“Okay,” Namu said. “Let’s do it.”

  Yinying nodded. They placed a piece of paper on the table in front of Namu. Gold, glowing cursive marked it as a magical contract—a bond sanctified by the Goddess, with punishment for breaking it meted out by the same. Namu gawked at it. He’d never seen one in person. The things were extraordinarily expensive.

  Yinying clacked their teeth together. “Just in case,” they said in a hurried tone. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—”

  “Oh, it’s fine. Smart, even.”

  Namu set his tea down and carefully picked up the contract. It was simple, mostly outlining what they’d talked about. He’d heard about that, too. The contracts wrote themselves and changed according to the owner’s whims until signed. Once signed, the terms were set in stone. Or, in this case, in gold cursive. As long as Namu and Yinying fulfilled their agreed-upon ends of the deal, it would continue until one of them either hit maximum stats on any MaGriff, or got to rank one in any of the MaGriff-related rankings. Namu supposed those two things were more or less the same, and ensured that if they took too long climbing the ladder, they wouldn’t be stuck in the contract forever. That was important thanks to the failure clause.

  If either of them failed to uphold their end, including simply giving up on ranching before the contract ended, the failing party would have all of their MaGriffs released to the wilds, their ranch deleted, and the cost of their ranch plus MaGriffs tallied. The final cost would then be owed to the remaining rancher.

  “Wow,” Namu said after a moment. “That’s…quite an incentive.”

  He could already imagine the hell Mira would put him through if he not only convinced her to spend an enormous chunk of their savings but also quit and accrued an enormous debt in the process.

  “True,” Yinying said. “It would give the remaining rancher a lot in the world of Myth and Magic, but it wouldn’t even cover the damage caused in this one. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s the best one I could come up with.”

  Namu nodded. He knew how it felt to pour yourself into something only to have it crumble in your hands. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of losing all progress, though.

  “What about the one who drops out sells their ranch to the one who stays?” he asked.

  Yinying shook their head. “The Goddess doesn’t allow ranches to be sold. Even enough starter ranches, if owned by the same Rebirth, would end up as a huge amount of land and resources.”

  “That makes sense. Okay…what about MaGriffs? It feels wrong to just let them all go. Not that I plan on dropping out or anything.”

  “Of course. I have no intention of dropping out either. However, I understand. The sale of MaGriffs isn’t prohibited, but making exclusive sales contracts is. Everyone gets a fair shot.”

  “Does everyone have to get notified when a MaGriff goes on sale?”

  “Hmm? No. That would make quite a racket if that were the case.”

  “Great. Then we have to give each other a month’s notice before quitting and say exactly when. The quitter puts their MaGriffs up for sale, makes them affordable to the one staying, and the one who stays can immediately buy them.”

  “The buyer needs enough stable space.”

  “That’s why it’s a month’s notice. To prepare.”

  “I’m not sure that would be enough. It depends on too many unknowns. Also, it doesn’t stop others from buying the MaGriffs by luck or planning.”

  Namu couldn’t figure out how anyone could plan to buy something if only the two of them knew when it went on sale, but he supposed he didn’t know much about big businesses, except that they were cutthroat.

  As they’d spoken, the contract had dutifully re-wrote itself. Paragraphs shifted and changed, some disappearing entirely only for new ones to appear somewhere else as it merged, divided, added, and discarded their ideas.

  Namu grunted as the contract finished its latest paragraph.

  “It seems this thing has a good idea,” he said. “We can both get what we want. If I drop out, my MaGriffs are released. No risk of sale to another. If you drop out, you give me a month’s notice, then put your MaGriffs up for sale.”

  Yinying clacked their teeth. They didn’t seem terribly enthused.

  “Remember,” Namu said. “If you quit, I have to assume you’re no longer concerned about who gets top place. As far as I know, any sort of MaGriff abuse gets them auto-released, so they’ll be cared for by whoever gets them, or else end up where you wanted them.”

  Yinying made a dry, coughing sound that Namu interpreted as a snort.

  “Presumptuous of you to think I wouldn’t care who got top rank if I quit,” they said. “But, like I said, I don’t plan on quitting, so very well. I’ll accept those terms.”

  The magical contract settled. After one more look through to ensure nothing odd had slipped in, Namu held his hand over the paper. A glowing gold pen materialized in his grip. He scratched his name in equally gold ink at the bottom of the page, then slid the contract to Yinying. With Yinying’s signature, the contract disappeared in a puff of glitter, but it wasn’t gone for good. He, or Yinying, could pull it out of nothing whenever they wished. They were bound now, for better or for worse.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  *****

  After an extended discussion about breeding strategies and XP gains from various sources, Namu returned to Apex Ranch. Since it was the last day of the week and therefore a rest day, he hadn’t missed anything. His friends weren’t even back. He still felt a little guilty about being gone so long. The sun was on its way down. He had a few hours before dark, which meant plenty of time for the couple of things he needed to do.

  First up, breeding. All he had to do was put an adult male and female MaGriff in the same turnout. Oddly, it only worked in a turnout, and it had to be only one breedable pair. Namu supposed that stopped accidental breedings in large flocks at pasture.

  Leading Mangrove into Dahlia’s turnout proved easy enough. Namu watched them wander around for a minute, showing no interest in one another, then left them with the hope their interest would increase without an audience.

  With one task down, all that remained was harvesting and storing the wheatgrass he’d planted the week before. It too was simple enough, if a bit more labor-intensive.

  Namu waded contentedly into the tall green blades. Large seed pods waved at the top of green stalks, giving off a light smell of starch, which mingled with the much stronger scent of loamy soil. Namu snapped the blades and stalks at the base, just above the roots. They came off with a satisfying crunch, leaving nothing but a nub sticking out of the soil. It promptly dissolved into glitter.

  He continued on, gathering a thick bundle of wheatgrass in one hand as he snapped new ones off with his other. When a bundle got too big, he took a few blades, wrapped them around the bundle, tied it, and laid it to the side of the garden plots. By the time he’d finished, he’d made a little hill of bundles, and the plots looked bare and new. They wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  Namu selected a clump of seeds and ran his hand over it. He gained a handful to plant for next week’s harvest. As far as he could tell, every clump was identical, but he enjoyed picking one out to carry on the wheatgrass line.

  The rest of the blades and stalks would go into the feed storage room in the stable until Cyrille got back. The crocodilian Beastfolk was an excellent cook, and he’d taken to crafting MaGriff feed with ease. Namu couldn’t wait to see what his friend could do once they’d unlocked ingredients for more types and more complex feed. But for now, Namu’s job was done.

  *****

  A shiny cream egg with blue speckles, about a foot and a half tall, greeted Namu when he went to check on Mangrove and Dahlia the next morning. The two MaGriffs looked as uninterested in each other as the day before, but they’d apparently got over their boredom long enough.

  Namu didn’t question it. A MaGriff egg had to be picked up by a rancher and placed either in an incubator, which Namu didn’t have, or in the mother’s stall, where she’d spend the next week incubating it herself. That meant no training, but since Namu was racing Mangrove, it didn’t matter.

  He settled the egg in the center of Dahlia’s stall. Dahlia followed him, rumbling low in something akin to a cat’s purr. As soon as he stepped out of the stall, she settled over the egg and gathered straw around her with her beak.

  After ensuring the two MaGriffs had their breakfast, Namu had some time to kill before starting Mangrove’s training. His friends appeared to help him do just that.

  “Hey, hey!” Mira called from in front of the ranch house. “What’s my favorite tree been up to?”

  She’d changed from her adventuring equipment into a pale blue blouse with silver embroidery, her black and brown hair pulled back with a hair tie topped with a blue rose. Cyrille looked the same as ever, although his plate mail quickly disappeared as he unequipped it, leaving only his loose, off-white underclothes.

  “Productive,” Namu said. He waved at the stable. “I talked to Yinying about breeding, and now Dahlia’s brooding an egg for us.”

  Mira’s eyes narrowed, and Cyrille cocked his head. Too late, Namu realized in all the hustle of the last week, he’d forgotten to tell his friends about the Nightfolk. Namu led them into the ranch house, where he showed them the guest key and explained the conversation he and Yinying had had. When he pulled out the contract, both of his friends grew alarmed.

  “A contract?” Mira sputtered. “With a Rebirth you barely know? Really, Namu? This is why we don’t like leaving you alone.”

  “Hey,” Namu said. “I read the contract multiple times. It’s a good contract. Here, you look.”

  Mira grabbed the contract, her mouth moving as she silently read it. Cyrille leaned over to do the same.

  Cyrille shrugged. “Looks solid.”

  “Sure, for now,” Mira said with a scowl. “But how much about this new world do we still not know? How do we know there’s not a loophole that this Yinying can use to screw us over later?”

  “I didn’t see anything like that.”

  “Yet.”

  Cyrille shrugged again. “This Yinying’s still right. Having two ranches to split and merge lines between is a great idea. I’d be surprised if others haven’t realized the same. Probably more than two ranches, even, if it’s allowed.”

  Namu’s scent turned to pine. “Is it allowed?” He suddenly had an image of half-a-dozen ranches in a big conglomeration, power-leveling their way to the top slots.

  “No idea,” Cyrille said.

  Mira shook her head. “Then that’s your next assignment. We obviously can’t null the contract, so we might as well see how useful, or dangerous, is can be.”

  “I’ll look, too.” Namu said. He got into the contract without consulting his friends first. The least he could do was some of the footwork.

  “Yeah. Okay. But don’t slack on the ranch either. We put so much into this place, we need it to work, especially if it’s going to keep you from helping in Myth and Magic. Fighting without a healer is no cakewalk.”

  “Right. And…sorry for not talking to you guys first.”

  Mira gave him a thin smile. “Hey, we all make mistakes. You’re still my favorite tree. Just don’t want you making the same mistakes as me.”

  Namu returned her smile. When he and Mira had first met, what felt like ages ago now, the spider Kentauros had been skulking in the forests at the edge of a large city. Namu had heard of her in spooked whispers among the city dwellers. A dangerous creature waiting to prey on anyone who dared step outside the city’s walls. A creature driven mad by the need for revenge. As with all lies, there was a kernel of truth in the hearsay, but most of it had been false rumors spread by the very Rebirth who had got her stuck in the forest, the one who had bound her in a contract after she’d trusted too quickly.

  Namu, along with Cyrille, had helped to clear the contract’s requirements, reducing what would have been years’ worth of isolated, hard labor into a little less than a year of work. It had been backbreaking, and Mira didn’t warm up to them until a while after the contract disappeared. Not that Namu blamed her. The Rebirth she’d made a contract with had hurt her and her reputation for the fun of it. That wasn’t something you got over overnight. Even now, years later, Mira kept her trust well guarded. Namu was honored she gave him and Cyrille as much as she did. He regretted dredging up bad memories.

  “Care to play cards?” Namu asked, his grin growing sly.

  Mira laughed. “You and what coin? I cleared out what you had last time, and you didn’t go with us to get more.”

  “I’ll just have to have a tab.”

  “Ooh, dangerous words.”

  They proved to be immensely dangerous, but leaving Mira happy was more than worth the debt he’d accrued.