That day marked precisely one hundred days since the extermination of the western continent’s cursed Imperial House of Iver. The people of that House always appeared depressed, never trusted others and were even said to be obsessed with cleanliness, which was why those of the House of Iver always wore gloves.

“They probably just hated mixing with the lowborn.”

There was no longer anything to stop the people from bad-mouthing the fallen imperial house. The people spoke as though they had been just waiting for that family to meet their ruin.

Since the House of Iver had been their enemies, the new imperial family who had taken possession of the western continent, the House of Miltan, in fact, viewed such things rather favourably. Having finally triumphed over them, they were happy for the people to drag their name through the mud as much as they liked.

Of course, such stories of imperial houses meant nothing to those far removed from the capital.

The reason the seventeen-year-old Ronée, the daughter of Count Rieda, remembered that day had nothing to do with the fall of a distant imperial house. She remembered it because of the boy that she had met on that same day.

It was sheer coincidence. For the path of Ronée de Rieda, the daughter of a nobleman, to intersect with that of a slave cart was complete chance.

The cart was passing through the Riedas’ territory on the border of the Empire. The face of a child inside was just barely visible through the barred window.

He did not seem like a child.

That was the first thought that struck Ronée when she looked at him. His hair, which was so thick with dust that it looked gray, had lost its life a long time ago; and his blue eyes were the same. Eyes that were as dark as an ocean abyss.

It might have been that non-childlike darkness which drew her to him. Or perhaps it was because she was still haunted by the death of her own little brother, who had died of illness.

“I’d like to buy that boy,” Ronée said.

Ronée, a small girl of noble birth, rested her gaze on the child. His wrists, clapped in shackles, were bloody, and she could see layers of dirt covered the bloody wounds. That was how long the child had been trapped in the cart, being hauled all over the Empire.

“Ah, finally someone wants to buy him. However, this boy… He’s defective. Is that all right?” The horseman, who recognized her nobility, cast the boy a sideways glance.

“Because of that pretty face… A lot of other young noblewomen thought to buy him, but they all gave up on him eventually.”

Why? Ronée looked at the boy. His outward appearance was almost completely obscured by dirt. Ronée eyed him once more and then dropped her gaze. Suddenly, he was staring back at her.

Sharp eyes. She did not know if it was an expression befitting a child, but he looked at her with a venomous gaze. His young face looked murderous, as though he wanted to kill her, no matter how.

Even as blood started to trickle from where he was biting down on his lip, he did not stop glaring at her viciously.

Ronée could see his pride: pride that refused to let himself be sold. She found herself murmuring to him, “Humiliation only lasts for a moment.”

The horseman was busy rambling on about the boy’s history. Ronée pretended to be listening and kept talking. “I’m against slavery.”

But he looked as if he did not believe her. She whispered again, “Compared to being locked up here, you’ll get a lot more chances to escape if you come with me.”

He glared at Ronée, this young noblewoman who thought to buy him. He wondered if she was telling the truth.

Ronée held his gaze. The boy’s expression had started to flicker. Ronée whispered again, “Humiliation only lasts for a moment.” It seemed like the boy understood the second time, and he lowered his eyes.

“Eh, what’s wrong with him?” the horseman garbled in surprise. “He’s not usually obedient, but it seems like he’s worn out! Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t eaten anything…”

The horseman had been complaining of his faults before, but now that it seemed like Ronée was truly considering buying him, he switched tacks to start going on about his good points. Ronée abruptly cut him off.

“How much?”

The boy stayed quiet, even at the mention of his price. The horseman looked at him as though it was strange, and then held up one finger. “One gold, Miss.”

It was an absurdly small amount for a person’s life. But the horseman’s face was as though he was being relieved of a burden. Without hesitation, Ronée handed over a gold piece.

Clunk!

“Better not to unlock his handcuffs yourself! He’s too much for a little lady like your good self to handle alone. No, we’d best call the knights first.”

Ronée shook her head at the horseman’s words. The boy was staring at her. It looked like he still felt some doubt. She shook her head lightly again to reject the horseman’s unwanted assistance.

The horseman tilted his head questioningly, but in the end handed her the key and turned away. He was in no place to disobey a noblewoman.

The handmaiden of the House of Rieda that had waited quietly throughout the entire exchange – she did not dare to interrupt her mistress’ conversation – quickly moved to stop Ronée.

“It’s dangerous, my Lady.”

“It’s fine.” Ronne reached out towards the boy without any fear.

Clunk.

The bloody shackles which had been restraining the boy fell to the ground. It was then that their hands brushed.

“.…!” The boy pulled his hands away from her in alarm.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Despite her words, the boy kept staring at her with wide eyes. Ronée waited with her hand held outstretched towards him, until eventually he placed his hand on hers. He peered at her closely as though he was reading her thoughts, and then relaxed his guard.

“For now, let’s go home and eat some food. We’ll be leaving soon – is that okay?”

His dirty hand was clasped in Ronée’s soft one. Suddenly, she noticed his hair. When she looked closely at it, gray with dust, she realized that it was actually golden.

Now that I think of it, I’ve heard that those of the Imperial House of Iver had golden hair

For a moment, Ronée recalled the imperial family of a neighboring country, before dismissing the thoughts from her mind. Not long ago, the imperial family had changed to the House of Miltan and every member of the previous imperial bloodline had been murdered.

However, there was no reason to relate that story to this boy. In the Miltan Empire, with the Iver family gone, silver hair was now considered the most noble.

“Let’s go.”

The boy carefully followed after Ronée.

Count Rieda, her father, regarded the boy with disapproval. Even without him, Ronée was already a thorn in his side. For Count Rieda, she was no more than an existence which caused unpleasant rumors tarnishing the reputation of his House to spread.

“Get rid of him as soon as you grow bored of him. That you would dare to bring a filthy lowborn into my house…”

She likes things which remind her of herself, it seems.”

Her step-mother, the Countess, who was a mage, thought of nothing else but what she could take from the House of Rieda. Like Count Rieda, she too detested Ronée more than anyone else.

“Cursed girl.”

It was a story that began when Ronée had turned five. When the holy magic had had no effect on her, the priest had ****** his cross at her, proclaiming that this child had been abandoned by the Gods. From that day on, those she called her parents had looked upon her with loathing.

“Hey. Dust is going everywhere.” Her stepmother, the Lady Rieda, called to a knight and gestured towards Ronée with her chin. “Shut them up in her room so they can shake the dust off their bodies there at least.” She coughed exaggeratedly and looked away from Ronee. Her eyes showed how lowly she thought Ronée was.

“Yes, my Lady!” The knight grabbed Ronée’s arm roughly, showing no respect for her in his manner.

“.…!” Ronée’s mouth gasped open. She tried to plead that he was hurting her, but the knight dragged her down the hallway as though she were a criminal.

“Ah!” Ronée let go of the boy’s hand in shock and looked back at him immediately. She discovered that the boy was looking at the knight with even fiercer eyes than when he had been locked up on the slave cart.

His eyes were fixed on the knight, as though he were seeing something quite different. His gaze was that of a young, injured beast.

“Get in there, please!” Only his words were polite. The knight who had just thrown Ronée into her room also grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck and threw him in after her.

Surprised, Ronée caught him in her arms instinctively. Thud!

The boy who had been thrown and the girl who had caught him rolled onto the floor in each other’s arms, their bodies aching from the impact. “Ah…”

Bang! The knight slammed the door shut.

“Cursed girl…”

That, too, she heard clearly. Once they were gone, Ronée turned to the boy. It had always been this way for the poor child; it wasn’t a surprise anymore. But, the boy seemed shocked.

“…You can leave whenever you like.”

Accursed house. That was how Ronée referred to this place. Although the gods did not listen to her prayers, she did not believe that they had abandoned her.

If the Gods had truly abandoned me, I wouldn’t have been born, would I? She had already come to this conclusion long ago. Curse this house.

Ronée, who had been lost in her thoughts again, closed her eyes and fluttered them open. “Or, if you want, you can stay.”

The place was not a good environment for a child, but it was still better than living on the streets or being locked up inside a slave cart. It was merely a simple act of kindness that served no benefit to her; though, she thought that it might be nice in some ways.

But, while for her it was just a small kindness to let him live in a corner of her room, it could have been more than that for the boy. Such a young child could never have done anything to deserve to become a slave. She was sure his only crime was being born as the child of enslaved parents.

As she had told the boy before, she despised slavery. Perhaps because it reminded her of the images of countless slaves who had been beaten in her place by her father.

Count Rieda had used to beat the slaves in front of her without reservation, as though he was telling her how he would beat her if she were not of his noble bloodline. Slaves of about her age were dragged out with broken bones, bloody and bruised all over.

And there was only one reason for this brutal treatment. It was all because she was a cursed girl, abandoned by the gods, that the holy magic had had no effect on.

The boy stared at Ronée for a while and then nodded his head.

“Get this boy cleaned up first, please.”

Only one maid, Ryne, followed Ronée. Their mothers had been close.

“Yes, my Lady.”

There was a clear distinction in status in their household between the employees that received a wage and the slaves that were treated as less than human. But at Ronée’s instruction, Ryne took the boy’s hand without hesitation and gently led him to the bath

The boy did not resist, but said to Ronée, “I will not forget your kindness.”

It was the first time the boy had spoken. His eyes were still as dark as an ocean abyss, but he met Ronée’s gaze directly. There was no hostility there anymore. Ronée nodded, though she did not really know what he meant.

“Of course.” She supposed they were just meaningless words of thanks.

“My name is Nabel.” Having said his name, he proceeded towards the bath.

“I have told my name only to you,” he added quietly. His feet, covered with wounds, stepped onto the clean floor of the bathroom.

Nabel soon emerged from the bath. He showed none of the sense of unfamiliarity with being clean that one would expect from someone who had been raised as a slave.

“…?” His hair definitely seemed like it was golden before… Ronée thought as she looked at him coming out of the bathroom. After bathing, his hair was now black as ebony. There was also a mysterious necklace that was glittering on his chest. She had not noticed that before either.

The reason why Ronée was able to see the necklace now was that the clothes that Nabel had worn were too big for his body. He was actually wearing a bathrobe that Ryne had prepared for Ronée to use.

“Nabel…” Ronée murmured to herself. She could finally see him properly now that he was clean.

Without the dust and bloodstains, Nabel looked more like a child of noble birth than a slave. The wounds on his neck and wrists were obviously still fresh while the rest of his skin was pale and flawless as if he had lived the life of a prince.

“…….” It seemed like he had heard her murmuring. Nabel was staring at her silently.

“My name is Ronée de Rieda.” The cursed seventeen-year-old daughter of the House of Rieda. A person who was awaiting the word of the temple’s Oracle. A person who was awaiting her final judgement.

A person who had been reported, by her stepmother, to the temple as the one who had turned away from the hands of the gods just because the holy magic had not affected her.

And one day, the temple would give her an answer. She, who was unaffected by the gods’ holy magic, was considered as an evil existence.

“de Rieda…” Nabel muttered. It was an aristocratic name.

Although he was young, it seemed that he understood. Ronée eyed him. He certainly looked younger than her.

“…It’s a meaningless name. As you saw before, outside.” Ronée waved towards the door. She was referring to the abuse from those people she called parents. Nabel glanced at the door and then back at her. His withdrawn manner did not suit a child.

Ronée could understand not wanting to act like a child as well. Her parents would not abide by her childish begging and crying. She had to grow up quickly as she endured her life in that house, awaiting the temple’s judgement.

“How old are you?”

“Twelve this year,” Nabel replied.

Do twelve-year-old kids usually talk like that? Ronée tilted her head a little. “I’m seventeen.” Of course, she probably did not look like a seventeen-year-old girl either. The eyes of those two people who had to grow up too fast met.

“A five-year gap. You’re like my older sister, then.” At Nabel’s words, Ryne, who had been standing next to them, was startled with astonishment.

“Hey, you can’t call her that!” Having stifled Nabel, she carried on, “It’s a good thing that the Lady is forgiving. How dare you call her with such familiarity as a slave-”

“It’s okay, Ryne,” Ronée interrupted her. After all, everybody knew that she was a child of Count Rieda in nothing but name. Even all the high society aristocrats who had never once seen her face knew it.

Nabel looked at her with confused eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask?” he questioned stiffly. Ronée cocked her head slightly. “What?”

“How I became a slave.” At Nabel’s words, Ronée shook her head.

It was obvious, even if she did not ask. His parents must have been slaves. Such a young boy could not have committed any crime.

“I don’t have to ask about your painful past.”

The life that he had lived up until now was unlikely to be a happy one. Nabel’s eyes widened a little at her words. “Then, do you trust me?” he said softly.

Ronée was about to reply when he spoke again.

“The slave trader was telling the truth. I attacked people. The people who tried to buy me.” Nabel’s eyes were asking her, ‘Despite that, do you still trust me? How can you put your trust in me and let me into your sanctuary?’

Ronée’s small sanctuary. In this huge manor, her only safe haven was this one shabby room. A room whose door was not even oiled and creaked as it opened and closed. If she let something dangerous in, it would be the same as losing her only safe place.

Although it was his first time in this place, Nabel could tell right away. It was not just because he had good intuition – this child, with his mature gaze, was used to being surrounded by enemies.

Nabel looked up at Ronée silently. This person did good turns without hesitation. He was not sure if it was because she was young or if she had other reasons.

But it did not seem like she bore any ill intentions — it was nothing but simple kindness. How wonderful and strange.

Nabel had never seen anyone like Ronée. “I’m dangerous,” he said in a low voice, like a small beast growling.

Ronée was suddenly reminded of the look Nabel had given the knight who had treated her roughly. Just like that time, he seemed like an injured beast. A young beast hiding its wounds, its fur bristling, warning you not to come any closer.

“People who are truly dangerous don’t say that they are.” The reason Ronée knew was that her house was full of such truly dangerous people.

The stepmother who had once approached her with a kind smile had turned hostile as soon as they discovered that holy magic did not affect her. That was when she was only six.

Then suddenly,

“Ronée-!” A furious, screeching voice echoed from the hallway. Ronée flinched and turned her gaze towards the door. Her stepmother was calling.