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 - Heading north
The wind off the sea tore at Gurei's gray hair as she stood atop the cliff, snatching it violently sideways.
The smell of salt worked its way deep into her nostrils. Salt and fish and wet rock. This was the first time in her life she had ever smelled the ocean—and she thought she might never smell it again.
Half a day's walk north from the port city of Norn, she had left the highway and climbed a narrow animal trail until she reached this cliff. A place no one ever came, with a view of the sea stretching in every direction.
Gurei looked down at her own wrists.
The iron shackles, still locked in place.
Heavy. Cold. The bite of metal into her skin, constant and unrelenting.
After killing the military police, she had spent the night in a cave in the mountains. She'd sharpened her greatsword and waited for dawn. Then she'd turned her back on the port city and begun walking north.
The chain between the shackles clattered with every step. That sound overlapped in her ears with the ringing of the bell on her collar.
(So noisy.)
Gurei clenched her back teeth, as if biting down on the chain itself.
(I'm going to make that sound disappear.)
At the cliff's edge stood a large boulder, its shape angular, worn smooth by years of sea wind.
Gurei stood before it.
She raised both hands and wrapped the chain of her shackles around the rock's jutting corner.
The iron links scraped against stone with a small, dry sound.
Gurei drew a breath.
The salt wind poured into her lungs. Cold. Painful.
(Here. I'll break them here.)
(These chains—I'll break them.)
(I'll take back my hands—hands that belong to no one.)
Gurei poured every ounce of strength into her arms.
She planted her feet. The stone bit into her heels. She dropped her hips, set her shoulders, her back teeth grinding together.
And then, she pulled—all at once.
——GIIIIIIIN!!!
The metal screamed.
The chain bit into the rock. Iron ground against iron, sparks scattering.
Gurei gritted her teeth.
(Break.)
(BREAK!!!)
She pulled again.
——SNAP!!!
The chain of the shackles shattered at its center.
Shards of iron flew out past the cliff's edge, glittering as they fell toward the sea.
Gurei looked at her hands.
The iron rings still remained around her wrists.
But her hands were free.
She opened her right hand. Opened her left. Curled her fingers. Stretched them.
(They move.)
(My hands move—by my own will.)
Slowly, Gurei closed her fists.
For the first time, she had clenched her fists by her own will alone.
The shackle rings dug into her wrists. It hurt.
(It hurts.)
(But this pain is mine.)
(No one gave this pain to me.)
(This is the pain of a fist I clenched myself, by my own will.)
Still holding her fists tight, Gurei looked out at the sea.
Below her, an immense horizon spread wide.
Blue.
The boundary between sky and sea was indistinct.
Everything melted into blue.
Vast.
Endless, vast.
(What lies beyond that sea?)
(I don't know.)
(I'm going to a place I don't know.)
Gurei looked to her side.
No one was there.
Of course not.
Yuuto wasn't there.
That boy had told her to disappear.
(And to think I actually thought he was useful, for a slave-owner.)
(A demon's not needed on a hero's journey.)
(Disappear from my sight. Now.)
Gurei bit her lip.
She tasted blood.
(That boy used me.)
(He took my sword.)
(He trampled on my trust.)
(And then he threw me away.)
(I don't like it.)
Gurei murmured the words inside her heart.
(I don't like this situation.)
(I don't like that boy's words.)
(Everything that threw me away—I don't like any of it.)
But she would not go back to the port city.
There was no reason left, anywhere, to go back.
The Holy Knights. The Church of Sunlight. The Kingdom.
If the current her fought those enormous powers, she would only be killed.
(I'm still weak.)
(Weak—that's why it was taken from me.)
(Weak—that's why I was thrown away.)
(Weak—that's why I was trampled underfoot.)
Gurei gripped her fists even tighter.
The shackle rings bit into her wrists, and blood seeped out.
(I'll get stronger.)
(Strong enough that no one can ever take anything from me again.)
(Strong enough that no one can ever trample me again.)
Gurei stepped away from the cliff.
The weight of the keepsake greatsword pressed heavily against her back.
(This weight is everything I am.)
(This weight alone is on my side.)
Gurei looked up at the northern sky.
The opposite direction from the sea south of the port city.
Mountain ranges stretched in succession, and beyond them, something was waiting.
(I'll go north.)
(To the northern wilderness—to Zelka.)
(To confirm the legend of the dark evil dragon that the bard sang of.)
The song from that day rose again in Gurei's mind.
In the harbor plaza, the bard had been singing.
A kingdom of caves.
The dark evil dragon that destroyed it.
To reclaim what was taken—
When she'd heard that song, something deep in her chest had ached.
(To reclaim what was taken.)
(What was taken from me?)
(My freedom.)
(My dignity.)
(Everything that is mine.)
(I'll take it back.)
Gurei descended the animal trail and returned to the highway.
A dirt road leading north.
Not cobblestone—a rough, wild road.
(I'll follow this road north.)
(To the Zelka Wilderness.)
(The bard said the source of that song was an old poet in the northern wilderness of Zelka.)
Gurei looked down at her own body.
A thin cloak.
Worn-through boots.
Almost no food.
No water, either.
No cold-weather gear.
(The Zelka Wilderness is a cold northern region.)
(With this equipment, I'll freeze to death.)
Gurei stopped walking.
(I need money.)
(Money to buy cold-weather gear, food, and water.)
(I'll earn it along the way.)
Gurei looked down the highway.
(Bounty targets.)
(Bodyguard work.)
(The only thing I can do is fight.)
(I'll swing my sword and earn money.)
(And that's how I'll make my way north.)
Gurei started walking again.
The greatsword on her back swayed.
The shackle rings bit into her wrists.
(Pain is proof that I'm alive.)
(I'll turn this pain into strength.)
Gurei kept walking north.
——
The highway eventually passed through a small settlement.
Stone houses. Fields. A well.
People looked at Gurei.
A demon girl with horns, wearing a bloodstained cloak, carrying a greatsword on her back, walking through their village.
Everyone averted their eyes.
No one approached.
(Of course.)
(I'm a demon.)
(I'm a slave.)
(I'm a killer.)
Gurei passed through the settlement.
She didn't look back.
(I'll never return to this town either.)
(Not to the port city either.)
(I'm going north.)
——
By the time the sun began to lean west, she saw a figure ahead on the highway.
A single man.
A faded green cloak.
A wide-brimmed hat.
A lute on his back.
It was that bard.
The man who had been singing in the harbor plaza.
Gurei stopped walking.
The bard noticed her too.
He tilted the brim of his hat up, just slightly.
"Well, now."
His voice was low and calm.
He looked Gurei over slowly, from top to bottom.
The bloodstained cloak.
The iron rings still on her wrists.
The greatsword on her back.
And those dark purple eyes, burning with anger.
"You're the girl who was listening to my song at the port."
The bard spoke quietly.
Gurei stared at him in silence.
(This man knows that song.)
(The song of the kingdom of caves and the dark evil dragon.)
"I want to hear the rest of that song."
Gurei's voice was low.
The bard tilted his head, just a little.
"The rest, you say?"
"Tell me where the song comes from. You said it was an old poet in the northern wilderness of Zelka. Tell me where to find that old poet."
Gurei's voice was almost a growl.
The bard gazed steadily into her eyes.
"...I see. So you found something in that song."
He lowered the lute from his back.
His fingers plucked lightly at the strings.
Plon.
A small note dissolved into the wind.
"But, young lady—word of that old poet is twenty years old now. Whether he's even alive is uncertain."
Gurei furrowed her brow.
(Twenty years ago.)
(Not even sure if he's alive.)
"And besides, I suspect the dragon story is just a legend passed down in the Zelka Wilderness. No one knows if it's true. It might be nothing but a made-up tale."
The bard's words fell coldly into Gurei's chest.
(A legend.)
(Might be a made-up tale.)
(Even so.)
Gurei clenched her fist.
"Even so, I'm going."
Her voice did not waver.
The bard looked slightly surprised.
"I see. ...Something happened to you, didn't it. Those iron rings on your wrists, and that smell of blood."
He glanced at her wrists.
Gurei hid the shackle rings under her cloak sleeve.
"None of your business."
"Ah, true enough. My apologies. I didn't mean to pry."
The bard straightened his hat.
"Just one piece of advice. ...Don't push yourself too hard. The road is long. Sometimes you need to let your shoulders relax."
Gurei glared at him.
(Don't push myself too hard.)
(Let my shoulders relax.)
(Mind your own business.)
"...What would you know."
Her voice was low and cold.
The bard's face turned just slightly sad.
"Nothing at all. I'm just a traveling man. ...But as thanks for listening to my song, take this."
He drew a small cloth bag from inside his cloak.
He held it out to Gurei.
"Dried meat and hard bread. It's not much, but the road north is long. You can't walk on an empty stomach."
Gurei looked at the bag.
(Food.)
(He's giving me food?)
"...I won't take it."
Gurei said.
"No need to be modest."
"It's not modesty. I just don't want to owe anyone."
Gurei stared coldly at the bard's hand.
(I won't owe anyone anything.)
(I've had enough of being given things—of being bound to people.)
The bard smiled, a little troubled.
"I see. ...Then consider this just a whim of mine. Even if you take it, it's not a debt."
He set the bag at Gurei's feet.
"Eat it if you feel like it. If you don't, throw it away—I don't mind."
With that, the bard turned his back.
"Well then, young lady. Safe travels."
He walked from north to south—the opposite direction from Gurei.
His green cloak swayed in the wind.
The lute clattered softly.
Gurei watched his back recede.
(Don't push yourself too hard.)
(Let your shoulders relax.)
(As if you know anything.)
Gurei looked down at the cloth bag at her feet.
For a while, she didn't move.
The wind nudged the bag, just slightly.
Slowly, Gurei crouched down.
She picked up the bag.
Light.
Inside were dried meat and hard bread—just a little.
(It'd be a waste to throw it away.)
(I need food.)
(This isn't a debt.)
(It's just that man's whim.)
Gurei shoved the bag inside her cloak.
Then she fixed her gaze on the northern sky.
Beyond the mountain ranges, the sun was beginning to set.
The sky was stained red.
(The song is a wilderness legend.)
(The old poet might not even be alive.)
(The dragon story might be a fabrication.)
(Even so.)
(My destination doesn't waver.)
Gurei made up her mind.
(I'm going north.)
(To the Zelka Wilderness.)
(To find out the truth of that song.)
(And to become stronger.)
Gurei took a step forward.
The greatsword on her back swayed heavily.
The collar clattered.
The shackle rings bit into her wrists.
(The collar won't disappear.)
(The shackle rings won't disappear either.)
(The greatsword stays heavy.)
(But I belong to no one.)
(No one will use me.)
(No one will need me.)
(I chose my own path.)
Gurei twisted her lips.
A beast-like smile.
A dark smile she showed no one.
(What lies ahead?)
(A frozen wilderness.)
(An unknown legend.)
(Dangerous work.)
(Fine by me.)
(I'll take everything that can be taken.)
(I'll kill every enemy that can be killed.)
(I'll take back everything from those who trampled me.)
Gurei began walking toward the northern sky.
The setting sun stained her back red.
The wind off the sea seized her gray hair and dragged it fiercely northward.
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