CHAPTER 85: The Contract

CHAPTER 85: The Contract

Night had fallen over the village. The streets were silent, broken only by the creaking of the wood in the hungry houses and the howling wind that promised a harsh winter. Karolus Roger was in the bar, a humble place with wooden walls blackened by candle smoke and the smell of stale beer permeating the air.

Sitting in front of a tankard, he looked at it without much enthusiasm. His mind was elsewhere: at his home, with Elizabeth, who was close to giving birth, and with Karick, who went to sleep every night with a half-empty stomach. The village was in a state of famine; the parched fields yielded almost nothing, and the little that remained was poorly distributed among the families.

Karolus took a sip, closed his eyes, and sighed.
"What am I going to do...?" he murmured, his voice broken, gripping the tankard as if he could find an answer in it.

The squeak of the bar door snapped him out of his thoughts. A man entered slowly. His figure immediately caught the attention of everyone present: tall, broad-shouldered, with a face marked by time and violence. But the most disturbing thing was the scar that ran across his forehead, surrounded by suture marks, as if the skull had been opened and hammered back together. His cold eyes fixed on Karolus.

The stranger sat right beside him, ordering a brandy in a hoarse voice. Karolus glanced at him sideways, uncomfortable, trying to ignore him. But the man was the first to speak.

"Karolus Roger." The name came out of his mouth like a blow.

The young peasant tensed up instantly.
"You know me?" he asked warily.

The man smiled, though the smile was unsettling.
"More than you think."

Karolus looked at him directly, noticing that impossible-to-ignore scar.
"Who are you?"

The man placed his tankard on the table and calmly replied:
"I am Kinji Roger... your grandfather."

Karolus's heart stopped for an instant. His grandfather. The man who had abandoned Ben, his father, when he was just a child. His name had been a ghost, a forbidden memory that Ben never spoke of much, only with resentment.

"That's not possible..." said Karolus, shaking his head. "My grandfather died."
"That's what I made your father believe," Kinji replied in a grave voice. "But no... I didn't die. I simply... chose a different path."

Karolus rose slightly from his seat, furious.
"Have you come to mock me? After abandoning my father to his fate, after condemning him to raise himself alone?"

Kinji remained unperturbed. He simply drank from his tankard and then looked him in the eyes with a chilling calm.
"I'm not here to talk about the past, boy. I'm here because I know what's happening. Your village is starving, your fields aren't producing... and your wife is about to bring another mouth into the world. A mouth you won't be able to feed."

Karolus clenched his fists, feeling desperation pierce through him.
"Shut up!" he snapped, though deep down he knew every word was true.

Kinji leaned towards him, whispering almost with a serpent's voice.
"I can give you a solution."

Karolus looked at him distrustfully.
"What solution?"

"Fertile land. A place where nothing dies, where everything you plant grows strong. You and your family will never go hungry again." Kinji's voice was seductive, as if the devil himself were negotiating.

Karolus, confused, slowly shook his head.
"And what do you want in return?"

The old man smiled, showing his yellowish teeth.
"Nothing you can't bear. Just submit to some... experiments. A legacy I've been perfecting for years. You will be the key piece."

Karolus stared at him, trembling. He knew it reeked of damnation, but he also knew that at home his wife and children were waiting... and the reality was that he had nothing else to offer them.

"And if I refuse?" he asked harshly.

Kinji held his gaze.
"Then, your wife and children will starve to death like everyone else."

Silence hung heavy in the tavern. The other patrons were no longer talking, unintentionally attentive to the conversation. Karolus closed his eyes, his soul shattered.

Finally, in a broken voice, he said:
"Alright... I accept."

Kinji smiled, satisfied, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"I knew you'd make the right decision."

Karolus gripped the tankard so hard it almost shattered in his hands, feeling deep down that he had just signed a pact with a demon.

The night was pitch black, without moon or stars, and the forest surrounding the village stood like a wall of shadows and twisted branches. The wind whistled through the trees, carrying with it a damp, earthy smell. Karolus walked behind his grandfather, each step taking him further from the safety of the village and closer to an uncertain destiny.

Finally, they arrived at an old abandoned cabin. The wood was rotten in some places, but the interior was surprisingly alive: stacks of books piled up, yellowish parchments with strange symbols, jars with liquids of impossible colors, and shelves full of objects that seemed taken from an alchemist's laboratory. The air smelled of dry herbs, dried blood, and rusty metal.

Karolus looked at everything with amazement and fear.
"What is this place...?"

Kinji smiled, with a disturbing gleam in his eyes.
"The workshop where alchemy meets truth, boy. This is where blood becomes power... and where the weak are transformed into something more."

He walked to a table covered in stained papers and picked up a thick glass container. Inside, a dark, reddish liquid bubbled slowly, as if it were alive. The candlelight made it gleam with a sinister glow.

Kinji held it up to Karolus.
"This is simple. You have to drink it. That's all."

Karolus swallowed, feeling that the liquid was nothing natural.
"And what will it do to me?"