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 Call of the Death God
Morning light never reached the underground of the arena.
The stone walls were steeped in the smell of sweat, blood, and mold. Beneath it all, a faint metallic note—the blood seeping from her own knuckles. The fists she'd spent last night driving into the wall of her cell had split the skin, and the raw meat showed through. Every time she bent her fingers, a dull throb shot through them. But that pain was the only thing that told her she was still here.
(Ten days left.)
Gurei traced the words on the wooden placard behind her closed eyelids.
*Special Exhibition — The Queen of Cruel Blades Gives Birth to a Death God*
*Ten Days Hence — Goldbach Arena — Master and Disciple to Fight to the Death*
*The Victor Shall Receive a Letter of Recommendation for Freedom*
Freedom. If she killed that woman, it would be hers.
(But I don't want to kill her.)
Inside her chest, two feelings ground against each other, never meshing, turning and turning. Last night she'd nearly drowned in that whirlpool and hadn't slept at all.
The iron grate clanked.
"Morning, Gurei. Breakfast."
Serafina stood in the cell doorway. Long black hair. Brown skin. Pointed ears. A golden laurel crown. A black corset threaded with gold wire lifted the lines of her chest and hips into relief. On her back, the usual greatsword for executions.
The Queen of Cruel Blades. My master. And the one I'll fight to the death in ten days.
Gurei looked straight up at her. Her dark violet eyes, drained of any highlight, caught the shape of her master.
"...Don't want it."
She didn't even glance at the wooden plate held out to her.
"Cold as ever. You've got to eat or you won't last. You're fighting me in ten days, remember?"
Serafina laughed, light and easy. That smile now pierced Gurei's chest like a blade.
(How can she make a face like that?)
(When she's decided to kill me. When she might be the one killed.)
Gurei rose slowly. The pain in her fists spread in a slow creep.
"...Let's go."
She brushed past Serafina and left the cell.
"Where to?"
"The training ground. You're the one who's going to push me to the edge."
She didn't turn around.
"If you're going to do it, do it now. Or were you planning to show me mercy before we kill each other?"
For an instant, Serafina's presence went still.
"...You're right. Mercy would be an insult to you."
The smile vanished from her voice.
"Let's go, Gurei. For the next ten days, I'm going to push you for real."
The training ground was full of the cold air before dawn. Hard-packed earth. The flames in the wall sconces swayed the two shadows. The chains overhead creaked faintly, though no one was there.
Gurei and Serafina faced each other, wooden swords in hand. Blunt practice blades. But in Serafina's grip, they looked heavier than the real thing.
"Today we start with wooden swords. Show me everything you've got."
Serafina let her blade hang loose at her side.
Gurei gritted her teeth.
(Show her everything, is it.)
(She'll see through all of me, and then she'll push me to the edge.)
She kicked off the ground. One step, two, three. Closing the distance.
"Hah!"
A horizontal sweep aimed at the torso. Serafina avoided it with a half-step back.
"Slow. Your step-in's too shallow."
*Snap.* The wooden sword struck Gurei's wrist. Her blade was knocked from her hand.
"...gh."
She grimaced at the pain shooting up her wrist, snatched the sword up at once, and reset her stance.
(Not yet.)
This time a thrust at the throat. Serafina dodged it with the slightest tilt of her head.
"Not bad. But still soft. Your killing intent isn't real yet."
*Thud.* The wooden sword caught her in the side. Her body flew sideways and slammed into the dirt.
"Gah—!"
She couldn't breathe. Her side burned.
(This woman is serious.)
(She's striking at me like she means to kill me.)
She endured the pain and stood.
"...I can still go."
As she reset her stance, Serafina smiled faintly.
"There it is—that look. That defiance of yours, I love it."
"We keep going. As long as you're standing, I won't hold back."
How long passed after that, she couldn't say.
No matter how many times she was knocked down, Gurei rose again each time. Wooden sword exchanges. Grappling and joint locks. Throws. Chokes. Every time Gurei stood, Serafina put her down without mercy.
Her body was covered in bruises and scrapes. Her mouth tasted of blood. Her left shoulder—slammed during a throw, maybe—sent a sharp spike of agony through her whenever she moved it.
Still, Gurei stood.
(I won't kill that woman.)
(I'll neutralize her without killing her.)
Reversing a joint lock. Strikes aimed off the vital points. Sweeps at the legs. Serafina saw through every one and turned it back on her.
"Was that supposed to be a joint reversal? The idea's fine. But you're putting your force in backward. The way you're doing it, you'll only break your own arm."
She twisted Gurei's arm up as she spoke, calm and precise.
"Aiming off the vitals isn't something half-hearted resolve can pull off. If you don't strike like you mean to kill, you'll only hurt your own wrist."
A sweep took her legs, and she went down on the ground.
"You don't want to kill me. That softness is slowing you down. If you mean to neutralize me in ten days, throw that softness away."
Gurei glared back up at Serafina, her face caked in dirt.
"...Shut up."
She gritted her teeth, voice a low growl.
"I won't kill you. I will never kill you."
"...You're kind, you know that."
Serafina looked down at her with eyes that seemed, for a moment, a little sad.
"But that kindness might be what takes your life. That much, at least, remember."
With that, she picked up the water jug from the corner of the training ground.
"Let's rest a bit. You must be thirsty too."
Serafina tipped the jug and wet her throat. Her slender throat rose and fell with each swallow.
(That throat—in ten days, will I cut it?)
(Or will it be me who's cut down?)
She looked at her own hands. The hands that had gripped the wooden sword without rest were blistered and bleeding.
"...Have some yourself."
Gurei took it without a word and put it to her lips. The cold water ran down her parched throat, and the taste of blood thinned a little.
"You know, I come from the desert folk."
Serafina murmured it quietly. Gurei stopped mid-drink.
"The desert folk... from beyond the mountains."
"That's right. The desert country on the far side of the great range. I was a low-ranking knight there."
Her eyes fixed on something far away, Serafina began to speak.
"I wanted to take this fertile land. The desert has nothing, you see. No water, no green, no food. I invaded this land for my country. ...And I lost."
She stared at her own hands.
"The defeated soldiers became prisoners. I was bid off at a slave auction. When I came to this arena, I was just a slave too."
Gurei listened in silence.
"But I fought. I fought desperately, to survive. And somewhere in all that, I realized something. I love to fight."
The corner of her mouth curved faintly into a smile.
"I awoke to the joy of battle. I stopped feeling any guilt about killing. If anything, crossing blades with a strong opponent was the greatest joy of all."
Gurei set the jug down on the ground.
(So this is where that woman's madness comes from.)
(A pure thirst for battle.)
(Not joy—thirst.)
Something stirred deep in her chest.
"But you know, Gurei. I've grown tired of bullying the weak."
Her voice dropped suddenly low.
"In this arena, there was no one who could cross blades with me for real. Everyone who saw me was afraid, ran, begged for their lives. I killed opponents like that for years and years. ...I was waiting, all this time, for someone strong to appear."
She turned toward Gurei. In her eyes, madness and allure mingled.
"I want to live for battle to the very end. I want to die in battle. ...And then I found you. You don't flinch from me. You glare back at me. You try to bite me. ...That defiant spirit of yours—I'm pinning a faint hope on it."
She drew closer.
"You might be able to kill me. You might be able to bring your blade to my life. ...I want you to become the death god who can kill me. The death god I've waited for all this time."
She smiled, bewitching. A beautiful, terrifying smile.
Gurei's body trembled.
(This woman is serious.)
(She wants me to kill her—from the bottom of her heart.)
(And I can't be free unless I kill her.)
She didn't look away from Serafina's eyes.
"...I won't kill you."
Her voice shook.
"I'll become free without killing you. I'll find that way. I swear it."
Serafina narrowed her eyes.
"...You really are an interesting girl."
Gently, she touched Gurei's cheek.
"How those words will change in ten days—I'm looking forward to it."
From that day, ten days of hell began.
From morning to night, Serafina pushed Gurei to the edge. Wooden swords, grappling, throws, chokes. Every time she fell, the follow-up came without mercy. Every time she rose, she searched for a way to neutralize without killing. But every one of them was smashed.
"Soft."
"Slow."
"Don't think that's enough to stop me."
The wooden sword struck her body. Bruises and cuts multiplied day by day.
Still, Gurei didn't break.
(I will never kill that woman.)
(Without killing her, I'll be free.)
(I'll find that way, no matter what.)
Gritting her teeth, she rose again and again.
The promoter Varudo was making his preparations in his office. Short-cropped black hair threaded with white. A receding hairline. Cold gray-green eyes that seemed to weigh everything for profit. A jeweled ring caught the candlelight and scattered it.
Scanning the documents on his desk, he tapped the wood with a ringed finger.
"Hm... the bets are piling up on Serafina to win. Well, naturally. Her opponent is that little girl. Not a shred of a chance."
He smiled, gray-green eyes narrowing.
"But that means slim profits. I need a few more fools betting on the girl. ...The name 'Defiance' is still fresh in the audience's memory. There must be no small number of idiots who'll dream on that name."
He turned a page.
"Serafina's victory is unshakable. The question is how to multiply the fools betting on the girl. ...Let's see—perhaps I'll advertise it far and wide: 'The victor shall receive a letter of recommendation for freedom.' How many fools will leap at the bait of freedom? That'll be a sight."
He smirked.
"Well, either way, I profit. If Serafina wins, the house takes the bets. And if, by some miracle, the girl wins, the name 'Defiance' rises even higher. I'll earn more at the next exhibition. ...Money either way. A truly fine product."
He stood and looked out the window. In the direction of the arena, the banner was already hung.
*The Queen of Cruel Blades Gives Birth to a Death God*
"...Now then, let's see it. How far that little girl will struggle."
The night before the match.
Gurei, training finished, lay spread-eagle on the floor of the training ground. Her whole body was screaming, and even moving a single finger felt like too much trouble.
"Good work. You did well again today."
Serafina crouched down beside her.
"...Yeah."
She answered shortly, still staring at the ceiling.
"Tomorrow's finally the real thing. Show me everything you've got."
She stroked Gurei's hair gently.
"...Stop."
She tried to swat the hand away. But her body wouldn't move. Serafina ignored the resistance and kept stroking.
"You really are a strong girl. I never thought you'd absorb my teachings this far."
She peered into Gurei's face.
"That defiance of yours. That thirst. All of it makes me tremble. ...You, I'm sure, can bring your blade to my life."
She pressed down over her, pinning her.
"...What are you doing?"
She shifted, but Serafina's body didn't budge. Her fingertips touched Gurei's collar. The cold feel of iron. Those fingers stroked the collar slowly, as if cherishing it.
"...This collar might come off tomorrow, too. If you
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