't you want someone to take care of you?"
Liss's lips trembled. She looked around the room, eyes scanning each face. Suddenly, she let out a wail and bolted forward—throwing herself into Ash's arms.
"Daddy!" she cried.