Confession (2)

Mirabel laid everything out on the table—her entire past.

From the fact that she was a witch, to how the priests arrived in her village, what happened to her mother, and how she ended up being sold into slavery.

She didn't intend to evoke pity.

Her listener was Karamir, a ruthless slave trader with no heart. Worse than that, he was known as the Slave Reaper. Mirabel was not naive enough to think that playing on his emotions would make things go smoothly.

Children who face harsh realities early in life tend to grow up faster.

That's why she had planned to hide her truth for life. The moment anyone found out, she would be hunted like a witch.

So why, after all this time, had she suddenly confessed her secret to Karamir?

'Why did I do that?'

No matter how many times she asked herself, she couldn't come up with a clear answer.

Even she didn't know why.

But if she had to try and pinpoint a reason… maybe it was because of the strange warmth she felt from his touch, from being in his arms.

It had been so long since she felt warmth from another person's body.

It was laughable, really. To feel comfort from a slave trader. Anyone who knew her situation would think she'd lost her mind the moment she became a slave. But what could she do? That's just how she felt.

Mirabel cautiously glanced at Karamir.

Now that he knew his slave was a witch, how would he react? He was bound to be shocked. Protecting a witch was punishable by death. He might even blow up in anger.

Whatever his reaction, she'd probably enjoy it. Karamir was always a hard man to read, his expression like a blank slate. She was secretly looking forward to the moment he lost that composure.

But contrary to her expectations, Karamir maintained his smile from beginning to end. He didn't seem to care at all that she was a witch.

It was as if…

"Haha, and what of it?"

As if the word 'shock' didn't exist in his vocabulary.

The one taken aback was Mirabel.

"What do you mean, 'what of it?' I'm telling you I'm a witch! If you protect a witch, you could be sentenced to death because of me!"

"Miss Mirabel, whether you're a witch or an evil god makes no difference to me. I'm a slave trader. The only thing I care about is value."

"Value…?"

Karamir nodded.

"You possess immeasurable value. Even I can't fully gauge its extent. Throwing away someone as valuable as you just because you're a witch would be foolish. I'd have to quit being a slave trader."

Mirabel's dark blue eyes widened in shock.

Just because?

Did he just say 'just because'?

She had been cast aside by her own father for being a witch, but here was a complete stranger, Karamir, dismissing it as 'just'?

Mirabel couldn't comprehend it.

She didn't want to comprehend it.

If she accepted that, it would mean she had been abandoned over something insignificant. And if that was true, what did it say about her father, who had thrown her away for something so small?

Karamir didn't seem to care at all that she was a witch.

As her eyes gleamed with hatred for someone, Karamir took the opportunity to slip in with some sweet words.

"There's no need to be so enraged. The whole purpose of this journey is to meet him, isn't it? Let's go and ask him. Ask him why he abandoned you."

Yes, that's right.

"Until that moment comes, Miss Mirabel, just focus on practicing your magic. You don't need to worry about anything else."

She needed to master her magic.

To return the pain she had suffered because of that man a thousandfold.

"When it's all over, I'll send you back to your mother's side."

Back to her mother, who had gone to a place out of reach. As good as a death sentence.

Mirabel was startled for only a moment.

Click.

The gears in her mind, once frozen, began turning in reverse.

'Ah, I see.'

The girl realized something.

The light she had lost long ago was beyond retrieval.

Even if time could be turned back, unless she was reborn as someone else, it would make no difference.

From the moment she was born as Mirabel, the ending would always be the same, no matter how many times it repeated.

Why long for something you know you can't recover? No, there was no need to cling to this world.

Especially when the one by her side was Karamir, the Slave Reaper. He was the only savior who could free her from this suffocating reality.

"I'll free you from this hell. Can you hold on until then?"

True freedom.

To cast off the shackles of life and be free.

Mirabel smiled brightly—a smile unlike any she had ever worn before.

"Yes, Master."

"But, Master, why did you buy me?"

Out of the blue, Mirabel asked the fundamental question.

Her voice no longer held any hesitation. The girl who once felt awkward calling Karamir 'Master' now fully accepted him as such.

Through their conversation, Mirabel had realized that Karamir judged people by their value.

But when she thought about it, something seemed off. He had only just learned that she was a witch, and her talent in magic had only recently been revealed.

Before that, she had been nothing special—a plain, worthless girl. That was who Mirabel was.

So what had Karamir seen in her at the Slave Carnival? What had made him pay a thousand gold, no small amount, for her?

"First, I have an eye for people. I can roughly tell how high someone will rise, or how far they'll fall, just by looking at them."

"And the second?"

"The second is that your eyes were dead."

Puzzled, Mirabel tilted her head.

Karamir grinned wickedly and continued his explanation.

"I enjoy molding people who are drowning in despair. I guide them to the highest point they can reach, and then… I free them. The pleasure that comes from that is indescribable."

It was a perverse statement.

Mirabel had never heard anything more twisted.

It was like giving sight to a blind person, only to gouge their eyes out afterward.

The ultimate cruelty.

Most people would have condemned him for such a thing.

But Mirabel was different. She had gained a chance at salvation because of it.

'I get it now.'

All the other slaves Karamir had touched must have felt the same as she did. They must have left with blissful smiles. It was something only his slaves could understand.

Other slaves would never know this feeling.

Ah, how pitiful they were. It was an ecstasy that only those chosen by him could experience.

"Master, what should I do next? I should keep training my magic, right?"

Mirabel's determination flared up.

This man had taken her in when even her family had abandoned her.

He was the one who would grant her salvation.

Until the day of her release, she had to repay him.

The only thing she, a lowly slave, could do for Karamir was to increase her value. Then, Karamir would experience even greater pleasure.

That was a slave's duty.

But as if to douse her rising passion, Karamir responded nonchalantly.

"What are you talking about? It's time to wash up and go to bed."

"…Huh?"

Mirabel glanced out the window. The world outside was darkening as dusk settled in.

"If you practice magic at this hour, we'll get complaints."

And of course, those complaints would go to him, her master. Karamir added that bit with a sigh, his eyes showing the weight of past troubles he'd rather not revisit.

Seeing this, Mirabel's fiery determination flickered out. It didn't seem like the right time to insist.

She should just go to bed quietly.

"Hehehe."

For some reason, Mirabel was cuddled up to me, giggling like a fool.

'What's going on?'

I realized something was off after we had finished getting ready for bed.

Mirabel's condition had been so bad that we had to find a place to stay quickly. The only room available had just one bed.

I'd asked the innkeeper if there was another room, but the place was packed. Adventurers had flocked to the city after hearing about the dungeon.

So, we had no choice but to share a room—and a bed.

"I'll sleep on the floor, Master."

"No, you won't."

What had caused this sudden change in her attitude?

Ever since our heartfelt conversation, Mirabel had taken it upon herself to become the perfect slave. She acted like she was a maidservant from a noble household.

Her earnestness was touching, but absolutely not. As a connoisseur of female slaves, it wouldn't be gentlemanly to make her sleep on the floor.

Besides, she might hold a grudge later, bury me in the ground, and send me to my eternal rest, saying it was payback for making her sleep on the floor. No, if anyone was sleeping on the floor, it would be me, not her.

In the end, we reached a compromise and shared the bed. Mirabel was small enough that it didn't feel cramped, even with the two of us.

The problem was her position.

Normally, when a man and woman with no relationship share a bed, don't they sleep back to back? But Mirabel wriggled her way into my arms.

Then she giggled, saying how comfortable it was.

Why had her personality changed so drastically?

Was it because she had met those priests?

Had her mental state broken, leading to this?

'Hmm, this isn't good.'

I had never seen her smile this brightly before. If she had truly recovered, then it was fine, but if not, I'd have to address it.

I'd try to normalize things tomorrow.