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 Human-Faced Lion's Scream
The arena's underground was quieter than usual.
Water dripped from the stone walls, each drop echoing far too loudly. Cold air brushed against her bare shoulders and waist. At the dead end of the dim corridor, Gurei was receiving her first gladiator equipment from the attendant.
A blunt longsword. Ninety centimeters of blade, a heavy slab of iron. And a wooden shield, sixty centimeters across. Its surface was covered in countless scars, its edges chipped and broken.
"This is your gear. Gladiator-sama."
The attendant's voice carried a thin edge of mockery.
"Don't get cocky just 'cause you're a gladiator now. You'll be dead by tonight anyway."
Gurei gripped the longsword without a word.
The weight bit into her arm, heavy and solid. Nothing like the short blade she'd used for feeding.
(With this, I'll kill.)
She slid the wooden shield onto her left arm. The leather grip was blackened with sweat and blood, clinging to her palm like it belonged there.
"What about your hair?"
The attendant pointed at her filthy gray hair.
"Gladiators have to tie it back. It gets in the way. Here, use this."
He held out a leather cord.
Gurei silently pulled her hair back. She gathered the long gray strands into a single bundle and tied the cord tight at the nape of her neck.
(If Kain were alive—)
The thought drifted through her mind.
(What would he have said?)
Gurei bit her lip.
Next, she pressed a bronze protector against her forehead. The cold metal touched the bone. Then she strapped brown leather armor onto her shoulders, arms, and both sides of her waist. The segmented pieces were designed not to restrict movement.
Beneath the armor, the dirty black sarashi and loincloth showed through.
"...These are on loan."
The attendant spoke in a low voice.
"That gear isn't yours. It belongs to the promoter. When you're free, you'll have to give it back. Understand?"
Gurei didn't answer.
She only tightened her grip on the longsword.
(I know.)
(Everything belongs to the ones above.)
(My life, this body, this collar.)
(So I'll take it.)
She stared at the iron-barred door at the end of the corridor.
Beyond it, she could hear the crowd's roar. Thousands of bloodthirsty voices.
"Let's go. Your opponent today is a manticore."
The attendant put his hand on the door.
"The appetizers in the opening act already got eaten. Do us a favor and die nice and slow."
The iron grate groaned open.
Brilliant light came flooding into the underground passage.
Gurei stepped forward into the light.
—
Blood and chunks of flesh were scattered across the arena sand.
Dark red stains soaked into the ground. Fragments of white bone caught the sunlight. Pieces of meat—impossible to tell if they were fingers or teeth—lay everywhere.
The remains of the opening act's fodder.
Gurei stared at the scene without expression.
The smell of blood stung her nose. An overwhelming stench of iron and entrails.
(So this is my battlefield.)
She planted her feet in the sand. The warm, wet sensation of blood seeped into the soles of her bare feet.
And there it was, at the center of the arena.
—The manticore.
A monster from a foreign land. Over three meters long. A lion's body with a human face. That face was twisted into a grin. Sharp fangs peeked from its lips.
Around its neck grew a bronze mane. Each strand was sharp as a metal blade, gleaming as it caught the sunlight.
And then, the tail.
A scorpion's tail. At the tip of the long, extended tail, a curved venomous stinger glistened. A paralytic poison. Just a graze from that, and the body would stop moving.
"—Ah, ah, ah."
The manticore's mouth opened.
A human voice spilled from its lips.
"Help me, help me, Mother."
It was the voice of a fodder slave it had devoured in the opening act.
"Please, don't kill me, please."
Another voice. Another plea for life.
"No, no, it hurts, it hurts."
The manticore was perfectly mimicking the screams of the humans it had killed.
Then the human face turned toward Gurei.
Its lips curled into a grin.
"—Don't eat me."
The stands erupted.
"UWAAAAAAAH!!"
"It's a manticore! A real manticore!"
"That demon brat's finally gonna get eaten today!"
"Who's taking bets!? I've got five gold coins on the manticore!"
"Obviously! There's no way a brat like that can win!"
Cheers and jeers poured down like a waterfall.
"Demon brat! Hurry up and die!"
"Get your horns snapped off and your guts dragged out!"
"Entertain us with the way you die!"
Gurei listened to those voices.
(They're betting I'll be eaten.)
(That I'll die.)
(That my death is entertainment.)
Something blazed deep in her chest.
Anger.
(I don't like it.)
Gurei raised her longsword.
Wooden shield in her left hand, blunt longsword in her right.
(The mane won't let a blade through.)
She observed the manticore.
The bronze mane covered its neck and back. Slashing at it would only get her blade deflected.
(Aim for the face, the belly, the legs.)
(The places the mane doesn't protect.)
(And close in before the tail comes.)
(Don't take a single hit of poison.)
The manticore's scorpion tail scraped against the sand.
Zari, zari.
The stinger rose in an arc.
"—Begin!"
The referee's voice rang across the arena.
The manticore lunged.
The lion's massive body charged forward, kicking up a cloud of sand.
Gurei leaped to the right.
The manticore's foreleg swept through the space where she'd just stood. Sand flew, and the ground was gouged.
(Fast.)
(But I can see it.)
Gurei had learned from fighting beasts.
Observe the opponent's movements.
Steal the trajectory of fangs and claws.
The manticore turned.
Its mouth opened.
"—Mother, Mother."
A mimicry of screams.
Gurei ignored it.
(Screams aren't worth listening to.)
She circled to the manticore's left side.
The blind spot of the mane.
The manticore's face and belly were exposed.
Gurei swung her longsword through.
Zashu.
The blade tore through the manticore's flank.
Blood sprayed.
"GYAAAAAAAH!!"
The manticore screamed.
This time, it wasn't a mimicry. It was a real scream.
The scorpion tail whipped like a lash.
Gurei raised her shield.
GAGIN!
The stinger struck the wooden shield.
The impact shot through her left arm. Her bones creaked.
(Heavy.)
(But I blocked it.)
Gurei didn't retreat.
She moved forward.
(Close in before the tail comes.)
She dove into the manticore's guard.
The mane glittered right before her eyes.
(Don't touch it.)
(Don't let it graze me.)
Gurei dodged the mane and thrust her longsword at the manticore's face.
Zaku.
The blade pierced the human face's cheek.
"Gyah...!"
The manticore shook its head.
Gurei pulled the sword free and quickly put distance between them.
The stands stirred.
"Hey, did you see that!? That brat actually wounded the manticore!"
"Fluke! It'll get eaten any second now!"
"No, that movement... that brat is seriously trying to kill it."
The mood of the betting shifted, just slightly.
The manticore glared at Gurei.
Its human face was twisted with rage.
"—It hurts, it hurts."
The manticore charged again.
This time, faster than before.
Gurei braced her shield.
DOGO!
The lion's foreleg struck the shield.
The wooden shield split clean in two.
"—!"
Gurei's body was sent flying.
She tumbled across the sand.
Her left arm was numb. The shield was useless now.
(The shield's gone.)
(But I can still fight.)
Gurei stood up immediately.
The taste of sand in her mouth. The taste of blood.
The manticore pursued.
The scorpion tail swung down from above.
Gurei rolled sideways to dodge.
The stinger gouged deep into the sand.
(Close in before the tail comes.)
(The moment right after the tail swings through—that's the opening.)
Gurei didn't miss the instant the manticore's tail stabbed into the ground.
She surged forward in one breath.
Dodging the mane, she drove her longsword into the base of the manticore's right foreleg.
ZASHU!
"GYAAAAAAH!!"
The manticore twisted its body.
Gurei pulled the blade free and cut deeper.
Severing the tendon.
"—UGAAAAAAH!!"
The manticore's right foreleg gave out.
Its massive body tilted.
In that opening, Gurei slipped beneath the manticore's belly.
(Here, the mane can't reach.)
(The tail can't reach either.)
She drove her longsword into the manticore's belly—deep, deeper.
Zuburi.
The sensation of reaching its innards.
"—I don't... want to die..."
The last scream leaked from the manticore's mouth.
It was no longer a mimicry.
It was the monster's own, genuine scream.
Gurei pulled her sword free and stepped in front of the manticore, her body drenched in blood.
The human face looked up at her.
A human face twisted with terror.
Gurei drove her longsword into its throat.
Zaku.
The human face's scream stopped.
The manticore's massive body slowly collapsed onto the sand.
DOOOON...
The ground shook, and a cloud of dust rose.
Silence.
A moment of silence.
And then—
"UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
The arena exploded.
"That brat actually killed the manticore!!"
"Impossible! My bet, my bet's gone!"
"Amazing! That demon's a real warrior!"
"What are you talking about! It was luck! The demon brat just got lucky!"
Cheers and jeers mingled.
Praise and mockery swirled together.
Gurei stood still, covered in blood spray.
Her gray hair was stained dark red with blood.
The bronze forehead protector, the leather armor, the black sarashi—all of it was soaked in blood.
She slowly looked up at the stands.
(Eyes that see a warrior.)
(Eyes that see a demon brat.)
Two kinds of gazes pierced through her.
The heat of the frenzy cooled abruptly, lingering on her skin.
(Either one is fine.)
Gurei gripped her blood-soaked longsword tight.
That was when it happened.
"—That was a magnificent fight, Gurei."
A familiar voice came from the edge of the arena.
Gurei turned. The promoter Varudo stood there.
His portly frame was wrapped in an expensive-looking coat, jeweled rings glittering on his fingers. A smile spread across his flushed face.
And beside him—
There were nobles.
Three men. All dressed in silk, adorned with gold ornaments. They watched Gurei with cold eyes, the way one appraises a slave.
"Well, gentlemen? Just as I told you. This girl is worth money."
Varudo addressed the nobles.
"A mere demon brat killed a manticore. A monster that mimics screams, and she didn't take a single hit of poison. This is a born warrior."
"Hmm... certainly, she's interesting."
"But she's a demon. Who knows how long the crowd will stay excited."
"That's the beauty of it. A demon who rose from nothing. How long can she keep winning amid discrimination and prejudice? The audience pays for that kind of story."
Varudo approached Gurei.
He grabbed her collar and squeezed.
"Listen, Gurei. You're my merchandise. A hen that lays golden eggs. Today's victory raised your value even higher. Next show, I'll make you an even bigger spectacle."
Varudo's cold gray-green eyes pierced through her.
"You want to be free, don't you? Of course you do. Then keep winning. A hundred straight victories. That's the only path you've been given."
Gurei glared at Varudo.
The hand gripping her collar. The jeweled rings. The clink of gold coins.
(This man holds my collar.)
(This man treats my life as merchandise.)
(This man dangles my freedom like bait.)
Deep in Gurei's chest, the brand seared with pain.
The sensation of the hand that stabbed Kain still lingered.
(This frenzy, this honor—)
(The ones above grant it on a whim and take it away on a whim.)
(Then—)
Gurei slapped Varudo's hand away.
"...Don't touch me."
Her voice was low and dry.
"I'm not your merchandise. I'll take my freedom from you."
Varudo looked momentarily surprised.
But then he laughed.
"Fufu... I like that. Those eyes. Defiant eyes. The audience loves that. But you see, Gurei—your freedom is in my hands. I'm the only one who can remove this collar."
Varudo said this and
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