Rest was precious. After everyone else had left, Lolo noticed Anthony still sitting by the bonfire and couldn't help asking, "Master, aren't you going to rest today?"
Anthony glanced up at the little witch. Her face was flushed unnaturally in the firelight. He chuckled softly. "I'm thinking. If the drow won't let a trading caravan with barely any goods enter the city, how do we get into Menzoberranzan?"
Truthfully, Lolo had pondered this too. Three days was far too tight. None of them knew the Underdark well—foraging was out of the question, let alone knowing where to mine.
Without external resources, and with no one except Yoda carrying anything valuable, how could they possibly gather enough high-quality items to impersonate a trading caravan?
This was why Lolo had doubted the plan from the start. But she hadn't objected then.
Anyone could criticize. But without a better solution, she'd chosen silence.
A bad plan was still better than no plan. Maybe the drow were fools?
The thought almost made her laugh.
A race so ruthless even to its own kind wouldn't make such a stupid mistake.
She tossed a log into the fire, watching the flames flicker. Softly, she muttered, "It's fine. Once we're close to the gates, we'll force our way in if we have to. Toss Stinking Cloud, Seduction, whatever—just get inside.
"Most of us are newcomers. The Phase Two Mission should be simpler. If it's just surviving in the drow city for a few days, we'll manage."
Anthony smirked. If this hot-tempered girl knew he'd deliberately raised the difficulty, she'd probably lose her mind.
That'd be amusing.
But he dismissed the thought. He already had a better idea.
"You just reminded me. I've got a solution."
Lolo's eyes lit up. "What is it?"
"Lend me your spellbook. I need a few pages to write something."
Lolo frowned, glancing at the spellbook at Anthony's waist. But she didn't hesitate long before untying it and handing it over, along with her quill.
He was a powerful archmage. The spells in her book were likely child's play to him. A few torn pages meant nothing.
She came from wealth—this was trivial.
Still, curiosity got the better of her. "Master, what are you writing? Why my spellbook?"
Anthony tore out five pages, answering casually, "Something for tomorrow. And why yours? Because I don't want to tear mine."
Lolo nearly exploded. She snatched her spellbook back, forgetting the inkwell entirely, and stormed off to her tent in her calfskin shoes.
What mother said was indeed right, none of these stinky men are good!
Watching her vanish, Anthony smirked. Then he bit his finger and began writing strange symbols in blood.
———
The third day arrived.
The mission deadline loomed close, and the ruthless word "Elimination" had everyone awake early.
Gathered around the bonfire for breakfast, Yoda gave his final rallying speech: "This is the last day. No matter how exhausted we are, we must reach Menzoberranzan today."
Lolo glanced at Anthony, but his face was unreadable, as if he had no intention of speaking.
Curiosity gnawed at her, but she bit back the urge to ask.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Let this cryptic guy explain himself.
But Anthony seemed to have no plan at all. He simply stood and uttered a single, indifferent word.
"Set off."
The Paladin summoned his partner once more. As a 7th-level Paladin, his Celestial Warhorse could only remain by his side for 14 hours a day before the bond severed, forcing it to retreat and rest.
Once he reached the 12th level, the steed could stay with him indefinitely.
Zad helped secure the lizard hides onto the Warhorse's hindquarters when he suddenly froze, eyes widening. "Gods above, is this all the cargo we have? How are we supposed to impersonate a trading caravan with this?"
The other melee fighters exchanged uneasy glances.
He was right. A surface-dwelling party hauling a handful of worthless underground trinkets? The ruse wouldn't fool anyone.
"Master, what should we do?"
"Do?" Anthony scoffed. "Too scared to hunt monsters, too cowardly to act as bait, yet all of you are quick to eat and sleep. What do you want me to say? Figure it out yourselves."
The group's expressions darkened, but none dared retort.
Tegal gritted his teeth. "Then we charge through. Get into the city and complete the first objective."
But even Dagger, rarely one for words, shook his head. "That won't work. Even surface cities demand entry taxes. Guards either arrest trespassers or put bolts in them. You think the drow will be more forgiving?"
Zad turned to Yoda, hoping the goblin had a solution. "Master Yoda, do you have anything valuable or distinctive?"
Yoda's face was grim. "All I have is this Bag of Holding, our tent, some adventuring gear, and rations. Two cubic meters, 100 pounds of weightless storage—no room for extras."
Watching the men's despair, Lolo understood Anthony a little better.
He'd had a plan all along. He just hadn't shared it, content to watch them flounder.
So his patience wasn't as infinite as it seemed.
Typical spellcasters—arrogant, looking down on brute strength.
Lolo couldn't bear to see these pitiful guys suffer further mental blows, so she spoke up: "Master, you've foreseen almost everything. I saw you writing something last night—surely you have a backup plan, right?"
Who wouldn't say something reassuring?
Hearing this, the group perked up.
Right. If no one could get in, then the Master couldn't either. He must have a contingency.
Anthony stared at Lolo for three seconds. No one dared speak loudly during that time.
By the time the little witch's cheeks began to burn, Anthony finally spoke.
"I had already decided not to bring you lot of muscle-brained ignoramuses. With my power, I could easily Teleport into the city or pledge allegiance to the Drow as an Archmage to secure my survival. But since you're so earnest, I'll offer you a way out. I prepared some Contracts earlier—sign your names at the bottom, and I'll guarantee your safe entry into the city."
Zad took one look and froze. The paper was scrawled with faint, crimson script he didn't recognize.
A bad feeling settled in his gut.
This Contract was definitely shady.
He glanced at the others. Their Contracts looked identical, and everyone wore the same grim expression. No one dared to put pen to paper.
Is this some kind of Indenture Contract?
The Little Witch received one as well. She examined it and realized the text was written in an obscure dialect of Ancient Draconic.
Most modern Spellcasters relied on the Weave for magic, so the majority of Mages only learned simplified versions of contemporary Draconic, Elvish, and Common. This archaic form of Draconic, used to channel natural energy, had fallen out of favor—a dead language, phased out of Mage curricula.
Spells requiring it had nearly vanished, known only to a handful of well-connected or exceptionally learned Mages.
Fortunately, Lolo came from a renowned Magic Family. Her mother had taught her this Obscure Language as a child.
Though deciphering it was painstaking, she recognized most of the script.
The first line alone drained the color from her face.
"…Master…Servant…Pact?"
The others paled at her words.
After a tense silence, Yoda asked haltingly, "Master, what is the meaning of this?"
Anthony showed no guilt, answering casually, "Exactly what it says."
The Paladin's Longsword hissed from its sheath. "Master, you expect us to become your Servants? I refuse!"
Anthony yawned, utterly unfazed. "Tyr's pup, don't start barking yet. Answer me this: Can you enter the city on your own?"
"No." The Paladin didn't hesitate—there was no shame in admitting it.
"Can I?"
"…Yes." Also undeniable.
"We're neither traders nor Drow allies. So why would they let us in?"
"…" The Paladin sheathed his blade, silent.
Anthony scoffed, his glare cowing them all. "None of you will take risks, yet we're out of Supplies. Getting you inside means I must debase myself—an Archmage, groveling to those vile Drow, claiming admiration for their culture just to beg sanctuary. What other choice is there?"
"But a Master-Servant Contract is too much…" the Paladin muttered weakly.
Anthony laughed, a sound colder than winter's heart.
"What are the Drow? Not fools, but ruthless, cunning monsters! They exploit surface Elves—never the reverse.Without this Pact proving you're my Servants, why would they trust me? Why let us all enter? On your faith in Tyr?" His voice turned mocking. "See how far that gets you. Count yourself lucky if they don't slit your throat."
The group hung their heads, chastened.
"But don't overthink it. This Master-Servant Contract has a time limit—it's just a makeshift measure to deceive the Drow, a last resort. Besides, we're teammates, equals. Why would I ever force you to act against your will?"
The group's tense expressions eased. To prove his loyalty, Zad snatched the quill, dipped it hastily in ink, and scrawled his name while muttering under his breath, "The Master makes a fair point. Better to sign now and be done with it. We've got roads to travel, after all. Let's hurry."
As he finished, a sultry female voice whispered something in his ear—too faint to decipher.
Not that he minded. It sounded pleasant.
With one leading, the others reluctantly signed their own Contracts.
Even the Paladin hesitated only briefly.
Like the goblin said: survival demanded sacrifices. To live was everything.
Once all had signed, only Lolo remained. The little witch felt a sting of injustice, her eyes rimmed red.
She'd fought hard in every battle, her contributions undeniable—even sharing an unspeakable intimacy with the Master, a moment she'd foolishly hoped meant something.
Now, staring at his impassive face, she knew this Contract awaited her too.
"Do I… have to?" Her voice quivered. Every sweet delusion shattered.
"Your choice. But ask the Drow if they'll allow it." Anthony's expression was colder than the King of Spades.
"Just sign. We're waiting," Zad snapped.
Tears rolled down Lolo's youthful cheeks. She sniffled, searching Anthony's eyes for warmth—but found only stagnant indifference.
"You wouldn't lie to me?" She needed certainty.
The others fell silent, equally curious.
Anthony replied icily, "I swear on my name and honor as Archmage Anthony: if I deceive you, may my soul join the Wall of the Faithless in death. Satisfied?"
Lolo wiped her tears and signed.
With the pacts complete, Anthony raised the Contract overhead. A portal, barely half a meter wide, tore open midair—scorching heat gushing forth.
Then, time froze.
Everyone except Anthony remained frozen, just as before.
Anthony observed the situation, realizing his other hypothesis had been confirmed.
This place truly allowed the summoning of devils. Would the one arriving be the same entity he'd once seen her mother summon during his time in the dragon's lair?
From the portal, a slender yet powerful arm reached out and seized the contracts. Then, a sultry voice echoed from within: "Mm, five contracts under my witness. Don't forget the handling fee. Oh my, four of them are the harshest Soul Pacts—and all voluntary? Tsk tsk… Little one, you're quite capable. Why not visit me in the Second Layer? I could use someone like you."
"Haha, my lord, you flatter me… I didn't expect you to intervene personally. I'll send ten prime souls as an additional handling fee later. How does that sound?"
"I wouldn't have come, but this place is… unusual. The Pact is sealed, but after midnight, the interest increases by ten percent per hour. Farewell, handsome little one."
"Farewell…"
The portal closed, and time resumed its flow. Anthony glanced at the newcomers, utterly oblivious to what had just transpired, and finally allowed a faint, triumphant smirk to curl his lips.
This team… was now united.