Rebellious Grey: The Demon Girl Rises from Slavery
In the city of Granveld, where human greed turns flesh into currency, demons are born already condemned. Gurei—thirteen years old, horned, hungry, and utterly alone—has known nothing but the stinking gutters of the Ash Bottom slum. When a bounty hunter's iron grip drags her from the rain-soaked streets into the slave market's cold machinery, she is stripped of her name, her rags, and what little freedom she had left, reduced to nothing more than "property" to be priced and sold.
But something b
Rebellious Grey: The Demon Girl Rises from Slavery - The Queen of Vicious Blades Gives Birth to a Reaper
Morning light never reached the underground of the arena.
The smell of sweat, blood, and mold soaked into the stone walls stung Gurei's nostrils, unchanged from months ago. But her body was not what it had been. The muscles of her shoulders had thickened with every swing of the sword; her thighs had grown stronger with every step she drove forward. Old scars multiplied across her limbs with each of Serafina's training sessions—and then closed over.
Gurei gripped a wooden sword in the corner of her cell.
Pre-dawn practice. She repeated the forms Serafina had hammered into her while her body still remembered them. Footwork, the set of the hips, the snap of the wrist. Only the sound of the blade cutting air echoed through the quiet cell.
(Not yet.)
(This won't reach that woman. Not like this.)
A full season had turned since the mock sea battle. As a slave gladiator, Gurei had fought before the crowds again and again, and kept winning. With every victory, the cry of "Defiance" rose from the stands. Varudo smiled in satisfaction, and Gurei's name climbed into the upper ranks of the betting boards.
But to Gurei, the matches were nothing more than an extension of practice.
The real battle was always here, in the training yard before dawn.
"Nice. That step of yours—sharper than yesterday."
At the voice, Gurei stopped her wooden sword.
Beyond the iron bars of the cell stood Serafina. Long, glossy black hair. Brown skin. Long, pointed ears. A golden laurel wreath on her head, and a black corset threaded with gold that emphasized her full chest and narrow waist. On her back, as always, the great executioner's blade.
The Queen of the Cruel Blade.
Gurei's master.
"...Peeping? Poor taste."
Gurei lowered the wooden sword and said it flatly.
"It's not peeping. I came to see whether my disciple is properly reviewing what I taught her."
Serafina unlocked the cell. With a clank, the iron bars swung open.
"Breakfast. I put in extra dried meat today—your favorite."
Serafina held out a wooden plate. Black bread, thin soup, salted dried meat. A far more decent portion than what the gladiator cells were served.
Gurei took the plate without a word.
"You're drenched in sweat. Here, let me wipe you off."
Serafina took the cloth hanging at her waist and reached toward Gurei's forehead.
"Don't need it."
Gurei pulled back.
"I can do it myself. Stop fussing over me."
"So cold. What's wrong with a master wiping her disciple's sweat?"
Serafina laughed, but she didn't put the cloth away.
"If you leave sweat on like that, you'll catch cold. This underground gets chilly."
"...I was raised at the bottom of the ash. You think a cold would kill me?"
Gurei set the plate on the cot and wiped her forehead with her own arm.
(This woman is always like this.)
(She doesn't just teach me the sword—she feeds me, tends my wounds, tries to wipe my sweat.)
(Like she's my real mother.)
That closeness still left Gurei bewildered. At the bottom of the ash, no one had ever fussed over her. Bread crusts were something you fought for. Wounds were something you licked clean yourself.
And yet this woman, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, tried to look after her.
(I don't like it.)
Gurei muttered it inwardly.
(But... it's not bad.)
That second feeling, Gurei didn't want to admit.
"Come on, give me your hand. The skin on your palm peeled during yesterday's practice, didn't it?"
Serafina reached for Gurei's left hand.
"Don't touch me."
Gurei drew her hand back.
"I'll do it myself. The herbs are in the cell."
"...You really are stubborn."
Serafina's face turned a little sad.
But a moment later, the usual smile returned.
"Well, fine. That part of you is one of your strengths, after all."
With that, Serafina plopped herself down at the entrance of Gurei's cell.
"Eat. It'll get cold."
Gurei glanced at Serafina, then picked up the black bread from the plate.
Hard. But it filled the belly.
Gurei chewed the black bread and looked at Serafina.
(Why does this woman bother with me?)
(Knowing that I'll take her techniques and surpass her someday.)
(And still she smiles and fusses over me.)
Gurei simply could not understand what Serafina was thinking.
"...Hey."
Gurei swallowed the black bread and spoke.
"What do you want from me?"
Serafina turned her golden eyes on Gurei.
"What do I want?"
"You teach me the sword, feed me, look after me. What do you want me to do?"
Serafina thought for a moment, then smiled brightly.
"I want you to become strong. That's all."
"...That's all?"
"That's all. You become strong, and you take what you want with your own hands. I want to help you do that."
"...What I want."
Gurei touched her fingers to her collar.
An iron collar. Cold.
"I want to be free. To take off this collar and leave this arena. That's all."
"I know. And you will be free—I'm sure of it."
Serafina said it and gently placed her hand on Gurei's head.
Gurei did not brush it away.
(...Why?)
(Why can't I brush away this woman's hand?)
Gurei realized that inside her, for the first time, was a self that wanted to trust someone.
For a Gurei who had lived at the bottom of the ash, that feeling was close to terror.
To trust meant to be betrayed.
Gurei knew that painfully well.
And yet, before this woman, that wariness melted, little by little.
(I don't like it.)
Gurei muttered inwardly once more.
(This feeling, this woman, all of it—I don't like any of it.)
But that day did come, in the end.
It was one day, nearly half a year after they met.
A Kenpei walked down the underground passage of the arena to Gurei's cell.
"Hey, Gurei. The promoter's calling. Get to the office."
The stubbled Kenpei. The same condescending tone as always.
Gurei rose from the cot and left the cell without a word.
Varudo's office was on the arena's ground floor, at the very top of the spectator stands.
She passed through the stone corridor and climbed the stairs.
When she emerged above ground, the daylight—the first in a long while—pierced her eyes.
(Bright.)
Gurei narrowed her eyes and headed for Varudo's office.
Before the office door, the Kenpei stopped.
"Get in. The promoter's waiting."
Gurei pushed the door open.
The interior was a different world from the dungeons and cells.
Polished wooden floors. Expensive paintings on the walls. From the ceiling, lighting powered by magic stones cast a soft glow.
In the center of the room stood a heavy wooden desk.
Beyond it, the promoter Varudo sat deep in his chair.
Short, neatly trimmed black hair mixed with white. A receding hairline. Cold gray-green eyes that seemed to weigh everything for profit. The jeweled rings on his fingers caught the lamplight and flashed.
"Ah, there you are. Gurei the Defiant."
Varudo smiled with his mouth only. His eyes did not smile.
Gurei stood at the doorway and glared at Varudo.
"...What do you want?"
"Now, now, don't be in such a hurry. Have a seat."
Varudo gestured with his chin at the chair before the desk.
Gurei did not sit.
"State your business. I'm busy."
"Oh? A slave, and busy, no less. Bold words."
Varudo toyed with the documents on his desk and continued.
"Well, fine. Today I have good news for you."
"Good news?"
"Yes. About the next great spectacle. You're the star."
Gurei furrowed her brow.
"...The star?"
"That's right. A special event. I call it—"
At that moment, the door at the back of the room opened quietly.
"—'The Queen of the Cruel Blade Gives Birth to a Death God.' Good title, isn't it?"
Serafina entered the room.
The usual golden laurel wreath. The black corset threaded with gold. On her back, the great executioner's blade.
But her expression was not the usual bright smile.
A deep smile, madness and allure mingled together.
Her golden eyes blazed, fixed on Gurei.
"...What is that?"
Gurei said it in a low voice.
"The title of the next spectacle. A master-and-disciple duel—you and me."
Serafina approached Gurei slowly.
"You're joking."
Gurei spat it out.
"It's no joke. I want to fight you in earnest—to the death."
Serafina stopped before Gurei's eyes.
"You might be able to bring your blade to my life. My beloved little Death God."
Whispering that, Serafina pulled Gurei's head against her full chest.
A soft sensation.
Her master's warmth.
And, from deep within that chest, a steady heartbeat.
Gurei froze for an instant.
(What is being done to me?)
(What is this woman saying?)
Gurei's mind went blank.
"You're going to become my Death God. I raised you for it. Your sword has been honed to take my life."
Serafina's voice echoed sweetly, terrifyingly, at Gurei's ear.
"Don't mock me!!"
Gurei shoved Serafina's body away with both hands.
Serafina staggered back a step, but her smile did not break.
"Don't mock me! You're my master! You taught me the sword! And now you want to fight me to the death!?"
Gurei gritted her teeth and shouted, almost a growl.
"That's right. That's why I raised you to be a Death God."
Serafina narrowed her golden eyes.
"I love fighting more than anything. I've been searching all along for an opponent I can face with everything I have, risking my life. And I found one. You."
"I'm not your opponent for a death match!"
"No—you are my Death God. Your defiance, your tenacity, your greed—all of it exists to kill me."
Serafina stepped closer to Gurei.
"You can kill me. You can bring your blade to my life. ...Ah, just thinking about it makes my body tremble."
Serafina's cheeks were flushed.
Her eyes were moist with ecstasy.
Gurei felt something cold crawl up her spine.
(This woman is serious.)
(She seriously intends to fight me to the death.)
(And she seriously wants me to kill her.)
For the first time, Gurei saw Serafina's madness face to face.
"Ha, what a magnificent performance. Both of you, truly splendid."
Varudo clapped his hands from behind the desk.
"As a spectacle, there's no better card. The Queen of the Cruel Blade and the defiant newcomer. A master and disciple fighting to the death. The crowd will go wild."
Varudo eyed Gurei with his gray-green eyes, appraising her like merchandise.
"The betting will be interesting too. Serafina's victory is certain. But there'll be a certain number of fools betting on you. ...Not that I calculate even a shred of a chance for you, mind you."
Varudo chuckled.
Gurei glared at Varudo with murder in her eyes.
"...You're in on this too."
"In on it? I'm the promoter. My job is to provide spectacles that make money. And there's no spectacle that makes more money than a master and disciple killing each other."
Varudo tapped his ringed fingers on the desk, tap, tap.
"The date is ten days from now. Until then, train hard. I expect a good match."
Gurei said nothing and bolted from the office.
She ran down the corridor, down the stairs, and back to the underground cell.
She slammed the iron bars of the cell shut with her own hands.
Clang.
The sound of iron echoed through the underground passage.
Gurei stood still in the corner of the cell.
(Betrayed.)
(Betrayed by that woman.)
(That training, those words of praise, that fussing—was it all preparation for a death match?)
Deep in Gurei's chest, something pulsed violently.
Anger.
Sorrow.
And, beyond that, a deeper despair.
Gurei drove her fist into the stone wall of the cell with all her strength.
Thud.
A dull sound.
The skin of her knuckles split.
Blood seeped out.
But Gurei did not stop.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Again and again, she struck the wall.
The skin of her knuckles tore, and flesh showed through.
Blood spattered, dyeing the stone wall red.
(I don't like it.)
(I don't like it, I don't like it, I don't like it.)
(This collar, this brand, this arena, Varudo—and—)
(That woman too.)
Gurei pressed her forehead against the wall.
Ragged breaths.
Her shoulders heaved.
"...Did I trust that woman?"
Gurei squeezed the
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