Chapter 4: Sylvia Sarubia (3)
Humans and elves get along terribly. Where the root of that hatred lies, I couldn't say. At base, elves carry a deep-seated sense of superiority—the conviction that their people, who serve the World Tree, stand above both demons and humans. To them, humans were little better than apes. Being looked at that way never sat well with humans either.
The two races shared a long, grinding history of retaliation. Elves killed any human who trespassed into their territory without a second thought, and humans were never content to simply take it. One of the First Hero's partners, the black mage Grid Grimoire, developed a magic that made elves' blood run cold.
The Slave Brand.
A dark magic that stamped a brand onto an elf's body and reduced them to a human's slave. Once the brand was set, there was no escaping that status for all eternity—a spell steeped in pure malice. It was the perfect reflection of how humans viewed elves.
Whenever humans found an elf, they aimed to capture them alive, and every elf they took was branded without fail. As a result, most elves remaining on the human continent either lived in hiding or had already fallen into slavery.
To elves, the Slave Brand was a terror greater than any plague.
—Or so the story went in ordinary cases.
There was still one very special exception I hadn't mentioned.
If the branded elf possessed mana that was absurdly, ridiculously, overwhelmingly powerful, the brand simply did nothing.
In a way, it was only natural. If the one resisting a technique outclassed the one casting it, the technique failed. Elves were born with stronger mana than humans to begin with, and that mana only grew with age.
Unlike humans, who died before reaching a hundred, elves were said to live forever unless something extraordinary intervened. Those who passed a thousand years held mana on par with a human archmage. Elves who had lived two thousand years or more moved in realms no human could ever reach. And those who had lived more than three thousand? They were monsters who had already ascended to heights beyond any human measurement.
Of course, even among elves, anyone who lived past three thousand was treated as a witch and cast out. Most elves who lasted that long ended up with thoroughly twisted personalities.
Just like this one—Misha Greenwood.
"Sniff… sniff… Calling me a bitch… That's so mean… sniff… sniff…"
Behind that frail weeping lay a truth reeking of blood.
Misha Greenwood had once been the Elf Queen. A war hero who led her people and slaughtered humans and demons alike—that was her true identity. There was a time when her name and face were synonymous with the devil itself. But Misha Greenwood had grown bored of a life paved only with victory.
She began to harbor the ridiculous wish that, just once, she wanted to lose.
All because she had lived far too long.
Boredom twists the mind.
In the end, she became a pervert who longed for defeat.
So she branded herself with the Slave Brand and decided to become people's slave.
Not that she ever intended to serve as a truly obedient one.
Of course not.
Her hobby was to play the weak, suffering victim until she got bored, then drop the mask, turn the surroundings into a sea of blood, and leave.
The Academy was nothing more than a new playground.
And a thoroughly boring one at that.
Because most of the students there were well-educated, polite kids. They never looked down on her just because she was a slave. If anything, they treated her kindly.
So you're Misha? Thank you for always working so hard for us.
A slave? That must be tough… Hang in there.
Please don't hate us too much.
Kindness and consideration.
To the current Misha, those things were nothing short of mockery.
Her stress piled up day after day.
Ah, fuck… Should I just kill them all?
That was probably what she was thinking.
And someday she would snap.
When she did, a tragedy on par with Walpurgis Night would erupt.
In the original novel, Misha was a disaster no one could stop. Once she lost her temper, the protagonist, the great sage, the emperor, the pope—everyone ran for their lives.
And right now, I was face-to-face with that woman.
One wrong choice here, and I was dead.
Especially since we were on the deserted back mountain with no witnesses around. From Misha's perspective, she could kill me with a flick of her finger and erase every trace.
So I couldn't afford to rub her the wrong way.
I had to give her exactly what she wanted.
"Hey, bitch, what the hell are you crying about? It's annoying as hell. Don't piss me off when you're just a slave."
That was it.
Treating her roughly.
Giving her boring life a jolt of stimulation.
That was my path to survival.
"Fucking bitch, I don't want to hear your sniveling. Get lost. I said get the hell out of here!"
"Kyaa!"
I mustered my courage and kicked Misha. She deliberately acted even more pitiful and toppled over with exaggerated flair.
"Hic… hic… Y-you're so cruel… The other Academy students never treat me like this… Why are you so harsh…? Who are you? Who are you to…"
Misha was taking an interest in me.
My odds of survival felt like they'd ticked up a notch.
"I'm Jack Slave. Got a problem with that?"
"Jack Slave? Ah… that famous simp student who confesses to every girl he sees?"
"You fucking bitch! Who asked for my résumé?! You looking to die?"
"I-I'm sorry! Hiiiek! I'm so sorry! I just heard that Jack-nim hits on any pretty girl no matter what, so I was scared you'd do the same to me… S-since I'm a slave, I can't refuse Jack-nim's orders, so I don't know what kind of cruel demands you might make… Hiiiek!"
So she wanted me to make cruel demands, huh.
No… even for her, that felt like a stretch.
Maybe I should take a step back here.
"Hmph… Even I wouldn't do something like that. Using a power imbalance to snatch a woman is the kind of shit only trash pulls."
"Is that so…?"
Misha's expression froze over. Her eyes turned colder than ice. She glanced sideways and muttered quietly to herself.
"…This guy's useless too."
"Ugh…"
I heard that loud and clear just now.
"…You thought I'd say that, you bitch?"
"Hiiiek!"
I grabbed a fistful of Misha's hair. Soft strands. Clearly well cared for. Yeah, this woman was definitely not living a real slave's life.
Anyway.
"Now that I look at you, you're pretty damn cute, aren't you? Fine… From now on, you're my woman."
"Hiiiek! That's too much! That's way too much! It's too cruel!"
"Why? You're the Academy's communal slave, right? Programmed so you can't disobey any Academy student's orders, weren't you?"
"Th-that's…!"
"From this moment on, you're my woman."
"Ahh… How could this be… So as your woman, does that mean I have to live in the same house as you and serve you every day? Getting abused every day? Getting tormented every day?"
"…….."
Was she asking me to do this every single day?
"Heh… Even so, I wouldn't do it every day… There'd be rest days sometimes…"
"Haa?"
"…You thought I'd say that? Of course you'll be abused and tormented every single day. How's that? Feel like dying? If it's too much, go ahead and run. This is probably your only chance, so make a good escape."
"Hic… hic… How could I possibly run… I'm just a pitiful slave…"
This elf was vicious.
At this rate, was I really going to end up living with Misha? In that tiny cabin?
No, wait… looking at it another way, wasn't this an opportunity? Misha was pretty cute in her own right, and as long as I treated her roughly she'd outwardly obey me… She could be useful in all sorts of ways, right?
Especially since I'd already lied to my former party members that I had a girlfriend.
If those guys asked, "So who's this girlfriend of yours?" I'd be in a tight spot, wouldn't I?
Alright.
I'd use Misha.
"From now on, publicly you're my girlfriend. Of course, in reality you're nothing more than a slave… Heh."
"Ahh, that's so mean! Taking advantage of the fact that I have no choice but to obey any order and making me your girlfriend! What a beast… showing behavior worse than an animal! And you still call yourself an Academy student?"
"……"
Then why were the corners of her mouth twitching upward while she said that?
She was loving this on the inside, this masochist.
"Well… anyway, that's how it is. From now on, behave yourself and… huh?"
That was when it happened.
The moment Misha's gaze drifted to the base of the tree where she'd been sitting and sniffling earlier, I nearly jumped out of my skin. The very thing I'd been searching for was right there!
"Is that…?"
A rune.
I couldn't read ancient script, of course, but even a glance at its shape told me it was no ordinary magic circle.
"It's a rune."
I found it.
The Rune of Swordsmanship.