The Slave Who Hides Her Power (2)
While Shiron and Siriel spent their intimate(?) time together, there was a child being left out in the mansion’s training hall.
Whoosh—
Lucia Prien.
From the break of dawn until the sun sank into dusk, the red-haired girl swung her sword—now nicknamed “Black Iron”—sweat dripping steadily from her brow.
“What? You’re saying I’m being left out?”
“...I never put it quite like that.”
Encia, Shiron’s loyal maid, shrugged as she watched Lucia.
“It just looks a little that way. Or maybe... while Young Master and Lady Siriel are off playing, you’re swinging your sword—‘when others play, I’ll grow even stronger’? Is that it?”
“What kind of nonsense is that...”
Lucia stopped mid-swing and glared at Encia with narrowed eyes.
Encia. Lucia still didn’t know her exact race, but she knew the woman was a demon—and an extraordinarily powerful one at that.
Even so, the way Lucia treated her was rather loose. Deep-seated distrust of demonkind kept her from ever fully dropping her guard, but she could at least face the maid without flinching.
“Do I need a reason to swing a sword? I just do it without thinking.”
“......Really?”
“What. Why.”
“Oh, please don’t lie. Regret is written all over your face.”
“Do you have some kind of grudge against me?”
Lucia slung Black Iron over her shoulder and strode toward Encia. Without ceremony she snatched the lemonade the maid was holding and drained it in one go.
“Hmm...”
Encia narrowed her eyes at the red-haired girl.
Whether to call it boldness or sheer rudeness was hard to say, but one thing was certain: she felt no fear from the girl. Lucia showed not the slightest dread of a being who could kill her a dozen times over with a single gesture.
Up we go—
“Never mind, then.”
Encia dusted off her skirts and stretched with a long, luxurious sigh. She moved as though she had accomplished some great labor, yet all she had done today was watch a ten-year-old girl swing a sword from morning till night.
“...Haaah.”
Lucia exhaled heavily and sheathed her blade.
Those half-lidded eyes, that ever-smiling mouth. Watching Encia’s reaction, Lucia felt certain she had become the mischievous demon’s plaything.
She wanted to give that little troublemaker a good knuckle to the head. But she was still far too weak for that.
The reasons I need to get stronger just keep piling up...
Once Encia disappeared into the annex, Lucia took a moment to catch her breath and cycled mana through her entire body.
As I thought... is it because I’ve been stacking real combat experience? I’ll reach my target sooner than expected.
The mana flowing from her dantian along her meridians was easily twice what it had been mere weeks ago, and far easier to control.
That kind of progress was impossible to achieve by simply swinging a sword in the training hall. As expected, a single life-or-death battle was worth more than ten thousand practice swings.
Following Shiron wasn’t a complete waste after all.
Lucia shook out her sweat-soaked hair and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
True to its reputation as the VVIP suite of an auction house dealing in every manner of treasure, Shiron was lavished with the staff’s most attentive service.
The chair, embroidered in black velvet and gold thread, featured a massage function whose workings he could not begin to guess. A woman in a dress that left her cleavage brazenly exposed anointed her delicate fingers with fragrant oil and massaged his feet.
A feast for the eyes, and pure comfort for the body.
“This is driving me crazy...”
Yet even amid luxuries he could never have dreamed of in his previous life, Shiron’s face remained locked in a permanent scowl.
“Is there any discomfort at all, sir? I shall have it corrected at once.”
Discomfort? That would be the terrorist he had spotted only moments earlier.
A slender man in Eastern-style robes sat surrounded by guards dressed in the same fashion.
Shiron had not simply labeled them terrorists because of their clothing. The Big Dipper marks engraved on their necks made their identity all too clear.
The Liberators of Sillyeia.
The organization that the future Yoru, Warrior of Sillyeia, would one day join. For five hundred years they had demanded the liberation of oppressed peoples and the return of their promised land, sowing terror across the Empire in the process. A genuine headache of a group.
Uncomfortable? Of course I’m uncomfortable. This is supposed to be the VVIP section—should security really be this lax?
Shiron looked down at the woman working on his feet with an expression like he had bitten into something rotten.
“Might I ask you something?”
“Of course. Anything you wish.”
“Does this auction house not bother with identity checks?”
Oddly enough, the place had not stopped him even when he strode in at the head of an armored armed retinue.
What if a bidding war turned into an actual fight? He had no idea how these people—who never appeared in the game—operated, so the fact that he was sharing a roof with terrorists was steadily chewing holes in his stomach lining.
“If I suddenly decided to flip this place upside down, how exactly would you respond?”
“Oppa, what are you talking about? Are you planning to tear the place apart? Father told us to come back safe and sound...”
“No, it’s just a manner of speaking. I’m only checking because I’d hate for anything to happen to you if things got dangerous...”
Shiron offered Siriel a slightly flustered smile. At that moment the woman massaging his feet let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
“Heh heh. There’s no need to worry. We have already confirmed that the combat strength of everyone present falls well within what our ‘Auction’ can handle.”
“...You’re saying you could take on every single person in this room?”
Shiron’s eyes widened a fraction as he looked at her.
She phrased it politely, but being treated like small fry still pisses me off a little.
“Yes. Exactly so.”
The woman bowed her head with a faint, elegant smile.
“The details are confidential, but our auction house possesses... security personnel of a caliber Young Master would find difficult to imagine.”
“...How fascinating.”
“So please, simply relax and enjoy the auction.”
Moments later every light in the vicinity went out at once.
Flash—
Flash-flash-flash—
Only the lights on the distant stage remained. The panels distributed at the entrance glittered like fireflies among the darkened seats. The auction had begun.
“—Good evening, everyone. I am overwhelmed by the sheer number of distinguished guests who have joined us once again today.”
The masked auctioneer bent at the waist on stage, speaking in a lightly theatrical tone.
Then came the heavy rumble of wheels, and an iron cage rolled onto the stage.
Inside the cage sat a girl dressed in rags.
“—One year ago, a great disaster struck her family’s lands, burying them under crushing debt and ruining the Datel barony. This is their young lady. Her vicious temper is the stuff of legend, so she should prove quite... entertaining to train. Bidding starts at one hundred thousand shillings.”
For a place that had just boasted about its combat readiness, they certainly opened with something explosive.
The ruined noble house’s daughter. A classic pattern that appeared often enough in the game.
Rescuing the girl would skyrocket one’s Reputation overnight. No need for any tedious effort—just throw money at the problem and the system would hand over a tidy reward and an opportunity to face an Apostle.
I’ve worked hard to rack up demerits. I’m not dying here.
Shiron shook his head and abandoned any thought of saving the pitiful young lady. Pity might have stirred, but unfortunately the final decision was not his alone.
Just in case, he glanced at Siriel beside him.
“Siriel. What do you think of that girl? Don’t you feel sorry for her? She looks about four or five years older than you...”
He never finished the sentence. Siriel’s eyes snapped onto him like a blade.
“Oppa. Are you eyeing another girl right now? With a proper lady sitting right next to you?”
“...Yeah, sorry. Let’s just move on.”
Shiron closed his eyes and looked down at the touch panel. On it, the live bidding window climbed in real time.
Watching the stepwise ascent of the graph felt exactly like staring at a stock chart with no upper limit.
“—Three million six hundred thousand shillings! Final bid!”
The auctioneer roared the number, and the touch panel erupted in glittering effects.
Three million six hundred thousand shillings. Even by Shiron’s standards, that was a considerable sum.
Anyone with that kind of capital was almost certainly seated here in the VVIP section.
Curious who had claimed the girl, Shiron swept the room—and spotted the man in Eastern robes wearing a thoroughly unpleasant smirk.
The head of the Liberators.
His tastes don’t match his looks at all...
Shiron grimaced and shook his head. Well, it was possible. Judging someone’s sexual preferences by appearance was the height of stupidity. Even a mild-looking milksop might want to break and train a vicious young lady, right?
One after another, items passed across the stage.
Elixirs crafted by renowned alchemists.
Jewels unearthed from some desert dungeon.
Rare phantom beasts of fantastical breeds...
They had come to the auction specifically to choose a gift for Siriel and could not leave empty-handed, yet she showed interest in none of them.
“But Mother would never allow a pet, and I’ve already had more than enough elixirs—Lucia’s gift included. And frankly, I’m tired of jewels.”
“I see.”
“If nothing else works... you can just buy whatever you want, Oppa.”
Siriel trailed her fingertips lightly across the back of his hand and smiled with wicked charm.
Where on earth had she picked up that little habit? Almost immediately Eldrina’s face floated into Shiron’s mind.
What the hell are you teaching this kid?
Outwardly, however, he showed no fluster. He merely smiled and gave a small nod.
“Thanks. I’ll keep an eye out and decide.”
“—Our next item is one you may look forward to. Estimated age of creation: seven hundred years! A staff that cradles a Transcendence Stone at its tip!”
The auctioneer made a great show of sweeping the cloth from the item.
The moment the fabric fell away, Shiron saw a staff of a shape he knew intimately.
As if entranced, he pressed the bid button.
A staff that cradled a violet gem.
It was a legendary-grade item. Seira’s staff.