One-Eyed Monster

Having given up thinking, they had truly become nothing.

The Little Black Hands didn’t know why they had forgotten how to think; they had even forgotten what they themselves were.

It was a peculiar thing, but now, with the return of thought, the situation grew serious.

It seemed all of this was due to the contract. This contract originated from the Summoner, who, by its terms, held absolute command over them. If instructed to go east, they dared not go west.

The Summoner did not grant them freedom.

The Little Black Hands knew they yearned for this freedom. They also desperately wanted to know where they came from and where they were destined to go.

That fragmented memory consisted of shards in their minds, slowly pieced together as their thoughts returned.

They discovered they had always been moving forward at the behest of others. Their memories had even been altered—an utterly unjustifiable act.

If not for these youths restoring their ability to think today, would they still be kept in the dark...?

The thought of it all was truly horrifying.

At this moment, the Little Black Hands’ grip on Igor and the others involuntarily loosened...

Gradually, they began to reminisce, determined to reclaim the memories that rightfully belonged to them.

Initially, they were not in their current Little Black Hand form; they were certain of this. The ’Black Hand’ appearance was a result of their collective decision, a form conjured for more effective task execution. Their abilities were concealment and transformation; as long as they wished, they could morph into any shape.

However, they couldn’t transform freely, for something bound them, restraining their every move.

Yes, the contract. It was that accursed contract.

You are not Living Beings of this realm. With my own flesh and Spirit, I summon you.

You awaken from the stillness, and I shall sustain you with the Spirit Power of my flesh and blood!

You shall feed on my Spirit and flesh, and you must adhere to the Law of Equivalent Exchange!

Once awakened, you shall be as my own limbs, entirely at my command.

Resistance is futile.

Should you disobey, you shall be scattered as dust between heaven and earth.

...

Re-examining the contract, they found nothing inherently special within its wording. It appeared that what bound them was not the contract itself, but the power behind it.

This power controlled the contract, imbuing it with a formidable sense of constraint—a constraint that forced them to obey the Summoners’ commands.

They understood the consequence of being reduced to dust, and they also understood the principle of Equivalent Exchange. This principle was their law of survival, restraining them, forcing them to pay a price for every action.

Equivalent Exchange was the essence of this contract and its ultimate restriction.

The Summoners’ flesh and Spirit allowed them to exist in this world, and in exchange, they were compelled to obey their every command.

That must be the law of survival, then.

Thinking of the contract, the Little Black Hands had no choice but to apply more force. After all, their very presence here was sustained by the Summoners’ flesh and Spirit.

Beyond this contract, they could find no other proof of their existence...

Were they manufactured beings? No, that wasn’t it. They were summoned—of this, they were absolutely certain.

Their original world was not as vibrant as this one. The world they had inhabited seemed to be a realm of utter silence.

No birdsong, no floral fragrance, no sunrise, no sunset—nothing...

All that existed was a vast, empty expanse under a desolate sky.

The Summoners’ arrival had shown them a new world. Perhaps this was one reason they had agreed to the contract.

The Summoners had unveiled a glimpse of another world, and suddenly, they were no longer alone. This glimpse, this corner of a new reality, captivated and enthralled them, and they couldn’t bear to relinquish it.

It was this allure that made them abandon their judgment, compelling them to mark the contract with their own imprints. And so, for this lifetime, they became bound to it.

Thinking was indeed a valuable faculty. Slowly, the areas in their minds that had been blurred began to clarify as their thoughts sharpened.

Now, they could clearly sense that their memories had been tampered with.

It seemed the other party to the contract didn’t want them to know certain things...

What these things were, they would need to ponder deeply and deduce slowly. For now, they understood that the Equivalent Exchange stipulated in the contract seemed to have been... discounted. It was no longer so straightforward.

It was truly hard to fathom! Equivalent Exchange, a fundamental principle of this world, could actually be altered!

Yet, they were powerless. Their imprints on the contract shone brightly, a constant reminder that if they defied the Summoners’ intentions, they would turn to dust.

As long as the Summoners didn’t recall them, they had to remain obedient.

This was truly unfair! Where was the principle of Equivalent Exchange in all this? Just because the Summoners could bring them to this world, did that give them the right to order them around endlessly?

The more they pondered, the more they felt something was fundamentally wrong with the contract.

But they were helpless. None dared to even attempt violating the contract, for the consequences were too terrifying to contemplate.

Their current task was to instill fear—more specifically, an unending terror—into these youths.

They had completed half their task so far. The next step was to redouble their efforts and drag the remaining two individuals into the abyss of fear.

Once this task was completed, they absolutely had to discuss the contract in detail.

It truly seemed like an unequal contract.

The contract’s existence robbed them of freedom, yet they still wished to linger in this world for just a little longer.

Because once the task was done, they would have to return—return to that vast, boundless expanse, to silently observe an eternally quiet existence.

It seemed that if they could just stall with these youths, they might stay a bit longer. But they couldn’t be certain, as they were entirely under the Summoners’ control. If the Summoners ordered them back, they would have to scurry back without protest.

Thus, the Little Black Hands had few choices. With the contract in place, they could only comply: complete the task and return automatically, be recalled upon failure, or choose to turn into dust.

Freedom... it simply didn’t exist for them.

For now, all they could strive for was a semblance of relative freedom, but even that would require the youths’ unwitting cooperation.

If only they could communicate with these youths... That way, they might buy more time, more time to think...

However, they currently lacked the ability to do so.

Their plan had been to grab the youths’ ankles, create an illusion, and let their rich imaginations run wild, thereby plunging them into complete terror.

This was the plan they had formulated after their second discussion. But now, with the resurgence of thought, they felt the plan had to change.

The contract restricted them, so they had to exercise utmost discretion in their actions.