The Slave Who Hides His Power (1)
Even two years after being possessed, I could still remember with perfect clarity what kind of character Siriell had been in the game. Her presence had been so vivid I hardly needed to consult a notebook.
There was Lucia, plastered front and center on the main menu of Reincarnation Sword God, and surrounding her, every last supporting character striking the most overblown, self-important poses imaginable.
The three elements that forge a hero.
[Trial]
[Ally]
[Enemy]
As far as I could recall, even among traditional heroic archetypes there had never been a hero who weathered every trial and crisis through pure personal might alone — one body, one blade. Maybe because Reincarnation Sword God needed players to be able to immerse themselves. Even with a previous life as the Sword God, Lucia was no omnipotent being.
She took wounds from the calamities that fell upon her. She struggled against the schemes of those who opposed her. She shed tears over the deaths of her comrades.
It was precisely those human qualities that let players sink into her, and those same human qualities inevitably produced flaws. But the flaws were filled in by reliable allies — and Siriell was one of them.
Just looking at the lines she delivered to Lucia when you played as the protagonist was enough to show how much of a help she was.
When the situation demanded sacrificing the few for the many —
When Lucia was crying over Shiron's words — I never once thought of you as a little sister —
And after they had slain the final Apostle, on the day of the decisive battle, Siriell looked at Lucia with glistening eyes and said —
Sometimes a rival. Sometimes an ally.
But that was only the story when you played as Lucia.
After clearing the game and unlocking Shiron, the Orca Siriell you met was neither a rival you could trust your back to nor a reliable ally — not anywhere, not anytime.
What would you even call her?
Less ally, more obstructionist? A total brat? That fit better.
In a city overrun by a swarm of demonic beasts and teetering on the edge of disaster, Siriell ignored the player — Shiron — entirely, did whatever she wanted, and hogged every last scrap of credit. And that was just the start.
When you finally managed to kill the first Apostle after a desperate fight —
When you faced the fourth Apostle and were on the brink of death —
Back then her blistering trash talk left my head spinning. But the scene that left the deepest impression of all came right before the clash with the Evil God.
To the bitter end, Siriell poured venom on Shiron.
Look at the temperature difference with Lucia. Wasn't this a little much? This was the moment you were supposed to get a pep talk, for crying out loud.
There was hate, and then there was this.
You couldn't help thinking, Shouldn't we just kill her off before she becomes a heroine?
Just so we're clear — the Shiron I controlled never did a single thing to Lucia. Why would he? She was a living catastrophe and his personal death flag. Of course he never claimed the family head title either.
He never drove a blade into her chest the way the original did — but make no mistake, the game's Siriell was nothing but an obstacle. She was so thoroughly rotten you had to wonder if the developers had deliberately designed her to piss players off.
If you asked me why, I wouldn't have an answer. I still struggle to explain it. But I came to accept it. Now that I knew the game's creator was Yura, every last question resolved itself, and I found myself nodding along.
"...Haaah."
Inside a carriage packed with shopping bags, Shiron stretched out a long, languid yawn. He hadn't even slept poorly, yet he was drowsy and exhausted all the same.
He was in the middle of touring the capital's famous sights with Siriell. They had seen the wish-granting fountain, visited a doll shop where craftsmen shaped every piece by hand, and stopped by a patisserie run by a gifted pastry chef.
But the fatigue had nothing to do with how far they had walked. The real culprit was sitting right in front of him, chattering without a single pause for breath — Siriell herself.
"What did you think, Oppa?"
"...Hm? Can you say that again? I didn't quite catch it."
The corner of Shiron's mouth twitched as he answered her. Anyone looking at the smile on his face could tell it was forced.
"The kiwi cake back there. How did it taste?"
"Ah... yeah. That was really good."
"You thought so too, right? The second I heard 'kiwi' I imagined this sharp sourness and my mouth was watering, but when I actually ate it the tartness was barely there — just this restrained sweetness. Now I get why it's so popular."
"...I see."
He didn't feel physical fatigue. Encia had prepared lemonade in advance; he could recover from that anytime. Unfortunately, Encia's lemonade did nothing for mental exhaustion.
Listening to Siriell chatter nonstop since dawn, any normal person would have asked her to please keep it down because he was a little tired. Sadly, that was not an option.
For this one single day, Shiron was little more than Siriell's attendant — her slave, for all practical purposes.
"...Hah."
"Oppa. Are you sleeping?"
"Wh— huh?! N-no. Sleep? Who's sleeping? I was listening to you."
"Good. You weren't answering, so I thought you were dozing off and ignoring me."
"...As if I would."
Siriell would not even tolerate him zoning out and letting her words wash over him without a reply. True to her upbringing as a noble young lady, she knew exactly how to work a subordinate to the bone.
I really went too far that time. 'I'll be your slave'? Ugh, so cringy.
How thoroughly could a ten-year-old girl even work someone, that he had made such a bold promise? Belated regret washed over Shiron.
"Huu..."
But this, too, would be over soon. He let out a deep sigh and looked out the window.
The sun was already sinking low, and the streetlamps along the road were lighting up one by one.
And with the coming of night, there was one street that always came alive.
The largest entertainment district on the continent — Nightrail Street.
Peculiarly enough, the place was a kind of extraterritorial zone.
Gambling, drugs, prostitution... the street was packed with things harmful to children, but those were the amusements of the dregs who never even made it backstage.
Shiron had a different destination in mind.
A secret auction held on the first and third Saturdays of every month.
What did an auction house have to do with cheering Siriell up? Fair question — but this was a place where you might buy something that rivaled even Lucia's elixirs.
Or, if luck's on my side, maybe even a holy relic.
The auction house on Nightrail Street was a little different from ordinary ones.
It's basically a casino with extra steps.
In the game, every time you entered the auction, items ranging from Normal to Legendary grade appeared at random. Everything from orphans sold into slavery to the sacred relics of a hero who had died five hundred years ago... all sorts of goods went up for bid, but no matter how much money a player had, without luck you couldn't buy a high-grade item. Conversely, even with almost nothing in your pockets, you sometimes walked away with a Legendary for a song simply because no one else bid.
With gambling mechanics this blatant... why didn't the Game Rating Board slap a Restricted rating on it?
A stray thought from before the possession drifted through his mind, but Shiron forced himself to focus on the present. Emperor Franz hated any institution or power that slipped outside his control — and yet he let a place like this operate in plain sight.
Arrogance, maybe. The belief that he can keep it leashed.
"We have arrived, my lady, young master."
The knight riding at the head of the escort spoke from outside.
Click—
The carriage door opened. Shiron stepped out at once, bowed his head, and extended a hand toward Siriell.
"If you would, my lady."
An escort for a young lady — a kind of attendant's duty. It felt a little excessive, but under normal circumstances Siriell would have asked if he wanted to go home and rest the moment he looked tired. She still hadn't forgiven him. So Shiron had no choice but to pour everything he had into gestures like this.
"...Thank you, Oppa."
Sure enough, his efforts were not wasted. From his lowered gaze he caught a glimpse of Siriell's face — she looked delighted. She maintained the speech and bearing of a refined noble young lady, but the corner of her mouth was unmistakably twitching upward.
Under the knights' escort, Shiron and Siriell entered the auction house.
No entrance fee was required. The sheer presence of the knights escorting them naturally guided the pair straight to the VVIP seating.
"...It will be our utmost pleasure to attend to you."
A broad-shouldered man in a bow tie bowed at a perfect ninety degrees and held out a touch panel studded with jewels.
It looks exactly like the game's control window.
Shiron murmured a small note of admiration as he looked down at the thin slab. After so long, seeing a game-like element in a place like this was almost comforting.
He had wondered whether leading an entire knight order into an auction house might cause a stir, but the number of escorts apparently didn't matter. The moment he sat in the guided seat and looked around like a country bumpkin seeing the capital for the first time, he noticed that everyone else had four or five guards of their own.
There are more famous faces here than I expected...
The bodyguards blocked a clear view of their faces, but several of the figures looked like named characters.
Someone who appeared to be a cardinal of the Holy Kingdom.
One of the Empire's three dukes.
And among them —
someone who looked an awful lot like a terrorist.