The Saintess and the Slave
"Next time, don't call me for something like this." The mage muttered as he left the room, clearly annoyed. "What's so scary about a kid the size of a chestnut that you'd need a brand like this?"
"Please, pay him no mind. It's a brand that the mage folk tend to dislike," the slave trader said, trying to soothe me, but it wasn't necessary. My attention was entirely focused on the beastkin collapsed on the ritual cloth. She was just a small child. She had screamed for quite a while before finally losing consciousness. I wondered where such power could have been hidden in such a tiny body. It had been a harrowing scream. Her fingertips were mangled, leaving long streaks on the cloth beneath her, and the area was damp, as if she had purged something from within. The air was thick with the scent of blood and something sour—the smell of death. If I hadn't seen her small chest rising and falling, I would have assumed she was dead.
"Is it always like this?"
"Brands that irritate the mana nerves are difficult even for dwarves to endure. It's not that she's defective; she didn't collapse because of a flaw."
"I'm not trying to complain... never mind."
"On the contrary, shouldn't you be relieved? If you use the brand, you can inflict similar pain to keep the slave in line. Once they get a taste of it, they have no choice but to obey."
That was the problem. I hadn't known it would be this painful. I couldn't just brush it off by saying, "If I had known, I would have ordered a standard brand." I had to admit it: I hadn't been thinking straight these past few days. I had been dropped into this game and was struggling desperately just to survive. Then, after finally managing to meet a playable character, I’d been backstabbed by the very person I trusted, and the rage had gone straight to my head. Even so. To think that I, swearing never to be betrayed again, had spent my time bullying a child... I felt completely drained.
But setting aside the self-reflection, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Her Intelligence is 18. That’s the limit reachable through conventional methods. Considering that the average stat points distributed by the rules is 12, and the expected value if you roll the dice yourself is 10.5, that is an absurdly high number. With a little care, she’s sure to become a spellcaster and act as a reliable backline support.
...Or so I thought, but looking at the tragedy before me, those thoughts vanished. I need to get her treated at a temple, but she’s in no state for that. If I took her like this, I wouldn't just get an earful; I’d be severely punished.
"Can you wash her up?"
"There will be an additional fee, but..."
"Do it."
The slave trader signaled his men to move the child. He’s a man who wears his greed on his sleeve. Then again, people like that are often the most trustworthy. As the laborer reached under her arms to lift her, the child hung limp, dangling in the air. She’s so small. A sense of shame washed over me.
My throat is parched. I struggled to open my eyes and found myself in an unfamiliar room. My entire body felt numb, as if every nerve had been crushed. It felt like the dull, aching sensation you get when you sleep with your arm pressed against a desk, but spread across my whole body. Even when I tried to move, the most I could manage was a slight twitch of my tail. My body felt as heavy as water-soaked cotton. Is anyone there? I tried to speak, but only a wheezing sound escaped. My breath was hot. My throat was cracked and dry. There was nothing I could do. Is this what it feels like to slowly die? I closed my eyes tightly.
They say your other senses sharpen when you close your eyes. I could feel my entire body throbbing with every heartbeat. It was like feeling your digestive organs for the first time after eating something cold; I could feel the pain spreading and sense how my organs were distributed throughout my body. But the way the pulse beat strongly in places that didn't feel like veins... it felt like something else entirely.
As I struggled to find the source of this strange sensation, I heard someone outside the room. When the door opened, I opened my eyes slightly and made eye contact with a woman. No, that’s not right. We didn't make eye contact. She had her eyes closed. Well, anyway. She asked, looking visibly flustered.
"Hey, are you awake? Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?"
I wanted to ask who she was, but only a wheezing sound came out.
"Don't talk, don't move, don't do anything—just wait a moment! I'll be right back!"
She rushed out so quickly that I barely heard the end of her sentence. She was a beauty with striking, pale blonde hair long enough to reach her shoulder blades. Her neatly tailored black outfit, a mix of a nun's habit and a priest's robe, gave off a mysterious vibe. Perhaps she works in the clergy? I closed my eyes again. The world was silent. Before long, she returned with her hands full of items.
"Say 'ah'."
I opened my mouth carefully, and a damp cloth was placed inside. My parched mouth felt moistened, and the thirst began to subside. She repeated the process of soaking the cloth and placing it in my mouth several times. Only after confirming that saliva was trailing from my lips as she removed the cloth did she say, "If you're thirsty today, just keep this damp cloth in your mouth. Try not to talk, either. Understand?" She placed a bowl of water with cloths in it by my bedside.
"If you understand, blink twice."
I blinked lightly twice. She smiled and said, "Good job," then reached out to stroke my hair. It was soft and warm. It felt as if a warm energy was entering my body through her hand. No, was it actually entering? The hand stroking me was glowing faintly.
I thought she was a meticulous person based on how she cared for patients, but she’s actually quite a klutz. After telling me strictly not to say a word, she asked, "Hey, what's your name?" and after a long silence, she said, "Ah... what a good listener you are!" and proceeded to mess up my hair again. She even knocked over the water bowl on the bed twice. Just watching her made me nervous, like watching a child playing near water. When she’s still, she’s a calm beauty. Watching her sit at the desk by the bed, focused on copying manuscripts, was like looking at a painting. Her hands were moving busily, but her eyes were firmly shut. Is she a 'slit-eyed' character? She’s beautiful and has a trope, so she must be at least a supporting character, right? My imagination ran wild.
But isn't her outfit a bit revealing? It was designed with long sleeves and a loose fit to hide her figure, but perhaps because it was summer wear, the fabric was thin, making it look more grey than black. Maybe because of that material, the fabric stretched across her chest, revealing the whiteness of her skin beneath. Is it the clothes, or the person? Come to think of it, it looked just like the clothes I was wearing, only a different size. When I rubbed my cheek against the fabric, it felt a bit rough. It was scratchy but cool. But who changed my clothes? At that sudden thought, my tail, which had been wagging, stood straight up. After a moment of hesitation, I rubbed my face against my arm. Well, whatever. I’m just a kid.
I was wagging my tail again when I lifted my head and our eyes met. Had she seen me acting like a child this whole time? Feeling embarrassed, I buried my head. She watched me for a moment, then, seemingly deciding something, moved busily and placed a cloth in my mouth. Unlike before, the cloth was soaked in water lightly flavored with fruit juice. Is she giving me liquid food? It tasted sweet, sour, and slightly salty, like a diluted sports drink. Does she think I’m a baby? Every time we make eye contact, she tries to put something in my mouth or stroke my hair. I was reminded of the half-elf I met in the slave trader's basement. My left cheek, where her hand had touched, grew hot. The heat gradually spread until it reached my eyes. Feeling my eyes sting, I pulled the blanket over my head to hide my face. Please don't look this way for a while. Wishing that in my heart, I cooled my face and drifted off to sleep. Thankfully, I didn't cry.
I woke up to the feeling of the bed shifting. "Sorry, did I wake you?" she said, placing her hand on my forehead as I moved sluggishly. "Your fever is gone. You must have been in so much pain, you poor thing." Then she pulled me into her arms and hugged me tight. ...Hugged me?
"Hey, stop squirming and stay still!"
My desperate escape attempt was thwarted by a single sentence. Well, of course. This isn't my room. I’m borrowing her bed. After thinking about it for a moment, I just stopped thinking altogether. If I’m benefiting, I’m not losing anything. I’m a child right now, and this person is just someone with a strong maternal instinct. "My, how can such a small face have all these eyes, nose, and mouth attached? Hey, want to live with your big sister? Hmm? Do you want to live with me?"
It didn't seem like she was joking. Since I’m in her debt, I can afford to be her "attachment doll" for a day. There were more important issues than whether I slept in her arms or not. I opened my mouth and let out an "Ah." Perhaps because she’d taken such good care of me all day, my throat felt much better. She stopped chattering and focused all her attention on my mouth. It’s scary. Even a mother wouldn't watch a baby's first babble that intensely. I cleared my throat and thought. What should I say? Since I’m a slave, should I call her 'Master'? It was more embarrassing than I thought to say it out loud, so I stuttered.
"Umm... where... did the Master go?"
Wait, who even are you? And where did the protagonist go?
"Master?" She asked, her brow furrowing. The room seemed to turn cold. "Ma-ster?" Then, seemingly thinking of something, she hugged me tightly again. I couldn't breathe. Save me.
The next day. "No! I will take this child to the temple and raise her. I will raise her to be a proper devotee!" the nun said.
I wish she would let me go from her arms, though. My head is spinning because my shoulders shake every time she speaks. "Even if you say that, it won't work. In the first place..."
"Is it because you are the master?"
The protagonist stopped speaking at her sharp remark. I guess he does realize it's shameful. "I didn't think you were that kind of person, how could you do this! Making such a young child call you 'Master'! If you had any sense of shame at all..."
A drama was unfolding right there in the room.