Chương 46: The Contract

Meno made it thirty-seven steps toward Westmarket before Bradbaron found him. The bald merchant jogged out from behind a roadside marker like he had been camping the respawn. He waved both arms, robes flapping, grin already loaded.

"Great fight," Bradbaron said.

"Terrible ending. Anyway, craft more Rune Spires." Meno kept walking.

"I just killed Karmabeast."

"And then died," Bradbaron said, falling in beside him.

"Which is exactly why you need money. I provide materials. You craft. I sell. We both make disgusting profits." bald merchant returns craft queue jail listen to him 50g death lol Meno glanced at the currency line and felt his mood darken. Level thirty-four meant fifty gold per death now. Fifty. At level fifty, death became five hundred gold. Ten thousand gold sounded huge until it became twenty deaths. Twenty attempts before the system started reaching for equipment.

And that was only padding, not gear, not armor, not repairs, not materials, not tools, not the four empty slots on his body currently contributing nothing. His eyes moved to the Sleepless Grip. If the death system ever took those Legendary gloves, his brain would melt out of his ears.

"I should sleep," Meno said.

"You should," Bradbaron agreed instantly.

"After twelve Rune Spires." Meno stopped and stared at him.

"Twelve?"

"I brought materials for twelve." Bradbaron's grin widened.

"I believe in you." Meno looked at the viewer count. Still too high. High enough that logging out felt like dropping a weapon mid-fight. He wanted to sleep off Karmabeast, let the rogue get bored, let the world move for a few hours without his face on it. Instead, over two hundred thousand people were still watching him stand beside a road while a boosted merchant tried to turn him into a gold printer. He exhaled through his nose.

"Fine. Materials." Bradbaron opened the trade window so fast Meno almost respected him. [Trade Complete] [Charmsteel Bar x60 Acquired] [Infused Grip Wrap x24 Acquired] [Infused Binding Pin x24 Acquired] [Charm Forge Fuel x120 Acquired] [Water Essence x24 Acquired] Meno stared at the fuel stack.

"You had all this ready."

"I'm a Merchant," Bradbaron said.

"Being greedy is expected." The next two hours disappeared into heat, smoke, and fire damage. First, Meno repaired his Rune Spire. He was a blacksmith now, so paying an NPC to do it felt like losing gold with extra steps. The repair was not complicated: one Charmsteel Ore worth twenty gold, hammered into the damaged metal until the weapon accepted it. The rest of the time went into crafting spires. Twelve times, the overdraw heat burned Meno's HP down.

Twelve times, Duneleaf recovery potions ticked through his body while chat argued about whether crafting was content, punishment, or a new form of streamer prison. Twelve times, the Ashen Crown Tail Spike carved Deepwater channels through blue-green magic before the hammer sealed them into steel. Twelve Charmsteel Rune Spires came out perfect. On paper, they still looked like wasted time. Zero Fluxforge Smith XP.

Two hours at a forge while BrineSaint, Kestrel, JaxxonVale, Honeygrave, and every other monster on the board kept moving. Two hours not farming the Glassdry Catacomb. Two hours not hunting Sleepwalkers. Two hours not fixing the rank gap. But progress later needed money now. If leveling slowed after fifty, the investment would matter. Death padding, armor, accessories, spare weapons, all of it was crucial.

If leveling did not slow, if BrineSaint and the guild-backed freaks kept rocketing upward while Meno stood over an anvil, then this was not preparation. It was throwing the race. By the end, his shoulders felt like they had been hammered alongside the blades. Meno handed all twelve Rune Spires to Bradbaron through the contract deposit system and watched them vanish into merchant custody. Bradbaron looked at the sale queue with reverence.

"Beautiful. Horrible to use, probably. But beautiful." Meno did not have enough energy to threaten him properly. The view count had dropped to 124, 611. That should have felt bad. It did feel bad. It also felt better than expected for two hours of watching a man slowly turn magical steel into long swords. Meno opened BrineSaint's channel before logging out, because exhaustion apparently needed one more stab. Offline. Small mercy. He checked his own clip feed next.

The newest upload sat at the top with a thumbnail of Karmabeast's daggers in his back, followed by Meno's silver projectile cleave splitting the rogue midair, followed by Meno dropping dead from poison like a delayed punchline. The title was already awful. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. LEVEL 25 KARMABEAST MAKES PRAYERBEADGOD TRADE KILL AFTER LEGENDARY RAID FLEX Meno stared at it, then shrugged.

"He died first." COPE TITLE trade kill still kill level 25 btw you got poisoned after the cutscene nice try"I'll be back tomorrow," Meno said, opening the logout panel. Then he checked the real-world clock and frowned. Morning. Normal people were about to go to work.

"Actually," he said, "I'll be back today. Later." He ended the stream before chat could vote on whether later meant twelve minutes. The Soma-X7 opened with a soft hiss, and the apartment returned around him in dim morning light. Meno climbed out like someone unloading his bones from storage. The air smelled stale, electronics-warm, and faintly like old takeout containers he refused to identify. Meno sat at his desk and opened his email. Mythic design credit offers. Fake Veyrath support.

Five different people claiming they represented "major guild-aligned investment groups." One message asking whether he would bless a baby's username. Scam, scam, scam, scam, newsletter, scam, fake legal threat, real-looking legal threat. He archived that one without opening it. Then he stopped. Streamline Creator Partnerships. Meno clicked it cautiously, expecting another "congratulations on qualifying for improved ad optimization review" message that paid in dust. It was not that.

Streamline was offering him a partnership contract. Partner status was not a sponsorship. It did not come with brand money for pretending energy drinks counted as sleep, but it did mean a better ad split, channel priority, and actual payouts instead of three pizza slices and a shrug. He shot out of the chair.

"Yes!" The chair fell backward. He paced once, came back, leaned over the desk, then laughed because the number was not life-changing yet but it was real. He opened the email on his phone, entered his new number, scanned his fingerprint, and accepted the contract before the universe found a way to take it back. Meno breathed out slowly, and for one clean second, nothing hurt. Then his thumb brushed the message thread below the contract confirmation. Aureliana. The conversation opened.

He saw the heart first, the one that had reached him mid-class evolution and hurt more than Karmabeast. Then he saw the message above it, the one he had dismissed before it could fully display. Aureliana: Meno, I was too harsh. I am sorry. Meno stood there with the phone in his hand. His first reaction was warmth, quick and dangerous. She had apologized. Actually apologized. The words were plain, with no joke, no insult tucked inside them, no careful distance between her and what she meant.

Then the second reaction arrived and ruined it. Pity. Maybe she had sent it because she felt bad after the car. Maybe Aureliana wanted to clean up the mess so she could feel better about drawing the line. Nice people did that. Meno put the phone down, then picked it up again almost immediately. His fingers moved before he could talk himself out of it. I'll move on He sent it, then put the phone face-down on the desk like it might explode.

"Good," he said to the empty apartment.

"Normal. Mature. Great." He went to shower before his brain could reopen the thread and start licking the wound. Hot water hit his neck, and the exhaustion finally reached his legs. The forge, the raid, Karmabeast, the dinner, all of it pressed down through his shoulders. He washed fast, dried faster, and collapsed onto the bed. He set a six-hour timer, then made the mistake of checking his phone. Aureliana had not responded, which was fine, expected, maybe even healthy. Then he saw what he had sent.

I will love on Meno's soul left his body, circled once, and refused reentry hard enough that he sat upright so fast the bedframe creaked.

"No." The message remained. I will love on"No, no, no." His thumb hovered over the text field. Clarify. Fix it. Say typo. Say move. Say he meant move. Say nothing because every word he added would become another trap. He almost threw the phone into the wall. Instead, he grabbed the pillow and smashed it into the wall hard enough to knock a cheap poster crooked. The pillow fell to the floor, and Meno stared at the ceiling.

"I am cursed." He did not trust himself to send a follow-up. Any correction would look desperate. Any joke would look worse. Any apology would open another door, and he had promised himself he was done opening those. He lay back down, stiff with mortification, and stared at the ceiling until exhaustion got him anyway. The alarm went off what felt like one second later. Meno slapped the phone, missed, hit the mattress, then finally killed the sound. Six hours had passed. His body disagreed.

His mouth tasted like sleep and hunger, and the apartment had the gray, late-day light of a world that had continued without checking if he was ready. He got up, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and avoided looking at the Aureliana thread. A knock hit the door, and Meno froze. For one second, he imagined Karmabeast in real life. Stupid. Then Bradbaron. Terrifying in a different direction. Then Aureliana, and his stomach tried to uninstall itself. He opened the door.

His mother stood outside with a large takeout bag. She wore a worn coat over a blouse and dark slacks, hair tied back, eyes tired in the familiar way that made Meno want to stand straighter without knowing why. The bag gave off steam and the smell of roast chicken, potatoes, pepper, and something sharp.

"I brought you breakfast," she said, stepping inside. Meno took the bag with both hands.

"Thanks, Mom." He sat at the small table, opened the containers, and started eating before the chair finished settling under him. Roast chicken. Potato salad. Bread. Some spicy sauce had leaked into everything, or his taste buds had been patched while he slept. The potato salad had a strange heat to it, sharp enough to wake him up between bites. His mother watched him for five seconds.

"Your sister told me dinner went well," she said.

"But it doesn't seem like it. What happened?" Meno tore into a piece of chicken.

"It was fine. Did you see my stream? I had over half a million viewers at one point."

"No. I was sleeping."

"Oh." He chewed, swallowed, then grabbed potato salad like the conversation had become a DPS race.

"Anyway, it's good. They even sent me a contract." His mother's expression changed immediately.

"Did you read it properly?"

"What? Of course. It's standard partnership stuff."

"Meno."

"It's fine." He pointed with his fork.

"Streamline. Real platform. Better ads, partner status, all that."

"Did you sign it?"

"I scanned my fingerprint."

"You scanned your fingerprint before asking anyone to look at it?"

"It's my fingerprint." His phone buzzed. Unknown number. Meno stared at it with deep suspicion.

"If this is about the Mythic design credit, I'm hanging up." He answered cautiously.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Varsh? This is Stacy from Streamline. I'm calling about your interview tonight. Can you get to our Vernova studio in an hour? I know it's short notice, but a slot opened up." Meno stopped chewing.

"Uhm," he said.

"What interview? I didn't agree to any." The line went quiet as his mother slowly set her bag down on the counter. Stacy came back careful and professional.

"I confirmed it was included in the partnership contract you signed. You're obligated to participate in one platform interview during onboarding. If tonight doesn't work, I can reschedule for tomorrow." Meno looked at the chicken. Then his mother. Then the phone.

"I'll be there in an hour."

"Great. Try not to be late. We still have to prep you for the cameras." The call ended. Meno lowered the phone, and his mother folded her arms.

"I see," she said.

"You clearly read the contract." Meno ignored her and shoved another piece of chicken into his mouth, but it no longer tasted as good. He chewed anyway because food was food, even when seasoned with consequences. Things were going well indeed.