The Voice
Voice.
Strategy.
Reduced to a slave overnight.
I'd run away from the orphanage to avoid a slave ending, yet here I was, staring at my own enslaved self. The absurdity of it all made me laugh.
Today, too, the sunlight felt unpleasant.
Was it because of those days I'd spent desperately trying to survive?
Or because I'd accepted my death in my previous life without any lingering attachment?
Compared to the empty thirty-one years I'd lived simply because I couldn't die, this life—barely two years since I'd begun remembering the world—felt infinitely more precious, a shining memory.
I'd fainted at the nightmarish sight I couldn't possibly accept.
Watching someone who'd smiled at me die was a pain I could never grow used to, no matter how many times I saw it.
Knowing full well that the unacceptable truth would kill me, I'd still surrendered my body to rage.
Perhaps because of the memories from my past life, where I'd been forced to mature too early and had never once been allowed to cry, the fury I felt now was something I couldn't suppress.
I'd even experienced that rage, born of emptiness and with nowhere to go, transforming into bitter sorrow.
Following the signpost called revenge, using violent anger as fuel and my soul as kindling, my mind had barely held on—only to collapse in an instant.
Still, that feeling was something you could never understand unless you'd lived through it yourself.
Have you ever watched a madman commit suicide right in front of you, taunting that if you were going to take revenge with your own hands, he'd make sure you couldn't?
This is why you shouldn't associate with lunatics.
In moments like this, I miss the times when Pyris would smile and call my name.
Poor Pyris. His body still hasn't been recovered.
I can only hope someone finds him and lets him rest in peace.
Anyway, after enduring that nightmarish day, after screaming, crying, and thrashing until I'd exhausted every last bit of strength, I slipped quietly into the cage without even thinking of escaping the four slave traders.
And just like that, two months had passed.
Even now, thinking of Pyris's death brings tears to my eyes, but two months had been enough time to steady my heart. If nothing else, I had to live on to carry the weight of his death.
You must be wondering how slave life could possibly be comfortable enough to make me think this way.
Well, I was living quite comfortably at the moment.
To explain my current situation, I suppose I should organize everything that's happened so far.
After being captured as a slave, I wasn't sold off immediately like the other children.
When the traders saw the Stigma embedded in my eyes, they put their heads together and decided that with such unusual irises, noticeable hair color, and future potential, a little feeding and careful management would make my price skyrocket enough for them to live off for years.
Smarter than they looked, those bastards.
Anyway, because they were dead set on raising me as a display slave, their insane schedule of feeding, sleeping, and exercising me actually gave me a more abundant life than I'd had at the orphanage or on the streets.
After that day, they spent a month traveling through several cities selling off the other slaves, then even sold the cage itself before finally bringing me by carriage to their residence to begin taking care of me.
Let me introduce these four lunatics.
Dum, the lanky one whose facial features were so unnaturally centered it made you wonder if a human face was even supposed to look like that.
Dummer, the massive brute who looked like Ma Dong-seok had been summoned to this world, with a face like a demon incarnate.
Jack, the dwarf whose body seemed to grow sideways rather than upward, complete with a glossy, flowing beard that made people mistake him for a mad dwarf.
And James, the leader of the group—the only one who looked relatively human, despite his slightly intimidating appearance.
These lunatics were apparently former adventurers skilled enough to run a slave-trading operation with just four people.
After selling off the other slaves and the cage, they began raising me in this house while spouting nonsense about their "beautiful slave girl development project." That was the situation up until now.
I was going insane.
At first, they'd been flustered by my constant tears whenever I spoke, but soon they started putting me to bed on soft blankets, saying that crying too much would make my eyes swell and lower my market value.
Then they filled my stomach with homemade meals made from quality ingredients, insisting that eating well in childhood was necessary to grow into a well-proportioned beauty.
After meals, they made me walk around the house for exercise, claiming that developing the habit of physical activity from a young age would help me maintain a balanced figure as a beautiful slave girl.
They even made sure I never touched a drop of water when doing chores like cleaning or washing dishes, worried that rough hands would make me less appealing.
On top of that, none of them seemed to have any pedophilic tendencies, so I genuinely had nothing to do.
Even I, still struggling to process my grief at the time, had been so bewildered by their behavior that I'd started wondering if they were actually good people—right up until they fastened the slave collar around my neck, the one that would electrocute me if I strayed too far from my master.
Thanks to that, I had plenty of free time now. Too much free time.
With so much time on my hands, I'd recovered enough in just two months to bury even Pyris's death deep in my heart.
Anyway, as long as I didn't try to run away, these guys were surprisingly kind and decent.
They felt no emotion about slave trading itself, and they were genuinely, bone-deep villains who intended to raise and sell me as a slave.
But at least for now, they weren't a threat to me.
Depending on how fast I grew, the timing might change, but I needed to slowly think of a way to escape.
I did have one idea.
The Stigma in my eyes was supposedly proof of a saint, according to that madman.
Since he'd even thrown away his own life for it, I figured the information was about ninety percent reliable, regardless of how much I trusted him personally.
So my plan was to ask for help from someone affiliated with the church if we ever went out and I spotted one.
But there were problems.
First, these guys never took me into the city.
Second, even these former adventurers with decent skills just treated my Stigma as unusual eyes—would a priest really recognize it right away?
Third, even if I asked for help, I had no idea what value the church placed on a saint.
For those reasons, I needed to come up with another plan.
I'd keep that method as a last resort, only to be used if there were truly no other options by the time I was sold.
With a genius brain and years of time ahead of me, escaping from these four extra characters shouldn't be difficult at all.
* *
[Two Years Later]
There was no way. I needed the last resort.
Over the course of about two years, I'd grown steadily and learned to speak.
Perhaps as a rebound from not eating properly at the orphanage, I'd already reached 130 centimeters and had grown enough to actually be called a beautiful girl.
My physical abilities had improved even further from the days when I'd scaled walls and descended waterways at age five, and I'd even considered plans to break the collar, knock out these lunatics, and escape in style—but there simply wasn't enough time.
Honestly, if they wanted to sell a beautiful slave girl, couldn't they have raised me for at least another eight years? The unfairness of it all made me resentful, but the real problem was that all four lunatics had been completely swayed by the words of a broker who'd visited recently.
"Whether you sell her now or later, pretty slaves are everywhere. But this child's value is already visible in her eyes."
While the four of them had been debating whether to raise me for a few more years, that comment had sealed the decision to put me up for auction at the upcoming slave market.
Even so, after feeding and raising me for years, surely they wouldn't be so heartless as to sell me off just like that... There were probably people thinking that.
Of course, I'd held onto a sliver of hope myself—"maybe..."
It was a ridiculous hope.
These guys were talking behind my back about how much I'd sell for, what kind of work they'd do next after selling me, and what they'd buy if they got a good price?
I'd never seen anyone with such unwavering professional dedication in my entire life. Ha...
I'd thought about it, but there was actually one more method I really didn't want to use.
If this didn't work either, then there really would be nothing left but the final resort...
I knew it would only damage my mental state, but with no other options left, I opened my mouth.
"Misters, are you really going to sell me?"
"Yeah."
James answered immediately from among the four who had been chatting amongst themselves.
"But I really like you guys..."
"We like money more."
"Right, right."
"With money, you can buy women."
"Agreed."
"Hngh..."
Of course, I hadn't expected anything.
Even after seeing my ultimate technique—teary eyes and a pitiful expression after two years—they still responded so calmly.
As expected, all I got for acting cute to these guys was a drop in my mental stats and zero benefits.
Was this some kind of damage exchange?
"Then at least grant me one wish before I'm sold?"
"Why should we?"
-Thwack!
"Ow!"
"Don't try anything funny. Just go quietly, kid."
"Tch..."
This was driving me crazy.
Because I'd been locked inside the carriage like some sacred treasure with no way to see outside, even my last resort had become useless.
If I got sold to someone else like this, what would happen to me?
They said my eyes had value, so maybe they'd find them fascinating and stuff me like a taxidermy specimen.
Or maybe I'd be sold to a pedophile who lusted after how cute I was, leading to an R-19 story.
Either way, it didn't seem like a good development.
Or maybe some apostle of justice would burst in, ruin the auction, and save me?
Despite my hopes, I was ultimately sold to a noble couple whose eyes glowed with an eerie purple aura.
This was bad.
That strange aura, that atmosphere... this was at minimum human experimentation or taxidermy.
As I was led away by the noble couple, I thought to myself:
Today, too, the wind felt unpleasant.
* *
House Morris.
A count's family ruling over an unremarkable border region of the Inglis Empire, a house that had lived peacefully for quite some time.
But the reality of this family was rather special.
They were a lineage of demon worshippers.
By worshipping demons and offering sacrifices, they'd maintained their affluent lifestyle and the title of count.
Of course, offering the empire's citizens—even commoners—as sacrifices was a burden even for the current count and his ancestors, who held some loyalty to the country. So they preferred to buy slaves from the market to use as offerings.
Thanks to this, they were treated as high-ranking VIPs in the underworld, and the reason the count had personally attended this auction with his wife was because of rumors about a special slave.
After the usual boring product introductions, the final item was presented after some delay, as if to emphasize it was the highlight of the auction.
The count had been about to sigh, thinking it was a wasted trip, when he saw an ordinary human girl who hadn't yet shed her childish appearance despite her promising beauty—until he saw her eyes.
"O... oh..."
"What is it, my lord?"
"My lady. Look at those eyes."
The countess, who had also been uninterested, looked at the girl's eyes out of curiosity and was equally shocked.
"That's...!"
Knowing the location, they didn't reveal any information that might pique the other bidders' interest. The count and countess exchanged glances.
Even if it meant spending their entire fortune, they had to acquire this girl.
When the auction began, the Count of Morris decided to take a small loss to seize the initiative and test whether anyone else recognized the slave's value.
"Ten gold coins! We have ten gold coins! Any more?"
"One hundred gold coins."
Normally, young slaves weren't very expensive. They lacked the stamina and skills for practical use, so even as ornamental slaves, their value was limited to around ten gold coins.
Unless someone had unusual fetishes and was willing to invest in raising a slave until she came of age, there was no reason to bid higher.
Assuming no one else recognized her true value, the count held his breath and waited for the auctioneer's countdown.
"One hundred gold coins! One hundred gold coins! Going once, going twice—sold for one hundred gold coins!"
While he could have saved money by bidding normally, one hundred gold coins was nothing compared to the worst-case scenario he'd imagined, even if it was a significant loss.
The proof of a saint—meaning a saint candidate, the church's highest priority for protection—appearing here was an opportunity so rare it might only happen a handful of times in history. He couldn't let it slip away over such a trivial doubt.
If even one person in the auction house had recognized her value, he'd been prepared to give up all the wealth his ancestors had accumulated. But by some stroke of luck, he'd acquired her for just that amount, and he offered thanks to his forebears.
* *
[Morris County]
"Do you know why I bought you?"
"...I don't know."
The moment the auction ended, this noble had rushed over, taken me, and raced back to his territory. The first thing he said after arriving at the castle, locking the door, was that.
From his gaze, it didn't seem like he was filled with the disgusting lust the pig-like bidder had shown earlier. His wife was right there, so he probably wouldn't say he'd bought me for sexual purposes.
Given how strangely focused his gaze was on my eyes, this noble had probably noticed my Stigma.
"The moment I saw those eyes of yours, I felt destiny."
...He'd noticed, right?
Don't tell me this guy was the same type as that pig from earlier? Seriously?
"...Pardon?"
"Not just any ordinary Stigma, but the divine eyes bearing the mark of a saint."
Fortunately, that didn't seem to be the case.
The ending where I was trained into a female slave moaning beneath a man hadn't arrived yet.
"I can't even imagine what kind of magnificent artifact would be born if I extracted them and processed them into a magical tool."
Correction. This might be an even worse situation.
Wow, this was insane. Did my cursed eyes have some kind of effect that only attracted these kinds of people?
I was starting to think being sold to that pig earlier might have been better.
A desperate struggle between chastity and eyesight began in my mind, but reality was cruel regardless.
Life really was...
"Aren't you afraid of God?"
I didn't particularly believe in God, but since it was supposedly proof of a saint, I tried to scare him.
This world followed monotheism, so I hoped that if someone bearing God's mark said this, he'd at least hesitate.
"Of course not. Our family has worshipped demons for generations. Why would we fear God now?"
"How dare a mere slave speak so insolently!"
-Smack!
At the mention of demon worship, the ill-tempered woman beside him—the countess—slapped me across the face with full force.
It was a completely different sound from any slap I'd imagined, and after briefly feeling like I was floating, I kissed the floor with my opposite cheek.
Was this that famous "turn the other cheek" thing?
The metallic taste in my mouth suggested my cheek had split when I was hit.
Was that woman's strength for real?
Or was it not that my physical abilities were exceptional, but that the average physical abilities of humans in this world were just strange?
While I was thinking this, the servant who'd been sent to fetch something at the count's orders upon our arrival returned with several colleagues.
A chair, rope, a bottle of water, a spoon.
...A spoon? What was that for?
Why was he looking back and forth between the spoon and my eyes?
Seriously? He was going to gouge them out with that?
Not elegantly extracting them with magic or cleanly removing them with an expert's technique?
And he was going to do it right away, without even giving me time to prepare mentally?
"What happens to me after you take my eyes?"
"Don't worry. We'll make good use of the rest of your body as a sacrifice too."
So they weren't even going to leave a corpse.
No wonder only the countess had been noisy, and there'd been no "re-education" or slave collar—they'd just thrown it away.
Honestly, their decisiveness was almost admirable.
I'd thought villains usually monologued and hesitated until justice attacked them, then cried about needing more budget and time, but reality was different.
Meanwhile, I felt the sensation of my arms, legs, waist, and neck being tightly bound to the chair with rope without any hesitation, and I inwardly recited my final complaint.
Why was my life like this?
Lord, this year is coming to an end.
-Where do you think you're going?