009 Having Fun
Contract of Literary Patronage and Exclusive DistributionBetween the House of Harle and Sir Ronald Retsej
Let it be known and recorded on this day, under the lawful auspices of the County of Harle and by the witnessing of duly appointed retainers and scribes, that a formal agreement has been entered into between:
The First Party: The Noble House of Harle, represented by Count Derek Harle and his legal heir, with authority over the lands and commerce within the County of Harle;
The Second Party: Sir Ronald Retsej, recognized as an honorary knight of imperial grant, landholder within the province, and author of The Paladin System: The Hidden Code of Swords.
Henceforth, the following terms and obligations are agreed upon by both parties:
Article I – Grant of Patronage and Distribution
The House of Harle shall serve as the exclusive patron and distributor of the literary work titled The Paladin System: The Hidden Code of Swords, hereafter referred to as “Book One.”
All costs and expenses necessary for the reproduction, binding, artistic embellishment, marketing, transportation, and public presentation of said book shall be borne solely by the House of Harle.
Sir Ronald Retsej shall retain all authorial rights to the narrative, world, and characters of The Paladin System, save for the exclusive distribution and commercial rights, which shall belong to the House of Harle.
Article II – Royalties and Revenues
For Book One, Sir Ronald Retsej shall receive fifty percent (50%) of net sales profits, paid quarterly upon receipt of distribution reports validated by the Harle treasurer.
Sir Ronald Retsej agrees to continue the work as a trilogy. Upon the release of:
Book Two, he shall be entitled to sixty percent (60%) of net sales profits.
Book Three, he shall be entitled to seventy percent (70%) of net sales profits.
Any adaptations (including but not limited to stage plays, bardic retellings, illuminations, or serialized folios) shall be subject to separate negotiation, with the House of Harle having right of first proposal.
Article III – Obligations and Timeline
Sir Ronald Retsej agrees to complete and deliver a manuscript for Book Two no later than two years from the signing of this contract, and Book Three no later than three years
Failure to meet the aforementioned timelines, without approved extension by the House of Harle, shall result in suspension of royalty terms until fulfillment is made.
The House of Harle agrees to provide financial assistance for scribes, illustrators, and any other personnel reasonably required to meet the publication standards of noble houses.
Article IV – Good Faith and Dispute
Both parties swear to uphold this contract in good faith and to not engage in conduct that would deliberately sabotage, misrepresent, or exploit the other.
Any disputes arising from the terms herein shall be resolved in the presence of an impartial arbitrator, selected from the College of Law in Harle City, whose decision shall be binding.
By ink and seal, we affirm the truth and legality of this agreement.
Signed and Witnessed on this day,in the 113th Year of the Fourth Cycle
Count Derek HarleHead of the House of Harle[Seal of the Harle Family]
Sir Ronald RetsejAuthor and Knight of Imperial Grant[Signature]
Witnessed by:
Diane Welfer Harle, Countess of Harle
Bret Beck, of Beck & Relics
Master Alphonse, Scribe of the Hall of Records
…
..
.
The negotiation had taken over an hour, full of words that twisted like daggers and smiles meant more to veil than to welcome, but at last, they reached agreeable terms. With the contract signed and his future now tangibly tied to ink and page, Ron took his leave from the study. Diane remained with Bret to discuss matters unrelated to him… probably some personal business deal? Who really knew? As the door shut quietly behind him, Ron passed by Master Alphonse, the Harle’s scribe, who offered a polite nod before hurrying off to whatever task awaited him.
Derek met him in the corridor, his demeanor casual as he peered past the open windows where the sky had already turned violet with the coming night. The lanterns and chandeliers inside glowed like trapped stars. “Oh, the guests are pouring in…” he muttered with a wistful look. Turning to Ron, he gave him a light shove that did nothing to move Ron’s solid frame. “Go and join them, mingle with them, and have a life.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Anyone I should look out for? I’d rather not cause a scandal.”
“The fourth prince is among the guests. Blonde hair, flashy smile… you won’t miss him,” Derek said with a wave of his hand. “Ah, and the special candies. Try them. They melt in the mouth.”
That sounded innocent enough. Ron gave a soft chuckle. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Derek’s grin, however, held something ominous. Then the Count turned and strode off with the swagger of a man either very proud of his advice or very amused by it.
Ron descended the staircase that curved into the heart of the ballroom, his boots silent against polished marble. The hall had swelled with people in the time since he first arrived. Gowns swept the floor like waves of silk, and suits with embroidered patterns glittered under the chandeliers. The perfume of wealth hung in the air from the expensive wine, oiled hair, and to the faintest traces of incense.
With his superhuman senses, honed through over a decade of adventuring, Ron didn’t just see the crowd… he heard them as if he was standing next to them. Even the whispers, meant to be private, buzzed in his ears like murmurs against glass.
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“The Harle family’s influence is spreading faster than mold on cheese…” one man muttered into his cup.
A woman in green giggled, “Oh, but Diane is a true talent. Her connections with the Art College alone make this worth the trip.”
“Did you hear about their daughter? Apparently, she turned down a Margrave’s son. Foolish girl.”
“Shh, she’s of age now. They’ll marry her off before the season ends…”
Meanwhile, several gentlemen spoke business in corners with wine-stained lips, and a few tried to charm ladies with heavy flattery and ill-hidden desperation. Nobility and ambition danced closer than the guests themselves.
Ron weaved through them all, unbothered, and made his way to the long banquet table lined with more food than a military garrison could consume in a week. The dishes varied in origin and quality from roasted pheasant glazed with honey and rosemary, marinated olives beside cured boar, pastries shaped like roses, and cheeses stacked in wheels and wedges. Fruits from the south bled sweetly into waiting goblets, and a fountain of chilled berry wine flowed in the center.
But Ron’s focus drifted to the candies Derek had mentioned. A bowl of them, situated between a silver tray of pickled radishes and slices of frosted almond cake, glittered with color and promise. Each candy was shaped into a creature from dragons, wolves, birds, and strange beasts. Some glowed faintly; others shimmered with sugar crystals. Children and adults alike picked at them, giggling and making faces.
He hesitated, then plucked a red dragon between his fingers. It was slightly warm, as if reacting to his touch. He popped it into his mouth.
And immediately regretted it.
The candy did melt just as Derek promised, but not into sweet delight. It turned into something Ron could only describe as sour mushroom mixed with astringent herbs and the faint taste of boiled socks. His face twitched violently. He struggled not to gag, grinding his teeth together to keep the vile mess from leaping out of his throat.
A group of passing children burst into laughter. “He’s making the face! Look, he sucked at the gamble!”
“Loser!” one boy said, gleeful.
Ron gave them the side-eye, cheeks tight with resistance. It was worse than a spoiled health potion.
A soft voice rescued him. “Here, this should cleanse the taste…”
He turned to see a woman in a white gown with dark curly hair, holding a glass of milk with both elegance and genuine sympathy.
Grateful beyond words, Ron accepted it and took a sip. The relief was instant. The foulness vanished, washed away in clean, creamy silk.
“First time?” she asked, amused.
He coughed and set the glass aside. “Yes… How could you tell?”
She gestured playfully toward his face. “The expression. It’s the classic look of someone who picked the wrong candy. It’s a game that’s become popular in the capital. A gamble, really. Some candies are honeyed ambrosia… others, well… you met your match.”
Ron exhaled in resignation. “Looks like I’ve been played.”
“Don’t take it too personally.” Her smile was bright but soft. “So, does the gentleman have a name?”
Considering the formality of the ball, Ron decided to offer the full truth… but only the part that mattered to him. “Ronald Retsej, an aspiring writer.”
There was no need to add his honorary knighthood or landholding. Those things were incidental, not his identity.
She bowed her head slightly. “Well met. I’m Zora Ritter. But please… call me Zora.”
There was a blush on her cheeks that didn’t quite match the cool demeanor she presented, and Ron found himself uncharacteristically aware of the space between them. Still, he managed to say with ease, “Then please, call me Ron.”
Zora stood beside Ron, her fingers delicately pinching the edge of a candy shaped like a goblin. It was an ugly little thing. It was green, twisted, with sharp teeth painted in black glaze and eyes made of tiny crimson sugar beads.
“How about you try this one?” she offered, her tone playful but undeniably challenging.
Ron eyed it with a grimace. “No thanks,” he said, waving it away as if the goblin might leap at him.
“Oh, come on. Be brave, Ron,” Zora teased, nudging his arm with her elbow. “If you get lucky, it’ll be worth it.”
He folded his arms, skeptical. “If I’m going to eat something disgusting, I’d rather it at least look cool. There’s no dignity in being poisoned by a goblin.”
Zora rolled her eyes in exaggerated exasperation. “So childish… You do know the trick, right? The more unappealing the candy looks, the more likely it’s one of the sweet ones. It’s supposed to symbolize unexpected rewards, or something poetic like that. Some parties even use these candies for matchmaking games or courtship rituals.”
Ron blinked. “Whoever came up with this is a demon.”
She giggled behind her gloved hand. “Actually, it was the fourth prince who popularized the trend.”
Ron’s mouth clamped shut. That was not information he wanted to hear… not here, not now.
Zora grinned, tilting her head. “Did that intimidate you?”
“No,” Ron lied flatly.
She popped the goblin into her own mouth and began to chew, slowly and gracefully. Her expression remained composed and unreadable.
“So?” he asked, trying to gauge her reaction.
“I won’t tell,” she replied, tapping the side of her cheek. “It’s part of the game… to masterfully hide your expression. Half the fun is leaving everyone guessing.”
Then, without missing a beat, she picked up a yellow candy shaped like a soldier in ornate armor. She held it up like a toast, then offered it to him. “Now. How about another one?”
Ron raised a brow. “You know… I’ve got a better idea. Something to make this game more exciting.”
“Oh?” Zora asked, intrigued.
He stepped away from the table, scanning the room for a clear space and settling on a modest clearing near the ballroom’s center. Without hesitation, he crouched slightly and pointed at his open mouth. “Throw it at me.”
Zora blinked, stunned. “You look ridiculous,” she said through a laugh. “Are you just trying to avoid eating what I give you?”
“Try me.”
She tossed the yellow soldier in a soft arc. Ron snapped forward and caught it mid-air with a crunch. His face twitched.
“Well?” she asked.
Ron’s jaw worked slowly. “You’ve got good aim, my lady… but your candy luck is cursed.”
Zora’s laughter rang out, light and bright like chimes. “Then we’ll just have to keep going.”
And so they did. With each toss… be it a squishy pink bunny, a squat orc with orange sprinkles, a glimmering blue elf, a squat pig, or a snarling wolf… Ron caught them all, never missing a beat. Sometimes he recoiled in horror. Other times he just clenched his jaw and bore the flavor. Each successful catch drew more attention.
Soon, guests began to circle around, clapping and cheering after every successful toss. A few even placed quiet bets, whispering predictions about whether Ron would catch the next one or collapse from taste-induced trauma.
When Zora threw the wolf-shaped candy, and Ron’s face wrinkled in bitter agony, the crowd burst into laughter. “Your luck is abysmal,” he said, wiping his tongue with a napkin.
“Shush,” she replied, stifling her own laughter.
She picked up another candy, this time a cat, elegant and sleek in silver and white glaze. With a mischievous grin, she tossed it underhand, the candy spinning gently through the air.
Ron caught it clean, and almost immediately, his expression changed. The bitterness of the past few rounds faded, replaced with genuine pleasure. His eyes half-closed as the candy melted into a silky wave of sweetness… strawberries, honey, and something floral. It lingered on his tongue like a memory.
“Jackpot,” he said, sighing contentedly.
The crowd cheered louder this time, applauding both his catch and his visible delight.
Zora stepped closer, folding her arms and smiling. “That look on your face… I’d say the candy was more than worth it.”
Ron smiled through the remnants of sugar. “Yeah… but your luck still sucks.”
She feigned offense, placing a hand over her chest. “Oh my, is that how a gentleman should act?”
“If he’s honest, maybe,” Ron said with a small bow.
Zora guffawed, unrestrained and genuine. For that brief moment, amid strangers, noble politics, and a hall brimming with expectations, Ron found something rare.
Fun.