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 Name of Rebellion
The arena's heat still crawled across the sand.
The manticore's corpse lay where it had fallen. Its bronze mane was matted with blood and grit, the human face frozen in a mask of agony. The scorpion tail no longer twitched.
Gurei stood beside it.
Blood from the kill soaked her gray ponytail and stained the bronze guard on her forehead a dark, rusty red. Droplets of blood speckled the leather armor at her shoulders and hips; her black sarashi wrap hung heavy, sodden with sweat and gore. Her shoulders rose and fell. The hand gripping her longsword trembled, just slightly.
(I won.)
The realization sat strangely far away, buried somewhere beneath the roar of the crowd.
"Gurei! Gurei! Gurei!"
Twelve thousand voices called her name. The clink of gold coins. The cheers of those who'd won their bets mingled with the curses of those who'd lost, churning into a single whirlpool of sound.
But half of those voices still didn't see her as a warrior.
"The demon brat actually pulled it off!"
"Fluke! She'll get eaten alive next time!"
"Cut off her horns! I want one for a souvenir!"
Gurei listened without expression.
(Their eyes see a warrior. Their eyes see a demon brat.)
(Neither one is mine.)
She drove her longsword into the sand and looked up at the stands.
That was when it happened.
A man rose from the VIP box. Broad-bodied, his short-cropped black hair threaded with white, his hairline receding. His cold gray-green eyes measured everything like a merchant tallying profit. Rings set with precious stones glittered on several of his fingers.
The promoter, Varudo.
He descended from the box to the arena floor, clapping slowly. Three nobles followed at his back. A thin man in a crimson cloak embroidered with silver, fanning his mouth. A fat woman draped in layer upon layer of gold chains. A young man with a hungry, glittering stare.
All three were watching Gurei. Appraising her. Pricing her. Their gazes crawled slowly from her horns to her face, to her chest, to her hips, down to her feet.
"You see, everyone? This is my new gladiator."
Varudo walked up until he stood just beside her.
"Only thirteen. A demon brat, true. But look at those eyes. See how they burn? Those eyes will never be tamed."
He laughed as he said it. His eyes weren't laughing.
"And because they can't be tamed, her price goes up."
The man with the fan spoke from behind it.
"Such a rare shape to the horns. Like a bull's. Well-grown, for a demon. Solid frame, too. She'll make a fine gladiator."
The woman in gold chains eyed Gurei's horns like she wanted to lick them.
"Oh, yes. Those defiant eyes. The crowd loves that sort. But untamable, you say? Promoter, I'll be watching to see how long your leash holds."
The young man grinned.
Gurei stood rooted to the spot and listened to them. She was being appraised like merchandise. Her horns' shape priced, her frame evaluated, her defiant eyes rated as something "the crowd loves."
(I don't like it.)
Her back teeth ground together with a faint screech.
(I don't like it. I don't like it. I don't like it.)
Anger flared at the back of her throat. But Gurei didn't move. The collar's chain rested in Varudo's hand. A black-iron collar. A locked ring. Only the slaver's permission could remove it.
Varudo toyed with that chain absently, letting it slide through his fingers. Clink, clink—the sound of metal on metal rang oddly cold through the arena, still echoing with fervor.
"Now then, Gurei."
Varudo stood square before her. His gray-green eyes took her in slowly, top to bottom.
"You did well today. The crowd went wild. The betting was heavy. A fine debut."
His voice was calm. But that calm was cold as a blade.
"But this is only the beginning. Your worth gets decided from here. Win more. Kill more. Rile the crowd more. Do that, and I'll give you better equipment, better food."
His thick finger touched the black-iron ring.
"Next games, you'll earn for me again. You want your freedom? Then win more."
The voice dropped into her ear. The word freedom. It sounded like nothing but a chain tightening around her throat.
(You want freedom? Then win more.)
(Win, and I'll give you freedom.)
(Granted on a whim. Taken on a whim.)
Gurei looked up into Varudo's face. Her dark purple eyes glared straight into his gray-green ones. Varudo received that gaze with obvious amusement.
"Good eyes. Truly untamable. But that's fine. As long as it makes money, that's fine."
He let go of the collar and tossed the chain to the jailer beside him.
"Take care of the rest. Keep her nice and docile until the next match."
"Yessir."
The jailer caught the chain. Varudo led the nobles away, departing the arena floor. The crimson cloak, the gold chains, the glittering stares—all receded into the distance.
Gurei watched their backs, her face smeared with blood.
(I don't like it.)
(That man's face, his voice, his rings, his laugh.)
(All of it. I don't like any of it.)
Her grip on the longsword tightened. Her right hand. The hand that had stabbed Kain. The feel of that boy's blood still lingered between her fingers. Dried blood stiffened her knuckles.
(Kain.)
(You told me to be free.)
(You told me to live.)
Her fist clenched harder. Nails bit into her palm. Blood welled.
(Your dream—I'll make it real.)
(I'll live for your sake too. I'll be free. I'll take everything.)
Beneath her clothes, the brand on her chest seemed to sear with heat. The slave's mark, pressed in with a hot iron.
(This brand. This collar. Someday, without fail.)
She pressed her fist against her chest, over the brand. Hot. Painful. But that pain was keeping her alive.
"...Back you go."
The chain pulled taut. The collar bit into her throat. Gurei followed the jailer in silence, walking toward the underground passage.
The crowd's fervor still chased her from behind.
"Gurei! Gurei! Gurei!"
Voices of praise. But they no longer reached her ears. Her heart was full of other sounds. The feel of Kain's blood. Varudo's cold voice. The nobles' appraising stares. The word freedom, swapping itself out for the clink of a chain.
(I haven't gained a thing.)
She clenched her fist as if to crush what it held.
(I'll take everything.)
(This arena. That promoter. Those nobles.)
(I'll take it all, crush it all, and be free.)
She vanished into the darkness of the underground passage. Cold air wrapped around her blood-soaked body. Water dripped from the stone walls, echoing softly. Only her footsteps sounded through the dark corridor—click, click, click.
Several days later.
The arena was packed again.
Gurei stood before the door of the underground passage. A longsword in her hand, a wooden shield on her arm. Her second fight. Her opponent was a human criminal slave—a man taken after a spree of murder and pillage. She didn't know his name. Didn't need to.
"Here we go."
The iron gate groaned open. Dazzling light came flooding in. Gurei stepped out into it.
Her opponent stood on the sand. A big man. A broadsword. Countless old scars carved into his muscular body. He looked at Gurei and sneered.
"A demon brat, a gladiator? Don't make me laugh. I'll tear you to pieces."
His voice carried across the arena. The stands erupted.
"Go! Go! Go!"
"Kill her! Kill that demon brat!"
"Beating the manticore was a fluke! Die this time!"
Gurei said nothing. She raised her longsword and brought her wooden shield forward.
(Kill.)
Her mind was cold and clear.
The man swung his broadsword high and charged.
"Uwoooooooh!"
A wild, heavy swing. Gurei caught it on her wooden shield and deflected it.
Clang!
The impact jolted up her arm. But she didn't lose her stance. The instant the blade bounced off the shield, she stepped in. She drove her longsword into the man's flank.
Schluk.
"Guaaaaaah!?"
The man's body arched back violently. She pulled the sword free and struck again without pause, slashing open his thigh.
"Gaaaaaah!!"
The man dropped to his knees. Gurei hacked through his arm with her longsword. The broadsword fell to the sand.
"Stop... please, stop..."
The begging began. The stands boiled over.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Gurei looked down at the man's face.
(You said you'd tear me to pieces.)
(You laughed and called me a demon brat.)
(You tried to kill me.)
She brought her longsword down on the man's neck.
Shhk.
The head flew. Blood sprayed skyward like a fountain. The spray rained down on her face, her hair, her horns.
"Uwaaaaaaaaah!!"
The stands shook.
"Winner—Gurei!"
Gurei didn't bother wiping the blood off. She waited for her next opponent.
Fight after fight. That day, she killed three criminal slaves. The first, she took the head. The second, she ran through the heart. The third, she slit the throat. None were much of an opponent. She read their movements, measured the distance, and killed them surely. Ugly, graceless—but certain.
The crowd went wild.
"That demon brat's strong!"
"Beating the manticore wasn't a fluke after all!"
"Who's next!? Send out someone stronger!"
Gurei listened without expression.
(Their eyes see a warrior. Their eyes see a demon brat.)
(Still mixed together.)
She tightened her grip on the longsword.
(Not enough yet.)
(Win more.)
(Kill more.)
(Get stronger.)
Her fourth fight. The opponent was a small man wielding twin daggers. A former thief. He darted in close with quick, darting movements. Gurei blocked his strikes with her wooden shield.
Bang, bang, bang!
The daggers hammered the shield. Gurei shoved the shield forward and threw him off balance. She brought her longsword down on his leg.
"Gah!"
The man fell. She ran her longsword through his chest.
"...Guh."
He coughed blood and went still.
"Winner—Gurei!"
The stands erupted.
"She won again!"
"Four in a row! That brat's a monster!"
"Put all your bets on her! Guaranteed!"
She pulled out her longsword and gasped for breath. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her breathing was ragged. The fatigue of fighting back-to-back had piled up through her whole body. But she hadn't fallen.
(I can still fight.)
(I can still kill.)
She waited for her next opponent.
That was when it happened. From the back of the stands, a single man's voice rang out.
"Defiance—that demon brat's got defiance in her!"
The voice cut sharply through the whirlwind of fervor and reached Gurei's ears. Defiance. The word echoed faintly deep in her chest.
"Defiance! Look at those eyes! Eyes that will never, ever bow to the ones up top! That's defiance!"
As if drawn along, another voice rose.
"Defiance! Gurei the Defiant!"
"That's right! Gurei the Defiant! That brat's got defiance!"
The voices spread. From one corner of the stands, like a wave, the word infected the whole arena.
"Defiance! Defiance! Gurei the Defiant!"
Twelve thousand voices shook the arena.
Officially, she had no name. The ones above had never given her one. A slave didn't need a name.
But the ones below had started calling her something on their own. Gurei the Defiant. A name the ones above hadn't given—the ones below had started calling it on their own. That fact lit a quiet fire deep in her chest.
(Defiance.)
(My name.)
(Not a name someone gave me.)
(A name I kept winning and seized for myself.)
She looked up at the stands. She wiped the blood off her face roughly with the back of her hand. Her eyes stayed dark purple, without a highlight. But deep inside them, a steady heat now burned.
(The collar's still on.)
(Freedom and honor are promised to no one.)
(But this name—this one is mine.)
She pressed her clenched fist against her chest. The feel of Kain's blood was gone now. In its place, a steady heat filled her fist.
(I'll take everything.)
(I need power.)
(I have to get stronger.)
She gripped her longsword anew and walked toward the next match.
"Defiance! Defiance! Gurei the Defiant!"
The crowd's voices pushed at her back. They were praise. But more than that, they set her heart ablaze.
(I
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