Chapitre 3: Mirabel, the Abandoned Witch
[Mirabel, the Abandoned Witch]
Mirabel was exactly as her status window described. She had once been an ordinary girl, born in a nameless small village, living a peaceful life in the little inn her parents ran. Her lively personality and cute appearance quickly made her the first love of many boys in the village.
One day, that peaceful life came to an abrupt end when two outsiders arrived— a paladin and a priest who had been separated from their group while hunting demonic beasts. Exhausted and close to death, they had stumbled upon Mirabel's village as if guided by divine intervention.
They stayed at the inn Mirabel's parents ran, but devout believers often see things others do not. They sense what others cannot—such as dark magic, evil curses, or the aura of a witch.
It wasn't long before they felt that unmistakable witch's energy. The strange thing was, it wasn't coming from Mirabel, who had yet to awaken to her powers. No, what they sensed came from her mother. In witch lineages, the trait is passed down maternally, so if Mirabel was destined to be a witch, her mother had to be one as well.
The day their secret was discovered, they fled in the dead of night. Mirabel, not understanding what was happening, was dragged by her parents as they escaped. But the paladins had already alerted the nearby city, and the net was closing in.
Realizing that it was impossible for all of them to escape, Mirabel's mother made the ultimate sacrifice. She stayed behind, buying time for Mirabel and her father to escape. The plan worked.
But her mother was burned at the stake in front of a crowd.
"Up to this point, it's almost a tear-jerking story," I thought.
The real problem came afterward.
Mirabel's father, who had been unaware that his wife and daughter were witches, saw their existence as a betrayal. As revenge for what he considered a life built on lies, he sold Mirabel into slavery.
Who could ever sell their own daughter? I remember the outrage this part of the story sparked among players—at both the father and the game developers who cooked up this tragedy.
Anyway, that's how she ended up here—an orphaned witch, abandoned by her father and sold into slavery.
This was the tragic backstory of Mirabel, the Abandoned Witch.
"And here we have a delicate young girl with porcelain skin and hair as dark as the night sky," the auctioneer announced, embellishing Mirabel's appearance. "This poor girl was abandoned by her father… and yes, she's a virgin."
His words were a blatant attempt to pull at the heartstrings of certain sentimental noblewomen in the audience, hoping to sell her at a higher price.
"Starting bid, fifty gold!"
Fifty gold. It was a low price, considering her latent magical potential, but no one here knew that. They were only bidding on her looks.
A slave, valued only for her appearance, being sold for fifty gold was outrageous. The auctioneer was clearly aiming to milk as much money as he could from the bidders.
"Sixty gold!"
"Sixty-five!"
"I'll bid seventy-five!"
To my surprise, the bids kept climbing, just as the auctioneer had hoped. So, this is how you make money in the slave trade, I thought. I should try this tactic next time.
"Two hundred gold."
Suddenly, a bid far higher than the others rang out. It came from a middle-aged nobleman, his bloated figure suggesting he was no stranger to indulgence. His gaze as he looked at Mirabel was that of a man sizing up a prostitute in a brothel—lewd and dripping with base desires.
"I bid two hundred thirty gold," countered another bidder.
This time, it was a noblewoman in a lavish dress, her face partially hidden behind a fan. Clearly, she had fallen for the auctioneer's emotional appeal and was determined to save the poor girl.
The nobleman and noblewoman exchanged sharp glares.
"You dare see this innocent girl as a mere object for your perverse desires? How shameful! I will take her to my estate, where she can live a peaceful life," the noblewoman snapped.
"What nonsense. A woman's happiness lies beneath a man, where it belongs. I'll raise my bid to three hundred gold."
"Three hundred thirty."
"Four hundred."
The nobleman had bid an amount eight times higher than the starting price—enough money for a common family to live comfortably for years. Yet he was ready to throw it all away on a slave for his twisted desires.
How pathetic, I thought. He's no different from the guy I once was.
It hit me like a brick. I was just like him, throwing away thousands of dollars on gacha pulls for in-game characters that I couldn't even touch in real life. At least this was reality.
Stop hitting me with hard truths!
But enough self-pity. The auction was nearing its end, and the noblewoman was biting her fan in frustration. She had given up. After all, it wasn't worth bankrupting herself just for maternal instincts.
The nobleman grinned, his lips curling into a disgusting smirk as he envisioned the future. He was already celebrating his victory.
"I'll bid one thousand gold," I said, breaking the tension.
The auction hall went silent. Everyone turned to stare at me.
"The Slave Hunter, Karamir?!"
"I thought being sold to Derval was terrible, but maybe it was a blessing in disguise."
"Right? Better alive than dead."
No, no, I didn't kill anyone. Stop calling me the Slave Hunter.
The nobleman's smug expression faltered. He had clearly never expected anyone to outbid him, let alone with such a large sum.
Can you afford a thousand gold for a single slave?
While that might be the price of a noble's mansion, it wasn't much to me. In the game, buying a $10 package would get you a thousand gold along with some bonus items, so in my mind, a thousand gold was worth less than $10.
As I worked through my mental gymnastics to justify the cost, the auctioneer pressed on.
"We have a bid of one thousand gold! Any takers?"
The nobleman looked away, defeated. The auctioneer couldn't hide his joy.
"And with that, the auction is over! Mirabel is sold to Karamir, the Slave Hunter, for one thousand gold!"
People shot me dirty looks, pitying the poor girl. Some of the more emotional audience members even shed tears for her. I, on the other hand, was on the receiving end of glares that could kill.
I'm not a damn 'Hunter'!
I took custody of Mirabel from the auction organizers.
Normally, slaves are equipped with magical collars or branded with a mark of ownership. But I had no need for either. The game's system allowed me to bind a slave's soul through a contract—though I hadn't realized until recently that this counted as magic. Sometimes people even asked me, "Are you a sorcerer?"
I admit, I kind of liked the awe in their eyes. It was a feeling I hadn't experienced in my previous life.
I brought Mirabel back to the inn I had already reserved. The innkeeper gave me a filthy look, as if to say, Here comes that human garbage with another slave, but I ignored it.
I dropped onto the soft bed in my room. It was more expensive than other inns, but after living in the modern world, I refused to compromise on comfort. A bit of extra money was worth it.
"Today was quite productive," I said, reflecting on the day. I had successfully freed Narsha, earned a good reward, and even managed to secure the Crimson Jewel from the Brian estate. On top of that, I had acquired Mirabel, although I had spent more money than anticipated.
Everything was falling into place.
However, the atmosphere in the room remained cold.
Mirabel stood silently, as still as a doll, her eyes vacant, gazing into nothingness. Her expression was one of someone who had long given up on life.
I guess that's understandable.
Her mother had sacrificed herself, and her father had sold her into slavery. She probably felt abandoned by the world.
The first step to rescuing her would be to build some trust, to show her I wasn't a threat.
I smiled as warmly as I could.
"Your legs must be tired from standing so long. Why don't you sit down and relax?"
I patted the spot next to me on the bed, but Mirabel didn't budge. Awkwardly, I withdrew my hand.
"Well, if you don't want to sit, that's fine too."
She remained silent, her lips sealed tightly, showing no signs of opening anytime soon.
Still, I couldn't give up. This was only the beginning.
"Let's start by introducing ourselves. My name is Karamir. People call me the Slave Hunter, but I assure you, I've lived a rather honorable life. So, there's no need to be afraid. What's your name?"
"…I don't have one," she whispered.
Her first response, and it was that she didn't have a name. Mirabel had lived with that name all her life, but now she refused to acknowledge it. It was clear why. Her father had given her that name, and she didn't want to be associated with the man who had sold her.
"Hmm, no name, huh? That could be a problem."
"…"
"As a gentleman, I can't very well call you 'Slave #1' or 'Slave #2.' If you don't have a name, would it be alright if I chose one for you?"
"…"
Mirabel remained unresponsive. Fine, I'd have to force a reaction out of her.
"Let's see… What would suit you? Ah, I know! How about 'Mirabel'?"
Go ahead, refuse to speak all you want.
But your name is still going to be Mirabel.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone