Prologue: Contract

"I need money," said the old man, who was wandering through the woods, dragging a wooden wheelbarrow behind him. For a very long time he was looking for a way to get rich. His experiments had cost a lot and eaten up all his funds, even though he had started them with the intention of getting rich. Without results, there was no money, and his patrons were angry.
A tree root sticking out of the ground caused the wheelbarrow to sway violently. A hand appeared from under the linen sheet. The man cursed under his breath, stopped, and put the hand back.
It was very early in the morning. The moon was still visible, even though the sun was slowly rising. He had chosen this time to ensure that nobody saw him and that he could see where he was going himself. His eyesight had deteriorated in recent years, and walking through the woods nearly blind at night would make it difficult to hide his failed experiments.
He tightened his grip on the wheelbarrow handle and started walking further. The place where he planned to hide his experiment was close by. He was sure that people wouldn’t come here because a ghost story that had recently resurfaced, scaring everyone.
Ghosts, ha! He wasn’t interested in them. He would finish his experiment before he died and lead an immortal and wealthy life.

“Hello there.”

An unknown voice reached his ears. He stopped walking and looked to the left. Under the tree stood a young man who looked around nineteen years old. He was wearing expensive dark clothes. His blazing red hair shone in the moonlight, its vibrant color standing out against the darkness.
Is this one of those crazy kids who dress in black and look for ghosts for fun? He thought.
“What are you doing here so early?” the young man asked gently.
“I'm more interested in what someone like you is doing here at this time. Rich boys like you usually sleep until noon,” the older man mocked. “Were you hunting ghosts at night?”
“Um, not really. I was looking for you, Mr Kiliar.”
The elderly man widened his eyes. This brat knew his name.
“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously. Perhaps he was looking at the child of one of his patrons, but he couldn't be certain.
“Someone who can help you get rich real quick.”
That youngster was mocking him. He sighed in irritation.
“Stop joking around and go back to your castle. Your parents will be worried and think a ghost has killed you.”
The young man tilted his head and smiled innocently. Ignoring the elderly man, he ran to the wheelbarrow, lifted the sheet covering it, and threw it on the ground.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” screamed Kiliar.
“Wow, you’re really brutal! He has cuts and bruises everywhere!”
The young man examined the body closely, looking at it happily. “How old was he? Ten? Or eleven?”
“What do you want?” Kiliar eyed the man in the dark cloak warily.
“To help you get rich.”
“I said stop joking...!”

The old man Kiliar was suddenly struck with a feeling of sheer terror.

The young man turned towards him with such a cold gaze that Kiliar felt he might die if he resisted in any way. Then a black fire appeared under the young man’s feet as he started to walk closer to Kiliar. He stood in front of the old man, leaned in and whispered into his ear.

“I can help you get rich. You’ll only have to pay a small price in exchange.”

Kiliar shuddered.
“What is the price?”
The young man straightened up and looked at his new prospective client.
“Your soul, of course.”
The old scholar's demeanour changed.
At first, he was scared because he didn’t know who was talking to him.
What would he do if it was someone from the city who knew about his crimes?
He wouldn't be able to fulfill his desires.
But now it was different.
“Color me surprised. A Chort himself came to me,” he said, smiling cunningly.
There were many stories in which people told each other to avoid chorts. Kiliar himself was warned as a kid a long time ago. After all, Chort is a human who works for the Selew demons, getting souls for his lords.
“What is your name, oh great Chort?” Kiliar asked, bowing sarcastically.
“Hah! You’re a funny one,” the Chort laughed. “I’m Dargorad, in the service of the Demon Rokita.”
Rokita, huh? If Kiliar remembered correctly, Rokita wasn’t a very intelligent demon, so he had a lot of chorts working for him.
But he was very strong, so every chort that he shared his power with would also be powerful.
The one before him could easily fulfill his wish of becoming rich, just as he said.

“So, are you willing to sign the contract and become rich?” asked Chort Dargorad.
Kiliar pretended to ponder the idea, walking around his wheelbarrow. He then stopped and bowed.
“I’ll gladly sign it.”
“Great!” Dargorad clapped, and black fire emerged between his hands, turning into a sheet of paper and an inkwell with a pen. Chort snapped his right hand and an intricately decorated table with chairs on both sides appeared before him. The sheet of paper, together with the pen and inkwell, landed gently on the tabletop.
“Please, sit down.”
Kiliar sat down in one of the chairs.
“Read through it,” said Dargorad, handing him the contract.

In exchange for becoming infinitely rich thanks to the magic of Rokita’s servant,

Kiliar will give up his soul, which would then be in the hands of Selew.

“Is there a catch?” Kiliar asked. He knew the story of Twardowski. If he read the contract carefully and suggested some additional rules, he could avoid Selew and live, just like the man on the moon.
“You are dealing with a chort,” laughed Dargorad. “If there is one, it will be written in the contract.”

But the contract was only one sentence long.

Kiliar had a bad feeling about it, but it was the only way.
“Can I add something?”
“Of course!” the Chort answered happily.
“Then I want to be incredibly rich and have eternal life.”
“Greedy, aren’t we?” a cunning smile decorated Darogorad’s face. “Of course, I’ll add it. Oh, then let’s change it all the way!”

The black fire wiped the previous letters and wrote a completely new sentence.

In exchange for becoming rich and immortal thanks to Rokita’s servant's magic,

Kiliar will give up his soul — but only if he deems the amount of wealth received sufficient.

A smile spread across Kiliar's face. No matter how much gold there was, it would never be enough for him.

“Wouldn’t Rokita be angry with you for giving me such a contract?” the old scholar asked, looking at the Chort sitting on the other side of the table.
“I have already given him a sufficient number of souls. Should one slip through his fingers, it will be of no consequence.” Dargorad smiled.

Kiliar looked at the sentence written on the paper one more time. He felt that something was amiss, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. After pondering for a while, he came to a decision. Dargorad waited patiently, not rushing Kiliar.
“There really is no catch?” asked the old scientist.
“Nothing beyond what’s written in the contract,” Chort assured him.
Kiliar took the pen and immersed it in the inkwell. With a swift movement, he wrote his name.
As soon as he lifted the pen, Dargorad took the contract away and looked through it.
“Yes, everything’s OK,” he said. “Come and collect your reward.”
“Now?” asked Kiliar, surprised.
“Is there any need to wait?”
"For gold? No. Show the way."
“That's what I thought, too. Come.” Dargorad waved his hand, motioning for Kiliar to follow him. They stood in front of a huge oak tree. It had so many branches that it looked like a maze created exclusively for squirrels and other animals. There were so many of them that the morning light struggled to break through them.
“Stand here and look up. The gold will fall straight into your hands,” the Chort whispered. Kiliar listened and stood where he was told. He looked up enthusiastically, awaiting the moment he would become rich. He noticed something shining coming his way from between the branches. It was the gold he had been waiting for. He was finally going to be rich! He held out his hands, a wide grin plastered on his face.
“Gold! My gold!” He was so overwhelmed with joy.

But what fell down wasn’t coins, but a golden liquid.

It fell on Kiliar, and the old man could feel the overwhelming heat surrounding his entire body. His limbs were burning, inside and out. He desperately touched his skin, which started to melt. The intense heat was causing his body to lose its previous shape.

“ENOUGH!!!!” he screamed in pain.

“Enough?” asked Dargorad, amused. “I thought it was impossible for a greedy man to have enough gold.”

“STOP THIS! I Can’t… It’s… ENOUGH!!!” pleaded Kiliar.

“Is it really enough gold? Don’t you want more?” chort kept asking.

“Yes! It’s enough!” cried the old man.

Hearing this final cry, Chort snapped his fingers and the liquid gold stopped pouring from between the tree’s branches.

Kiliar fell to his knees and started breathing heavily. Dargorad approached him and patted him on the shoulder.
“Do you know what awaits you now?” he asked.
The old man turned around, his eyes starting to tremble as he realized what had happened.
“No, this is not true! You deceived me!” He pointed his finger towards the Chort.
“I didn’t. I used the power given to me by Rokita to give you gold. But... Yea. There was nothing about how this gold was supposed to be given to you,” he clarified. “I was surprised you didn’t question the length of the contract. After all, one sentence can be interpreted in many ways. I could write a longer one, but I suppose the outcome would be the same.” Dargorad chuckled and looked at Kiliar’s deformed face. If the old man still had eyes, he would see his despair.
“I will not give you my soul, you liar!” Kiliar couldn’t come to terms with his situation. He stood up and touched his chest proudly with his right hand. “I still have my beating heart! I can turn this around. I can get someone to cancel this fake contract!” He grinned to himself. “Yes, maybe a Soul Guide can help me.”
“Tsk,” said Dargorad, clicking his tongue. “Does an evil spirit such as yourself really think a soul guide will get you out of this? What lunacy.”
“Spirit? I’m no spirit! I’m still alive!”

“Look behind you, fool.”

Kiliar's cast a backward glance. His empty eye sockets widened at the sight. On the ground lay a body whose skin and muscles had melted, revealing bones in places. It lay there, completely still.
“Your precious gold killed you.”
“You killed me,” the old man hissed angrily, turning to the creature that had changed his fate. “NOOOOOOO!!!” Kiliar’s ghost flew quickly towards Dargorad. The closer the spirit came, the larger it became, and the emptier its eye sockets grew. It extended its hand to grab Chort, but stopped before the man’s face.

A wide cloud of grayish-black smoke covered the area.
Something emerged from it.
It was a hand, which grabbed Kiliar by the head.
A huge, bulky hand.
It squeezed the old man’s head until it burst.
The mad old scientist’s ghost disappeared.

“Uff, thanks. It could get a bit tricky." Dargorad rubbed his forehead and then bowed down low.
“As if that thing could hurt you,” said a deep voice. The smoke dissipated to reveal a bulky man. Even just getting close to Dargorad was enough to emphasize just how enormous the newcomer was, given the difference in height between them. The first noticeable thing, however, were the two red horns spreading out from between the tousled green curls.
"Look, if it wouldn't hurt me, then you shouldn't have got involved, alright?"
“I would have laughed if I didn't know you,” said the strange being, who came closer and leaned down to the chort. “When will you bring an innocent soul?”
“They're not so easy to catch.”
The being straightened up. “Right,” it agreed. “But I think you're clever enough to catch one for me. I didn’t make you my prized underling for no reason. There are plenty of evil-doers down there. I'm sick of them. It would have been wonderful to drain the energy from a pure soul.” The being touched its cheeks and looked up, dreaming of the most delicious meal it could have.

Dargorad turned his eyes away from the sight.

“I don’t recall the contract mentioning anything about innocent souls.”
“You are my chort; you are supposed to bring me meals, aren’t you?”
“The contract didn’t specify what kind of meals. Just like poor Kiliar didn’t know what kind of gold he would get.” A wide grin appeared on Dargorad’s face.
“Ha ha!” the being laughed loudly. “It’s good that you’re only a clever human. If you were something more, maybe Selew would have more distinguished desserts and dinners.”
Something glinted in the eyes of the horned, human-like monster when it thought about such possibility.
“You really can’t give up the idea of eating innocent souls.”
“I have only tasted Heavy Spirits. There was once a Mid-level One, but I have never tried a Light Spirit. I wonder how they taste...” Its gaze turned to the wheelbarrow and the body in it. “Is this thing’s soul here or…?”
“Oh, it’s already in Weles.”
“What a pity,” the being sighed. “Anyway, I will await the next meal. Please don’t kill yourself in the process. As a ghost, you are not able to present me with anything.” It shot a threatening look at Dargorad, its eyes flashing red.
“I know,” said the Chort, bowing to the disappearing guest. The smoke reappeared and took the being with it. Once alone, Dargorad sighed with relief. He looked at the body of an innocent boy who had been killed by Kiliar during his inhumane experiments to find a way to become immortal.
“We’ll have to clean up here,” he sighed, getting to work. Once he had finished, he would have to find more souls for Demon Rokita. He must try to be careful.

For a moment, he wished he could die there. To let that ghost finish him off.

But it was fortunate that this stupid demon had stopped him.

Well, at the end of the day, death isn't the end of the story.

The thought of being tortured endlessly by someone like Rokita made him shiver.