CHAPTER 70: CH 70: SECURING THE IMP- PART 1

The moment Fenrir laid his hand on the ancient tomb, a deep growl erupted behind him.

He spun his head and saw the corrupted imp snarling, its body lurching toward him with desperation.

Its black aura surged as it roared—not in rage, but in panic. It wasn’t trying to kill him.

It was trying to stop him.

But it was too late.

The hamsters, performing their chaotic ballet of distraction, continued to harass the boss imp.

One of them clung to its horn. Another dangled from its wing. The third rolled under its feet, tripping it just long enough to delay its sprint.

"Sorry, buddy. But this needs to happen."

Fenrir said, pulling a worn, rune-etched hammer from his inventory.

With a grunt, Fenrir raised the hammer and brought it down on the tomb.

A shockwave of magic exploded from the impact point.

Blinding white light flooded the chamber, forcing both Fenrir and the hamsters to flinch and shield their eyes. The imp shrieked as the corrupted mana was burned away in a howling gust.

Then silence.

Ding!

[System Notification: Curse on "Imp Builder" lifted. Unique Familiar Quest complete.]

[Reward: Right to form contract with the Imp Builder.]

The black aura dissipated into glittering particles.

The towering, corrupted figure shrank rapidly until what remained was a knee-high creature floating mid-air—an imp the size of a small dog, with leathery wings, a soft, fluffy bat-like body, and long, clawed hands that looked too big for its stubby arms.

Its eyes, once red with fury, were now a mischievous violet.

It hovered toward Fenrir with a curious expression.

"You’ve done me a great favor, stranger. To be freed from such a wretched curse... I owe you a debt. So I offer my loyalty—let us form a contract, and I shall serve you well."

It said, its voice surprisingly refined.

Fenrir smiled at the imp’s theatrics. The creature sounded so sincere.

A lesser alchemist might have been swept away by the moment, perhaps even honored by such a gesture.

But Fenrir wasn’t fooled.

"I appreciate the offer. But let’s not pretend this is purely gratitude. You’re an imp. You need a contract to survive."

He said, crossing his arms.

The imp’s expression stiffened.

Fenrir stepped closer, his smile turning sharp.

"Without one, your mana leaks. You weaken over time. That’s the real reason you were cursed, isn’t it? You tricked someone into a deal, they turned on you, sealed you here—and without a contract, you got corrupted."

The imp gave a sheepish chuckle, looking away.

"Well... perhaps there is some truth to that..."

"I’ll form a contract, but it’ll be on my terms. Not yours"

Fenrir continued.

The imp’s wings fluttered anxiously. Its little claws twitched.

"You drive a hard bargain for someone I’m offering my services to freely."

"No. You’re offering your services because you have to, not because you want to. Let’s skip the pretense. You want to live, and I need a smith."

Fenrir said bluntly.

The imp winced, then gave a huff of resignation.

"Fine. What are your terms?"

Fenrir pulled out a contract scroll from his inventory—one specially designed for binding magical beings—and began listing out the conditions with an almost bureaucratic efficiency.

"No betrayal. No twisting words. You work as my smith, stay within the confines of my dungeon unless granted permission, and you help me build and maintain equipment when I ask. You’ll get mana from our bond, and I’ll give you free time when there’s no work."

The imp frowned.

"No tricks at all?"

"No tricks."

Fenrir confirmed.

With a grumble and a flick of his claw, the imp signed the contract, and the scroll burned in a burst of light.

A symbol etched itself on the imp’s forehead, and Fenrir felt the contract form between them like a thread of mana pulling tight.

"...So...Does the master give his servant a name?"

The imp muttered.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow.

"Don’t you already have one?"

"Of course I do. But I’d rather hear what you come up with."

Fenrir thought for a moment.

"You’re a pain, smart-mouthed, and dramatic... I’ll call you Grizzle."

The imp winced.

"Grizzle? Really?"

Fenrir smirked.

"You want to change it? Work hard and earn a better one."

Grizzle crossed his arms and pouted.

"Fine. Grizzle it is."

With the quest complete and the imp bonded to him, Fenrir glanced around the now-silent dungeon chamber.

As the contract with Grizzle burned into completion and their mana threads tied them together, Fenrir let out a slow breath.

One more step forward. One more piece of the puzzle in place.

It was time to return.

With the imp floating behind him, wings flapping lazily and muttering about forge materials and ventilation systems, Fenrir made his way back through the now-quiet dungeon.

His hamsters hopped beside him, still energized after their imp-baiting antics, occasionally chittering among themselves like overexcited kids.

He quickly sent them back to his dungeon before he reached the end.

But as they approached the dungeon’s exit, Fenrir stopped.

Something... felt off.

He tilted his head upward, instinct warning him.

And then he saw it—soaring above the dungeon’s treeline was what could only be described as a grotesque, airborne nightmare.

Its body was long and leathery like a crocodile’s, covered in cracked scales and armored hide.

Massive wings jutted out of its back in a way that made no anatomical sense, and its tail was shaped like a war hammer, slamming into the trees below as it flew in tight, furious circles.

And it was in the middle of a fight.

Several hunters were engaged with the creature, throwing spells and launching attacks, but clearly struggling.

The crocodile-dragon hybrid twisted in the sky, letting out a bone-rattling roar that echoed through the valley.

Fenrir stared for a moment, expression blank.

"...What the hell is that? Looks like a dungeon boss."

Fenrir muttered.

"Dungeons these days. It’s like they’ve stopped following any logic. What kind of twisted monster design committee is running this thing?"

Fenrir continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The sky-beast roared again, prompting a distant explosion from the hunters trying to subdue it. Fenrir wisely decided he’d seen enough.

"Nope. Not my business. Not today."

Without attracting any attention, he turned away from the ongoing battle and slipped out the dungeon exit while the crowd outside remained focused on the chaos.

Dozens of hunters and reporters were still gathered, eyes trained on the spectacle and muttering theories about Mr. ’X.’

No one noticed the calm, black-cloaked young man walking the opposite way, slipping into a warp gate alongside three oversized hamsters and a grumpy imp.

By the time they reached his lab, Fenrir had already removed his disguise. His mind was back on his forge.

"Alright, Grizzle. This is where you’ll work."

He said, leading the imp deeper into his private dungeon.

They arrived at the overgrown ruins of his old smithy.

Grizzle floated in silence for a moment, staring at the collapsed roof, twisted metal, and the unfortunate tree growing through the wall.

"...This is a crime."

Fenrir snorted.

"Fix it."

Grizzle rolled up his sleeves and immediately got to work. A system notification appeared in Fenrir’s view:

[Unique Familiar Grizzle has begun construction: Smithy - Tier 1 Upgrade.]

[Estimated Time: 47 Hours 12 Minutes]

Fenrir nodded in satisfaction. Finally—progress.