Chapter 2: Mirabelle, the Abandoned Witch (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 2: Mirabelle, the Abandoned Witch (1)
[Mirabelle, the Abandoned Witch]
Mirabelle was exactly the person described in her status screen.
She was an ordinary girl, born in a small, nameless village, who lived a quiet, happy life in the small inn run by her parents.
With her cute looks and cheerful personality, she effortlessly became the first love of every boy in the village.
Then one day, as time flowed lazily by, an outsider came to town.
It was a Holy Knight and a priest who had been separated from their party while subjugating demonic beasts and had lost their way. As if by a stroke of divine mercy, just as they were about to die of exhaustion, they stumbled upon Mirabelle’s village.
The clerics ended up staying at the inn run by Mirabelle’s family.
But the truly devout see what others cannot and feel what others cannot feel. Things like demonic energy, wicked curses, or…
the unique aura of a witch.
Sure enough, the clerics sensed the presence of a witch in the inn. The only thing was, it wasn’t Mirabelle’s. Not yet having awakened as a witch, she was still just an ordinary girl.
What they sensed belonged to Mirabelle’s mother. Since witchcraft is an immutable matrilineal trait, if Mirabelle was a witch, then her mother was naturally one as well.
The day her identity was discovered.
A desperate escape began in the dead of night. Mirabelle, without understanding a thing, fled, holding her parents’ hands.
But the clerics had already sent word to a nearby city. The net closed in around them, and realizing it was impossible for all of them to escape, Mirabelle’s mother chose to sacrifice herself.
She would buy time so that the other two could get away.
The plan succeeded.
But Mirabelle’s mother was burned at the stake before a massive crowd.
‘Up to this point, it’s a rather tear-jerking story.’
The problem was what came after.
The man, who had never known his wife and daughter were witches, sold Mirabelle into slavery, claiming it was revenge for being deceived his whole life.
I remember cursing them out so much for this part. How could he sell his own daughter? I cursed both the bastard of a father and the game company that created this tragedy porn.
Anyway.
A witch who lost her mother and was abandoned by her father, becoming a slave all in a single day.
Mirabelle, the Abandoned Witch.
That was the gist of Mirabelle’s story.
“Her youthful, snow-white skin contrasts with her soft, night-sky-blue hair. We are looking for someone to save this poor girl, abandoned by her own father. Ah, and of course, she is a virgin.”
The auctioneer recited Mirabelle’s features, adding a flourish. A slave with a sad story resonated with certain sentimental noblewomen.
In short, he was desperately trying to sell her for a higher price.
“Well then, the starting bid is 50 gold.”
Fifty gold.
It was a cheap price if you knew about Mirabelle’s magical talent, but no one here did. The amount was set based solely on her appearance.
Putting a slave who was only pretty up for 50 gold. What a scam. He was clearly trying to make a killing.
“Sixty gold.”
“Sixty-five gold.”
“I’ll bid 75 gold.”
But contrary to my thoughts, the bids shot up just as the auctioneer had planned. So that’s how you make money. I’ll have to use that trick later. I’ve learned something new.
“I bid 200 gold.”
Just then, someone offered a much higher price than the others.
He was a portly, middle-aged nobleman. The look in his eyes as he stared at the fragile Mirabelle was the kind a man choosing a prostitute in a brothel would have.
It was slick with dark, base desire.
“I’ll bid 230 gold.”
Another person countered.
It was a noblewoman in a voluminous dress, her face hidden behind a fan. She was one of the motherly types who had fallen for the auctioneer’s sob story.
The pig and the mama exchanged sharp glances.
“To view that poor girl as a sexual object. Have you no shame? Give up peacefully. I will give her a happy life in my estate.”
“What nonsense is this? A woman’s happiness, you see, reaches its peak when she is beneath a man’s legs. I bid 300 gold.”
“Th-Three hundred thirty.”
“Four hundred.”
The pig called out a price a full eight times the starting bid. That was enough money for a commoner family of four to live on for several years without working, and he had just thrown it at a mere slave.
What a pathetic human, unable to control his desires and carelessly throwing money away. Ugh, how pitiful.
…
‘Wait, that’s totally me, isn’t it?’
I was reminded of my past self, who blew hundreds of dollars on gacha just to pull a single female character. At least this is real and I can touch her; mine was just a bunch of data…
Kuaaaargh, fuck! Stop hitting me with the truth!
That was enough self-deprecation for now.
The auction was drawing to a close. The noblewoman chewed on her fan. She was giving up. It was, after all, too much to invest based on maternal instinct alone.
The man confirmed his victory. A hideous grin spread across his face as he pictured the future to come.
“In that case, I’ll bid one thousand gold.”
But what can you do?
I have my own reason for not being able to give up.
A new bidder. And one who had offered a price more than double the previous bid. All eyes shot toward me.
“Th-The Slave Reaper, Karami?”
“I thought that other slave was pitiful for being sold to Francis, but it turns out it was a blessing in disguise, huh?”
“I guess so. It’s better than dying, no matter what.”
Well, I’m telling you, I haven’t killed anyone.
Please, call me a gentleman, not the Slave Reaper.
The man, who had been so sure of his victory, had eyes that trembled with bewilderment at this unexpected turn of events.
Can you bid a thousand gold for a single slave?
A thousand gold was the price of a decent noble’s mansion, but not to me.
Because if I buy a ten-dollar package, I get a thousand gold plus some extra junk. So to me, a thousand gold is worth less than ten bucks!
While I was running my brain on this miracle math to justify my actions, the auctioneer continued.
“One thousand gold! Do I hear any more bids?”
“…”
The man finally looked away.
With the price having reached twenty times the starting bid, the auctioneer didn’t even try to hide his smile.
“Then this auction is concluded! Sold to the Slave Reaper, Karami, for one thousand gold!”
The crowd sent pitying glances toward the girl, and the more sentimental ones even started to cry. They glared at me as if ready to hurl insults.
Seriously, I’m not the Reaper.
*
I took custody of Mirabelle from the organizers.
Usually, they’d make a slave wear a magic tool called a Collar of Subjugation or brand them with a magical mark, but I needed neither.
Because I use the System to form a contract with the slave's soul. I didn't know at first, but apparently, this is a form of magic. Thanks to that, I sometimes get asked, "Are you a mage, sir?"
Being looked at with admiration feels pretty good. It was something I never experienced while working as a slave trader.
I took Mirabelle back to the inn I had booked beforehand. The innkeeper I ran into on the way in shot me a look that screamed, ‘That piece of human trash brought another slave,’ but I breezily ignored it.
I entered the room and plopped down on the bed. Inns with soft beds were more expensive than others, but as someone who had lived in the modern world, it was a non-negotiable feature.
I’d rather just pay a little more.
“Today was quite a harvest.”
Thanks to liberating Narsha in her best condition, I got a hefty reward, and I also obtained the Crimson Jewel from the Bryan Family.
I spent a little more money than expected, but I got Mirabelle, too. Things couldn’t be going any better.
…
My attempt to lighten the mood was in vain; a chilly air still hung in the room.
Mirabelle stood demurely, like an expressionless doll. Her vacant eyes stared into space, the kind of look a person with no will to live would have.
‘Tsk.’
Well, I guess it can’t be helped.
Her mother sacrificed herself for her family, only for her father to sell her into slavery. She must feel like the whole world has abandoned her.
To save this poor girl, the first thing I needed to do was break the ice and show her I wasn’t a threat.
I put on my most affable smile.
“Your legs must hurt from standing so long. Please, make yourself comfortable and sit.”
I patted the spot next to me, but Mirabelle didn’t move an inch. I awkwardly retracted my hand.
“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to sit.”
“…”
I couldn’t tell if I was having a conversation or just talking to myself. Her lips were sealed shut.
But I couldn’t give up here. This was the first step.
“Then let’s at least introduce ourselves. My name is Karami. Everyone calls me the Slave Reaper, but contrary to my title, I pride myself on having lived a rather virtuous life. So you don’t need to be afraid. What is your name?”
“…I don’t… have one.”
Her first response. I asked for her name, and she said she doesn’t have one. Even though she’s lived her whole life as Mirabelle.
She was hiding it on purpose. Of course, it was the name her father gave her. She didn’t want to use the name given by the father who sold her.
“Hmm, you don’t have a name. That’s a problem.”
“…”
“But as a gentleman, I can’t just call someone Slave #1 or Slave #2. If you really don’t have a name, would it be all right if I gave you one I like?”
“…”
No matter what I said, Mirabelle didn’t react. In that case, I’d just have to force a reaction out of her.
“Hmm, what would suit you… Ah, right. Mirabelle. How about Mirabelle?”
Yeah, sure. Don’t say it if you don’t want to.
Your name is still Mirabelle.