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 Logic of the Weak
The gladiator cell was a marginal improvement over the dungeon.
The stone walls were still cold and damp, but the floor was spread with thin straw and there was a wooden cot. The food, too, was different from the rotting bread and water of the feed pens—hard black bread, thin soup, and sometimes salted dried meat. Just enough fuel to keep the body moving.
Gurei sat in the corner of the cell, hugging her knees.
The longsword she'd been issued leaned against the wall within arm's reach. A lump of iron with a ninety-centimeter blade. The wooden shield, the leather armor, the bronze forehead protector—all of it was loaned property, belonging to the promoter Varudo.
(I don't own a single thing.)
She touched her neck. The black-iron collar. Heavy, cold, biting into her skin. Varudo held the key. It would never come off.
The brand on her chest throbbed dully beneath her clothes. A slave's mark, pressed in with a hot iron. Those two things—collar and brand—never stopped whispering whose property she was.
Footsteps approached from outside the cell.
The measured rhythm of leather soles striking stone. Presently a large man with a scruffy beard appeared beyond the iron bars. Dark navy cloak, silver chest insignia. A whip at his hip. It was that Kenpei.
"Hey, brat."
Gurei didn't look up.
"Time for the training grounds. On your feet."
She gave no answer. Kenpei kicked the iron bars. The clang echoed.
"You hear me, you damn demon. I'm not waiting for a reply. Get up, now."
Gurei rose slowly. She took the longsword in hand. Heavy. But there was a version of herself now that had grown used to the weight.
Kenpei unlocked the cell. As Gurei stepped out, he pinched his nose theatrically.
"Reek like hell. Wash yourself, you filthy slave."
Gurei walked on in silence. Kenpei followed behind. Just the feel of his presence made the back of her neck prickle.
(This one trampled me.)
(When I couldn't do a thing, he stamped on the back of my head and laughed.)
Gurei had not forgotten that sensation. Crawling in the sand, her head pinned beneath the sole of his boot. Blood running into her nose, sand filling her mouth. The distant sound of the crowd laughing.
(Someday, I'll kill him.)
In her heart, quiet but certain, the words burned.
The training grounds were a vast space beneath the arena.
The ceiling was high, braziers lined the walls, and their flickering flames lit the earthen floor. The air was a mix of sweat, dust, and a faint trace of blood. Gladiators had gathered—newcomers alongside veterans who had survived many bouts.
As Gurei entered, a dozen gazes stabbed into her.
"Gurei the Defiant."
Someone said it under their breath.
"That demon brat. The one who killed a manticore."
"Took out four human criminal slaves at once, too."
"Huh... looks like just a kid to me."
Whispers traded back and forth. Appraising stares. Gurei ignored them all and walked to the center of the grounds.
There stood a one-eyed man.
Past fifty. White hair, his face carved with deep scars. His right eye was ruined and closed, replaced by a black eyepatch. A former gladiator. Now he was the instructor who taught swordsmanship to the newcomers.
"Everyone's here."
His voice was low and steady.
"I'm the instructor. My name doesn't matter. From here on, I'll teach you the skills you need to survive as gladiators."
The instructor slowly surveyed the assembled newcomers. His gaze stopped on Gurei.
"A gladiator's job isn't just killing each other."
He continued.
"You entertain the crowd. That's part of the work, too. A fight that ends in an instant bores them. You show each other your techniques, stage a tense battle, build the excitement. And once the outcome is decided, you stop."
Gurei listened in silence.
"What I teach isn't just how to kill. It's how to keep each other safe. In a match between gladiators, you don't wound your opponent more than necessary. Whether to finish off an opponent who's dropped his weapon is the victor's choice—but a proper gladiator doesn't."
The instructor's single eye moved from one newcomer to the next.
"Do you know why? Gladiators aren't like disposable feed. You fight as active professionals for a long time, keep earning. That's how you survive in this arena. If you're all killing each other, no one's left."
At those words, Gurei's back teeth ground together.
(Skills to keep each other safe.)
(Not killing each other.)
(Surviving for a long time.)
Gurei's hand clenched around the hilt of her longsword.
"...That's the logic of the weak."
Her voice dropped quietly into the training grounds.
The instructor's single eye turned to Gurei.
"What was that?"
"Entertain the crowd? Keep each other safe? Don't make me laugh."
Gurei stepped forward.
"A match is a killing. The winner lives, the loser dies. That's all. I don't care what the crowd thinks. I kill whoever gets in my way."
The air in the training grounds went taut.
The newcomers held their breath. The instructor stared at Gurei for a while, then let out a small sigh.
"There's a way of thinking like that, I suppose. But it only works as long as you keep winning. Lose once, and you die. And that way of thinking will get your comrades killed, too."
"I don't have comrades."
She said it flatly.
"I fight alone. I don't borrow anyone's help. I don't rely on anyone. So I don't need any skills for keeping people safe."
The expression drained from the instructor's face.
"Is that so. Then let's find out whether that confidence is real."
He picked up a wooden sword from beside him.
"A mock match. Just as you say—no holding back. Come at me."
Gurei raised her longsword.
(No holding back? Fine by me.)
Killing intent filled the space between them.
The instructor moved.
The wooden sword thrust straight at Gurei's face. Fast. But Gurei had read it.
(This man's stance, how he carries his weight, how he grips the sword.)
(From the first step, I know where he'll aim.)
Gurei dropped low to evade the wooden blade and slashed upward from below with her longsword.
Clang!
The instructor blocked with his wooden sword. The impact traveled up her arms. The instructor's single eye widened slightly.
"Hoh... you're fast."
"You have time to talk?"
Gurei pressed in. She swept the longsword sideways. The instructor fell back. But Gurei didn't stop. Two strikes, three, four. She attacked without pause.
Anxiety surfaced on the instructor's face.
(This one's assault won't stop.)
(No—more than that—)
Gurei's blade knocked the wooden sword from his grip.
It clattered onto the earthen floor.
The instructor's body reeled back hard. Gurei didn't miss the opening. She raised her longsword and brought it down toward his head.
—Kill.
In that instant, her arm was seized from behind with crushing force.
"Let's call it there."
The voice was bright and light.
Gurei spun around.
Standing there was a woman.
Long, glossy black hair caught the brazier light and shimmered. Brown skin, long pointed ears. A dark elf. A woman of a race despised by humans, just like the demons.
A golden laurel crown rested on her head, and a black corset threaded with gold emphasized her full chest and narrow waist. A short cloth wrapped her hips, leaving her thighs bare. Thin gold chains hung along her skin from shoulder to back.
And on her back, Gurei saw something bizarre.
An executioner's greatsword.
Its blade was as long as Gurei was tall. Broad, thick, the tip slightly curved. A sword like a guillotine's edge, made for severing heads. This woman carried it on her back.
"I just thought killing here might be in poor taste."
The woman smiled warmly.
"It's a mock match, right? If the instructor dies, the newcomers lose their teacher."
Gurei tried to shake off the woman's hand. But the grip on her arm didn't budge.
(This one's strong.)
She poured strength into escaping. It was like being locked in an iron ring.
"Let go."
"Whoops, my apologies."
The woman released her easily. Gurei put distance between them and reset her stance with the longsword.
"You're interesting. A newcomer, right? What's your name?"
"...None of your business."
"Is that so. Well, fine. I'm Serafina. A gladiator here."
Serafina. The moment the name rang through the training grounds, the air changed.
The newcomers stirred all at once.
"Serafina... the Queen of the Cruel Blade."
"Why is she here...?"
"No way... she actually exists?"
It was the first time Gurei had heard the name. But the reaction around her spoke volumes that this woman was no ordinary fighter.
The instructor's expression had changed too.
"Serafina... why are you here?"
"Just curious. Heard some new toys came in, so I came to look."
Serafina fixed her gaze on Gurei. Her golden eyes held a strange gleam.
"I watched your match just now. Nice. That killing intent. That look in your eyes. I like kids like you."
Gurei didn't lower her guard.
"So, you. Want to have a match with me?"
"...What?"
"Fight me, and if you win, I'll put in a word with the promoter. You might get to fight on better terms. Not a bad deal, is it?"
Serafina said it as casually as if she were chatting over tea.
Gurei looked into Serafina's eyes.
(This woman is testing me.)
(No—that's not it. She's enjoying herself.)
Enjoying the fight. Those were the eyes of a beast that had found its prey.
Something hot kindled deep in Gurei's chest.
(Interesting.)
(This woman is strong.)
(The quality of her strength is different from anyone I've faced.)
"...I accept."
Gurei said it.
Serafina smiled broadly.
"Good. Straight to the point."
With that, Serafina drew the greatsword from her back and tossed it to a jailer standing nearby.
"Hold this for me. I'll be using this today."
The jailer caught the greatsword and staggered under its weight.
"H-heavy..."
Serafina approached one of the newcomers.
"You. Lend me your longsword?"
"Uh, y-yes... go ahead."
The newcomer offered his longsword with trembling hands. Serafina took it and gave it a light swing.
"Yeah, not bad. Too light compared to mine, but for fighting you, this should do."
Serafina faced Gurei.
"Then let's begin."
That was when it happened.
"W-wait, please!"
The newcomer who'd lent his sword collapsed to the ground as if his legs had given out, his voice shaking.
"Y-you don't know?! Th-that person is... the Queen of the Cruel Blade, Serafina!"
The newcomer's voice cracked with terror.
"The strongest gladiator in this arena! She's cut off hundreds of heads with that executioner's greatsword! She's a madwoman who enjoys killing!"
The air in the training grounds froze.
The jailer and Kenpei both went pale. Kenpei stepped back and put a hand to the whip at his hip.
"Hey now, don't go making me sound like some murderous maniac."
Serafina smiled awkwardly. But that smile was somehow more terrifying for it.
Gurei looked at Serafina.
(Queen of the Cruel Blade.)
(The strongest in this arena.)
(Has killed hundreds.)
Gurei's heart gave a heavy thud.
(...I see.)
(So that's the kind of person she is.)
Gurei studied Serafina's stance. The way she gripped the sword. How she carried her weight. How she breathed.
(Strong. No question—she's on a different level from anyone before.)
(But that's exactly why.)
Gurei's lips twisted faintly.
(She's worth killing.)
"Who gives the starting signal?"
Serafina tilted her head.
"You're not scared? I'm the Queen of the Cruel Blade, you know."
"Doesn't matter. If I get to fight someone strong, that's enough."
Serafina's golden eyes glittered.
"...Nice. You really are a good kid."
Serafina raised her longsword.
Gurei raised hers.
Silence fell between them.
Everyone in the training grounds held their breath. The brazier flames wavered though there was no wind.
Gurei burned every movement of Serafina's into her eyes.
(This woman's stance, her grip, her breathing.)
(I'll memorize all of it.)
(And then, I'll kill her.)
Gurei s
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