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 Night of Calling Names — The Outline of Freedom and a New Departure
From the depths of the chapel came a faint, rasping moan.
The smell of mold soaked into the stone walls mingled with old wax and the night's cold air, clinging to the back of her lungs. Fragments of what had once been skeletons lay scattered across the floor, and a pale blue phosphorescence crawled across their surfaces like a lingering afterthought.
Gurei stepped deeper inside, bracing her greatsword one-handed.
Yuuto walked beside her, leaning on her shoulder. His body was still fever-hot, and every so often a small hiss of pain escaped him.
"...Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
He forced his voice bright. But the stone walls swallowed it, and it died almost at once.
The inner chamber. An iron grate creaked softly.
Gurei tightened her grip on the greatsword's hilt. The feel of dried blood clung to the pads of her fingers. Her own blood, or Yuuto's, or that of the bone soldiers—she could no longer tell.
Beyond the grate, human shapes overlapped one another in the dark.
The village's missing people.
An old man, a young woman, and a gaunt, wasted child. All of them stared at her with ashen faces. Only their eyes moved, rolling and wary.
"I've come to get you out."
Her voice was low and short, and it echoed through the stone chamber.
No one answered.
She cut through the grate with her greatsword.
A heavy clang. The iron shrieked and gave way.
Gurei pushed the broken bars open with her hands.
"Those who can walk, walk. Those who can't, have someone carry them."
The people exchanged glances.
Then, slowly, they rose to their feet.
At that moment, one old woman peered hard at Gurei's face.
The woman's gaze was drawn, helplessly, to the top of Gurei's head.
Two great horns, like a bull's.
An iron collar around her neck.
The old woman's mouth trembled.
"M—a demon..."
That single word changed the air in the chamber in an instant.
The people she had just freed all took a step back from her at once.
As though they had touched something filthy.
(...I'm used to it.)
Gurei murmured it silently, inside her own chest.
(I'm used to this look.)
(In the arena, I endured it again and again.)
(From the slave traders, the inspectors, the military police, the spectators—)
(They all looked at me with those eyes.)
Gurei said nothing and turned her back.
She returned the greatsword to the leather strap across her back.
"Let's go."
Yuuto hurried after her.
"Gurei, wait up!"
She didn't stop.
When they stepped out of the chapel, the night was deep.
The wind struck her cheek.
Cold.
Countless stars clung to the sky.
(The stars don't change.)
Gurei looked up.
(Three years ago, they were the same stars.)
(That sky at the bottom of the ash, too.)
(And the sky I saw through the arena's skylight, too.)
(And this sky, now.)
(Nothing changes.)
The narrow road leading back to the village.
Gurei started walking.
Behind her, Yuuto's footsteps hurried to catch up.
At the village entrance, torchlight flickered—many torches.
The villagers had gathered.
Men gripped hoes and clubs. Women wore anxious faces.
And the moment they caught sight of Gurei, every expression stiffened at once.
"Sh-she's out!"
"A demon!"
"Hey, is it safe!?"
The murmuring spread like a wave.
Gurei kept walking, straight through the crowd.
The people parted to let her pass.
As though careful not to touch anything tainted.
"Everyone! You're all safe!"
Yuuto's bright voice rang through the night air.
"It's the Hero!"
"The Hero saved them!"
The villagers rushed toward Yuuto.
"Thank you, Hero!"
"Are you hurt!? Are you all right!?"
"Incredible... you really beat that monster..."
Yuuto was surrounded.
Words of gratitude poured down on him like rain.
"It wasn't just me. Gurei—"
Yuuto started to say it.
But his voice was drowned out by the villagers' cheers.
"Hero, this way! Please, rest your body!"
"We'll prepare warm soup for you!"
"Come, come, Hero, over here!"
Yuuto turned back toward Gurei.
His face was troubled, pleading—asking to be rescued.
Gurei looked at him for a single moment.
Then she looked away.
(Go.)
(You belong over there.)
(I belong here.)
Gurei stepped away from the ring of villagers.
No one tried to stop her.
At the edge of the village.
Beside the well stood an old stone platform.
Gurei lowered herself onto it.
She propped the greatsword against the ground.
It settled with a heavy thud.
(I don't like it.)
Deep in her chest, something like mud stirred and churned.
(I should be used to this.)
(To this loneliness.)
(In the arena's dungeons, I was alone for years.)
(No one needed me.)
(No one thanked me.)
(That was normal.)
Gurei touched her collar.
The cold feel of black iron.
(That's right.)
(I'm a slave.)
(A criminal slave of the demon race.)
(It's only natural that people avoid me.)
(Only natural that they fear me.)
(Only natural that they find me repulsive.)
(...I don't like it.)
She bit down on her back teeth.
A grinding sound.
(Why does it bother me this much?)
(Why, after all this time, this much?)
The well water caught the moonlight and shivered.
The wind brushed through the grass.
From far off came the villagers' cheers.
"Hero, thank you so much!"
"Now we can sleep easy!"
"God must have sent the Hero to us!"
Gurei looked up at the sky.
The stars twinkled.
(I don't believe in any god.)
(If a god existed, why would he make me like this?)
(Why would he take my master—)
Gurei closed her eyes.
Kain's face surfaced.
(Become free.)
(You must become free.)
That voice repeated itself deep in her ears.
(What is freedom?)
(When it hurts this much?)
(Is this what freedom is?)
Then—
A faint rustle of grass.
Gurei opened her eyes.
She turned her gaze toward the sound.
A small shadow stood there.
A young village girl.
Seven years old, maybe eight.
She wore a dirty sack-cloth shift and stood barefoot.
When the girl saw Gurei's face, her body gave a startled shudder.
But she didn't run.
She clutched a small bundle to her chest with both hands.
Gurei watched her, still.
The girl took one step, then another, drawing closer.
Her legs were trembling.
(If you're afraid, you shouldn't come.)
(Why do you come?)
Gurei didn't move.
The girl stopped right in front of her.
Then, with trembling hands, she held out the bundle.
"...Here."
Her voice was tiny, like a mosquito's whine.
Gurei looked at the bundle.
A crude cloth wrapping.
"...What is it?"
Gurei's voice was low and cold.
The girl's shoulders flinched.
"M-my mom said... to give this to you..."
Her voice was wet with tears.
"She said... it's a thank-you... for saving her..."
Gurei looked at the girl's face.
Her big eyes were brimming with tears.
(A thank-you for saving her.)
(To me?)
Gurei didn't take the bundle.
She only stared at the girl.
"...I'm a demon."
She traced her own horn with a finger.
"Aren't you afraid?"
The girl looked at Gurei's horns.
Then at the collar.
Then, once more, at Gurei's face.
Slowly, she shook her head.
"...Because you saved my mom."
And with that, she smiled—just a little.
She smiled, with a face wet with tears.
"Thank you, big sister."
Big sister.
The word pierced straight through Gurei's chest.
(Big sister.)
(Me?)
(I've never been anyone's sister.)
(I'm a slave.)
(A demon.)
(A killer.)
(And yet—why?)
The girl wrapped her small hands around Gurei's hand.
It was warm.
Human body heat.
Gurei's hand was cold.
Stained with blood, sweat, and bone dust.
The girl's hands were soft and warm.
"My mom said... she absolutely wanted you to have this, big sister."
The girl pressed the bundle into Gurei's palm.
Gurei took it.
It felt heavy.
No—not heavy.
It was light.
And yet, in Gurei's hand, it felt impossibly heavy.
"...May I open it?"
Her own voice came out hoarse, so hoarse it surprised her.
The girl nodded, once.
Gurei slowly unfolded the cloth.
What emerged was a single wildflower.
A small white blossom.
Damp with night dew, it glowed faintly in the moonlight.
Beneath the flower lay a scrap of paper.
On it, in trembling handwriting, was written:
"Thank you for saving us. God, please, grant that person happiness."
Gurei stared at the letters.
She couldn't read them.
Gurei had never been taught to read.
Slaves are given no education.
But somehow, she understood what the words meant.
The warmth of the girl's hands still lingered on her own.
(Thank you.)
(She's trying to tell me her gratitude.)
(Because I saved her.)
(Because my sword protected someone.)
Deep in Gurei's chest, something began to smolder and crackle.
Not anger. Not hatred.
Something else. A different kind of heat.
(Master.)
(Just now, someone thanked me.)
(Because I swung my sword.)
(Because I protected someone.)
(Is this what leads to the freedom you spoke of?)
Gurei clenched the wildflower tight.
A few petals crumpled.
"...Your name?"
She asked the girl.
"Miria."
The girl answered in a small voice.
"Miria."
Gurei repeated the name under her breath.
"...I'll remember it."
With that, she stood.
She settled the greatsword onto her back once more.
"Go back now. Your mother is waiting."
"...Okay."
Miria nodded.
Then she spun around and broke into a run.
But after a short distance, she stopped.
She turned back and waved at Gurei.
"Thank you, big sister!"
Her voice rang clear through the night air.
Gurei didn't wave back.
She only watched, still, until that small back vanished into the village lights.
In the village square, the cheers surrounding Yuuto were still going.
"Hero, truly, truly, thank you!"
"You're this village's savior!"
"Long live the Hero!"
Yuuto was laughing, looking uncomfortable.
"Um, everyone, listen. The one who beat Rich was—it wasn't me. It was Gurei."
His voice was earnest.
But the villagers let it slide past.
"The Hero is so humble!"
"How gracious!"
"To give credit to a demon—what a saint!"
"That's not it! It really was Gurei—"
Yuuto raised his voice.
But once again, the cheers swallowed it.
Gurei watched the scene from a distance.
(Idiot.)
(He's a real idiot.)
(Why does he try so desperately to make them see me?)
(It's only natural they're afraid—I'm a demon.)
(It's only natural they look down on me—I'm a slave.)
(No matter how loudly you shout it, nothing changes.)
(...I don't like it.)
Gurei fixed her eyes on Yuuto's back.
(But why?)
(Why can't I push him away anymore, the way I used to?)
(Why can I look at that brightness now without narrowing my eyes?)
Yuuto slipped out of the ring of villagers.
He came running toward Gurei.
"Gurei!"
He stood before her, out of breath.
"Sorry, Gurei. Everyone won't believe that you're the one who did it..."
His face was twisted with frustration.
"It doesn't matter."
Gurei said it shortly.
"Whatever they think of me, it's all the same."
"But I hate it!"
He looked straight up into her face.
"You're so strong, Gurei, and you worked so hard, and nobody knows it—that's just wrong!"
Gurei looked into his eyes.
Straight, unclouded, thirteen-year-old eyes.
(Wrong, is it?)
(The one who's wrong is you.)
(In this world, a demon will never be accepted.)
(That's just how it is.)
(You're the one who's wrong.)
That was what she thought.
But she didn't say it.
"Anyway, Gurei! Where should we go on our next adventure?"
His expression brightened all at once.
He pulled a folded map from his pocket.
"Look, look! If we go north from here, there's a much bigger city! Or west—I heard there are ancient ruins! And the southern sea sounds nice too!"
He spread the map on the ground.
In the moonlight, the old parchment glowed white.
"Hey, Gurei, where do you want to go?"
Gurei looked down at the map.
Grandvelde—the city with the arena where she'd been locked away for three years.
Its name was written small at the center of the map.
(Grandvelde.)
(The city where I was sold as a slave.)
(The city where I killed my mas
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