Episode 5
Lindsay leaned closer to the little flower-bird as it fluttered to her ear, relaying Lionel’s message.
She couldn’t help but smile a little—of course, he copied her the moment she showed him how it worked.
“Yeah. That’s how you can contact me.”
“Witches really do have fascinating ways to communicate. The thing I brought ended up useless, but at least it was a good learning experience.”
He lifted a wooden magic device in his hand.
Lindsay reached for it immediately.
“If you brought it for me, then give it here.”
“…Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
Blushing, Lionel handed it over.
“I’m… actually really happy. The fact that Lindsay wanted something I made—doesn’t that mean good things for us?”
Good things? What the heck is he talking about?
She blinked. She’d only taken it because magical tools were insanely expensive.
Even in this golden age of magic, the average person couldn’t even dream of buying one.
The only magic tool Lindsay had seen in human society so far was enchanted streetlamps.
So, of course, she wouldn’t pass up a freebie.
But she could already feel a headache coming if she asked him to explain. So she changed the subject.
“…Why did you come here anyway?”
Don’t tell me he wants me to absorb more mana already. It’s only been a day—could his corruption have spread again?
“Because I wanted to see you.”
Lionel smiled slyly, fox-like.
Lindsay frowned.
That kind of smile was dangerous—it could lure someone in before they even realized it.
“Yeah, right. Like you’d miss someone you only met yesterday.”
“I really did want to see you. And… I have a proposal.”
He pulled a piece of paper from his cloak.
A contract.
The contract was glowing with magic. It had one clause already written:
“Party A will absorb Party B’s corrupted mana once a day. If an accident occurs, it may be postponed.”
“And… I’m Party A? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Yes. You’re Party A. Great deal, right?”
“…Not even close.”
Sure, absorbing his mana was good for her, but seeing this sly fox every single day? No thanks.
“The blank part below? Fill it with anything you want. I’ll agree to whatever you write.”
“…Can you pick one way to address me already?”
“Understood, Witch.”
“Ugh! Don’t call me that! Do you want everyone to know? Just use my name!”
“…I liked ‘Witch.’ It felt like a pet name. But since you insist, Lindsay, it is.”
A pet name, my ass.
She scowled, then carefully scanned the contract, looking for hidden tricks.
Nope—what was written was all there was.
Lionel just watched her with a glowing smile.
“I honestly thought you’d rip it up right away. Didn’t think you’d take it seriously.”
“You said anything, right?”
“Of course.”
“…Good. I’ve decided how I’ll use you.”
A grin spread across her face as she lifted her finger, writing glowing green words in the air.
The sentences landed neatly into the blank space of the contract, filling it with six full lines.
The paper fluttered to Lionel.
“That’s all I want.”
He read it line by line, slowly.
By the last line, his brows lifted, and he chuckled softly.
“…Isn’t this basically a slave contract?”
“Exactly.”
She nodded with a straight face.
Honestly, Lionel was too useful to just push away—his reputation, his power, his money… not to mention the free mana supply.
Out of sheer decency, she gave him one last warning.
“You’re getting the short end of the stick. You should really think twice.”
“…Funny hearing that from the one who wrote it.”
Without hesitation, he poured his purple mana into the paper.
His violet glow wrapped around the contract, lifting it into the air.
Letters peeled off and swirled around them both.
“The contract is now active. As Party B, I, Lionel Belmonche, swear to uphold its terms.”
He’s really doing it.
Lindsay grinned like she’d just won the lottery.
She infused some of the mana she’d absorbed from him yesterday into the document.
The green light blended with the violet.
“As Party A, Lindsay Monahan swears to uphold the terms.”
The swirling words rushed back onto the page, finishing the last sentence with a neat period.
Lionel declared the penalty for breaking it: binding.
Two copies of the contract split apart, one into her hand, one into his.
Lindsay smirked.
“So, you read the clause about payment before you signed, right?”
“Of course. Escaping my suffering for just one million gold? Bargain price.”
Wow. Big spender.
With her financial problems solved in one go, Lindsay gestured with her chin.
“Alright then. Let’s get to work—clause four.”
He read aloud, smiling:
“Party B will provide up to eight hours of labor per day if Party A demands it. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“…Why eight hours? You could’ve made it twenty-four.”
“Do you seriously think I’d write a real slave contract?”
Truth was, Lindsay had once dreamed of a normal 8-hour workday, five days a week.
Her old office job had wrung her dry with unpaid overtime thanks to shady contracts.
So yeah—eight hours was her hard limit.
“…Well, if my master says it’s not slavery, then who am I to disagree?”
“If you really want to, I can treat you like a slave.”
“With you, Lindsay? I wouldn’t mind.”
She grimaced and dragged out baskets from the storage room.
They were piled high with leaves, roots, and twigs.
She spread out a cloth on the floor, stacking the baskets until they were taller than her.
“Your first task is easy. Each basket has enough for fifty potions. Dump it out, clean and prep the ingredients, then put them back.”
Lionel peered into one basket.
“Cottonwood bark and healing herb… for healing potions.”
“As expected of a Mage Tower wizard. I don’t need to explain how to prep them, right?”
“Of course not.”
He dumped the basket onto the cloth and got right to work, hands quick and practiced.
Lindsay grabbed a basket of her own and sat across from him.
Perfect.
A diligent little worker.
I’ll use you well, side male lead.
As he stripped bark from a branch, Lionel asked, “Business must be good, huh? To need so many potions.”
There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.
In the capital, most people only bought from Mage Tower-certified shops.
Her shabby little place had no certification, no fancy green crystal sign—just her homemade wooden one.
Naturally, customers flocked to her competitor’s store instead.
“Business? Ha. Not at all. Everyone goes to Ohara’s magic shop next door.”
That was exactly why she’d been forced to sell hair-growth potions on the black market.
Normally, she even bought ingredients for mass production.
But now, with Lionel? Problem solved.
She smiled smugly. I’ve basically got a walking sack of gold coins now.
Lionel glanced over the other baskets.
Healing potions, stamina potions, mana recovery, calming draughts… all recovery types.
“…So, you only make healing potions?”
At that question, Lindsay’s hands froze.
