The Sleeping Devil

And so, for the next three years until being transported to the designated venue, Sheriel simply enjoyed her baby life to the fullest.

There was no entertainment, but since she was mostly asleep, there was no boredom either.

With caretakers taking care of her to the extent that one couldn't tell who was the slave, each day would quickly come to an end as long as she confirmed the things she could do little by little.

...I didn't realize the body could be so immobile like this.

She tried to lift her head and exerted force on her belly.

Her limbs flapped about, but she couldn't sit up at all.

...Oh, is it the time to roll over?

She twisted her body, and a warm sensation surged from the depths of her abdomen, as if her blood was rushing through her entire body.

Then, her body rolled over with a thud.

...Ah, I see, I've figured it out.

And so, as she rolled and rolled, she was suddenly attacked by a strong drowsiness and before she knew it, she was in the world of dreams.

Even though she claimed to have memories from her past life, being a baby wasn't much different from others.

She accumulated a sense of accomplishment that only a baby could obtain and lived peaceful days.

While her memories and thinking abilities were undoubtedly more advanced, the efficiency or whatever you call it was surely incomparable to others.

As her brain, equipped with cognitive abilities, continued to develop during her growth period, and her vision became clearer, she began to think about the future.

That shack was indeed an environment that could be described as unsanitary, lacking entertainment, and downright wretched, as expected of a slave training shack.

To the noble world known by sixteen-year-old Sheriel, it was like a livestock shed.

From the perspective of her previous life, well...

Well, baby food would be more or less the same everywhere (milk-soaked bread and boiled and mashed vegetables), and despite being dirty, it wasn't particularly inconvenient.

So, there was no option to escape from here.

Making a rash move could result in becoming an attraction in a freak show for three-year-olds, or being kept by a creepy hobbyist uncle, or becoming a dubious subject for magical experiments, and she definitely didn't want that.

If her dream was to come true, she would surely be bought by that famous noble Duke's household.

That Duke's household was a lineage known as demons, and all the family members were scary and mentally unstable, so that was one problem.

...Can one live a normal life in that household? And that "teacher," too. It's beyond cruel to use and discard people like tools, let alone kill them.

That teacher, I should be cautious of them. I regret not being able to see their face.

And that so-called Prince Alphonse is absolutely off-limits. Marriage or engagement is out of the question.

Magic... I want to become proficient in it somehow. Maybe it's because of my hair color, but I couldn't use it at all in the dream. But I mostly taught myself programming, so I'll figure something out... probably.

And so, if it was a noble, especially a Duke's household, one could lead a much better life than a slave or commoner. So, without any plans to escape or cry at night or go through the terrible twos, I lived as an exceptional baby slave, hoping to figure something out after being bought.

However, in the midst of such a relaxed daily life, another unbelievable event occurred.

Once again, I dreamed of the end of an unfamiliar life.

Unlike the memories from her previous life, it was vague, closer to a dream of future death.

In this world without magic or science, different from both here and my previous life, "I" was a knight.

As my master was being crucified and flames were being thrown, I mowed down the soldiers restraining me and jumped into the fire.

The reckless strength in the midst of a fire... My master, who had picked up and raised the orphaned me, wore a troubled smile.

"You didn't have to die too."

"...I apologize for not being able to protect you."

The voice I finally strained out trembled, as expected.

"I entrust my protection to you even in the afterlife."

"With pleasure."

I couldn't bear to cause any more suffering to my kind and noble liege.

Using the supreme swordsmanship I had cultivated, I focused all my senses to swing the sword, ensuring my master didn't feel any pain even for an instant.

As I saw my master's head rolling into my arms, peacefully smiling, I felt a little relieved and swiftly slit my own throat.

That dream, as short as a dream you have when you fall back asleep, was a vivid and concise memory.

With just that memory, my chest was filled with an unbearable pain, and I couldn't do anything other than cry.

The emotions at the brink of death were filled with agony beyond comparison to memories of past lives or future deaths.

I bottled up anger, despair, and a sense of helplessness that I couldn't do anything about, to the point where my heart felt like it was going to burst.

I took deep breaths repeatedly, suppressing my emotions, and pondered over that dream. I couldn't help but do so.

And then, after several days, I finally managed to swallow that memory.

My previous life ended at the age of twenty-seven. The future death was at sixteen. That dream was around my mid-thirties.

...Strange. I remember not being able to dream about the future.

Well, in the first place, it's strange enough to dream about dying in the future, and even more so to have memories from a past life.

The memory of being in my thirties, an experience I had never actually lived, and moreover, the sense that it was me in that memory, is too vivid to simply call it a dream.

Above all, there is a feeling that it is indeed me. It could be said that it is etched into my soul or that I instinctively understand it.

It feels more like recalling a memory. Yes...

...That was my previous life.

A memory of my final moments shorter than my previous life.

I'm glad that the consciousness of being a man didn't linger too strongly, as this memory was starting to feel familiar.

And so, I came to know the endings of my present life, my previous life, and the life before that.

Ideally, I don't want to experience past lives or death, anymore.

Having a sense of self-awareness, yet feeling mixed with different personalities, feels like my mind could go insane.

Who am I? What am I?

My existence felt incredibly unstable and uncertain.

Despite encountering such incidents, things surprisingly went smoothly.

By the time I was able to toddle around on my own, I would look outside from the small wooden box and observe the children of slaves.

Their hair color was brown.

In this world, commoners have brown hair, while nobles have differently colored hair. It is proof of possessing magical powers, reflecting the color of the bestowed attribute.

If one has the protection of fire, their hair turns red. High-ranking nobles with abundant magic power have vibrant primary colors, while the color fades and becomes closer to brown as the amount of magic power decreases.

The six attributes are sky, fire, water, earth, wind, and life.

For example, blue hair, indicating the protection of the sky, becomes a dull, ashen color like bleached hair for lower-ranking nobles, but even the elderly do not have white hair.

Colors of living beings, including commoners, are composed of magic power, even pigs and mice without magic power have brown hair.

Therefore, individuals like "Sheriel" with white hair are deemed eerie defects that deviate from the principles of the world and are scorned for not being loved by the gods.

"Hello."

There is no response.

Their vacant eyes slowly lift, drooling absentmindedly. So, the possibility of them being discriminatory is low.

However, I couldn't bring myself to talk to the caretaker woman either. It would be troublesome if my "destination" changed.

While things were like that, I quickly turned three years old.

And finally, the day of shipment arrived.

Packed tightly in a box without any gaps, I was transported to the auction venue, hearing unfamiliar men's voices saying things like, "You really don't even cry" or "What a creepy brat."

◆

The venue seemed to have a fair number of people.

The lights indicating bids gradually diminished, but the presence, like a wriggling darkness beyond, grew stronger.

The auctioneer eagerly raised the money in his pocket.

"Then, one large gold coin... We still have multiple bidders! Let's go, one large gold coin and one small gold coin, two... ten, twenty! Ah, what a day! We won't have another night like this in our lifetime! I'll mark it with a large gold coin, two... three... Oh no, then five..."

It felt like a considerable amount of money. It's troublesome not having any knowledge about these things.

Well, that's how dreams are.

Even if it's a fantastical dream, while experiencing it, I understand it as common sense, but the details are mostly blurry.

I'll sit quietly and wait for the buyer to be decided.

...Wait a minute. Something's not right. Is everything okay? Isn't the atmosphere strange?

The man's voice sounds strained. It seems that the price has reached a considerable amount, and it sends a shiver down my spine to think that there are several people who want to obtain me at all costs.

What if it's a perverted noble with a preference for young girls or a mentally unstable person who would spend their entire fortune on dubious magic? Suddenly, I become anxious.

The two shining symbols merge, and the man starts marking again in fine increments. It seems to be a fierce battle.

The man sweats profusely, clears his throat, and then announces a neat number.

One of the symbols disappears.

Please let there be a decent buyer!

In an illegal underground auction, there's no way someone buying a silver-haired young girl can be considered decent.

Then, I'm packed back into the wooden box and shaken along the way. I unknowingly fall asleep in the narrow darkness.

Perhaps because it fetched a high price, the transportation was more careful than when I was brought in.

The next time I woke up, it wasn't inside the dark wooden box but in a carriage illuminated by dim magical lights.

The leather seats were comfortable with minimal swaying, and just from that, I could tell that the owner must be an incredibly remarkable person.

On the opposite side, a handsome young man with a faint smile was looking out the window. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, but his distinctive bright blue hair gave away his profile.

As I observed him intently, the man also noticed my gaze and briefly glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Despite his well-formed features and smile, there's something terrifying about it.

"Good morning...?"

Well, scary. If I were an ordinary three-year-old, I would be anxious and crying.

No, if I were an ordinary three-year-old, would I not notice this unsettling smile? But they say children perceive things instinctively... Wait, let's calm down for now. I'm different from an ordinary young girl.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Sheriel."

The man widens his eyes and twists his mouth into a crooked smile.

"Where did you get that name? Where have you been until now?"

"I... I've been called that for as long as I can remember. I don't know where I've been until now."

Hmm, he ponders while keeping his eyes fixed on me without moving.

Honestly, it's extremely creepy. I wish he had just continued looking out the window.

"Have you received any education?"

"No, not particularly."

He widens his eyes and says, "Oh..."

Considering that a three-year-old who was raised as a slave is having a somewhat coherent conversation, it's not something that can be done with education under normal circumstances.

However, if this is going according to the dream, he should understand it.

"Where did you learn to speak?"

"I learned it a little after I was born."

"I see, you seem to be from the Beriard family."

The Beriard family... Good, it matches the dream.... Is that a good thing?

In the dream, although I recognized their existence, I didn't remember their faces.

Anyway, the man who smiles so cheerfully is from the Beriard Marquis family, feared as demons, and that's the only thing that is certain for now, in line with the dream.

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