by J. J. Pavlov
Luckily, Jalil found us a backstreet restaurant like the one we visited in Moqadis. I'm sure any expensive establishment wouldn't allow me to seat a slave on the same level as the other customers, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
Just by walking around with Hestia like this for half a day, the urge to destroy this city and its slavery-centric culture festered and grew inside me. But when we come upon the slave trading area after lunch, the feeling becomes overwhelming.
It's an open square under broad daylight and arranged like a farmer's market. People of many walks of life are browsing the merchandise, and traders display them on platforms or inside cages. If I didn't need to maintain my being in this city a secret, I wouldn't hesitate to break up this party. But I swear in my heart that if I get the chance, I'll come back here and do it someday.
Why do humans do such things to each other?
Against all expectations, there are no non-humans on display. In a nation where slavery is still legal, demi-humans like elves or dwarves and maybe even captured demons wouldn't feel out of place. But what they lack in racial variety, they have in the age department; there are slaves ranging from children around four years old to men with gray hair and beards.
The latter may be employed as home tutors, but I don't even want to think about what the former are used for. Yet, I can't get rid of that thought because many of the stalls with children in their inventory are quite obviously in the sex trade.
Suppressing the urge to let go of my reason and lay waste to this place, I think about Kamii to calm down. But it doesn't help that I'm reminded of the state I first found her in inside that cage.
"Chloe?" Hestia squeezes my arm and pulls me back from the brink. "Is everything alright?"
"No, it's nothing. Sorry." At some point, my expression must have become filled with hatred. Relaxing my face, I focus on the feeling of her breasts pressed against my arm and glance over my shoulder. Jalil is shivering in his boots, having sensed my seething rage.
I have to commend him for not trying to run away, but I doubt it's because he's loyal or courageous. My threat that I would find and kill him if he ever tried to escape is doubtlessly still ingrained in his memories and binding his feet.
Pulling my hood deeper into my face so that I have a smaller field of view, we quickly leave the market behind. All along the way, I make sure to avoid eye contact with anybody so that I don't draw the attention of a trader. If one had stopped me and presented me a child for sale, I would have exploded on the spot.
With the slave market a decent distance away from us, I stop to sit on a bench by the roadside and take a few breathers. Hestia wordlessly sits down beside me and looks at my face with a concerned expression.
"Did something happen back there?" She asks with a worried expression.
"The market." I reply tersely, but it begins to dawn on her. During our time in the academy, she learned about how I met Kamii and what my view on slavery is.
"Could you not buy the slaves and free them?" Hestia asks, not grasping the fundamental issue with such a course of actions. She may think that her father has done a charitable deed - all his immoral actions notwithstanding - by buying and then freeing Dregana. But by feeding money into the evil system that is slavery, he only helped perpetuate it.
"No. The vulnerable ones would only get kidnapped and returned to slavery again." I reply with a grim look. I'm not so naïve to think that my actions alone could change anything about this nation. All I can do by killing all the slave traders I meet and free their merchandise is to apply a small band-aid on a gaping cut. "I'll deal with this when I have more power."
The path of power will be an even harder one. I aim to become the crown princess of the Dominion and move Maou-mama to subjugate all human nations. When that is achieved, I can ask her to make laws to abolish slavery. But that's still something in the somewhat distant future, and my current aim is a very personal matter.
I can only turn a blind eye to the things I can't change, or they will drive me insane.
"Sorry to put a dampener on the mood. This was supposed to be a date on a day off." Standing up and apologizing, I extend a hand to Hestia to help her up. "Let's continue."
"Do not worry about it. Your brooding face is also charming." Taking the offered hand, she gets up from the bench and looks me in the eyes with a gentle smile. "And I believe in you, Chloe."
"Thank you." I pet her hair and return the smile. She doesn't know that I'm the daughter of the demon queen yet, but she may have sensed something from my behavior.
We walk down a wide street that leads us towards an impressive building shaped like a fortress. There's a steady stream of people going in and out of it, passing through the open but closely guarded steel gates. Maybe this is a library or a museum and could be worth a look. When thinking of dates, the latter is a place that could pop up, especially when the city is lacking commodities from my previous life, such as karaoke bars or amusement parks.
But when we approach the place, Jalil passes us by and stands in our way.
"Qaat Al-Arruwa, women not allowed." He explains quickly, in fear that I'd punish him for daring to stop me.
"Oh, this is it?" I glance past him and take a peek inside the Hall of Spirits, to find that the walls are intricately decorated with what I assume to be hieroglyphs. They look different from the written language of this nation, which I've seen plenty of by now, so this temple must be from another age. "I thought it was hard to get inside for the general populace."
"People only go into prayer halls. Al-Arruwa Altabahaqi live deeper inside. Qaat Al-Arruwa very big." Jalil explains when he notices my surprise.
"So it's no good, huh?" I sigh and take another peek inside the halls before turning away when a guard meets my eyes. He's frowning at my interest in a place only men are allowed to enter.
"You can go in." Hestia brings her lips close to my ear and whispers. She's referring to my ability to transform into a man. "I will wait here."
"Have you forgotten about this?" I lift my hand with the chain growing from my palm. Over the course of the day, she seems to have become used to being on a leash. Her wings have all the freedom in the world inside my pocket dimension of a stomach, so she didn't notice that they're being hidden even now.
"Oh." The currently wingless angel makes and blinks her eyes.
"Let's go have dinner. I'll come back tonight." Whispering into her ear, I put my arm around her and turn us away from the Hall of Spirits. "Sorry to leave you alone in the inn at night, but-"
"Yes, I understand. This is very important." Hestia gives me a knowing look filled with affection. She's perfect. "But when this is all over, will we be able to share a bed again?"
"Of course." I reply without hesitation. When this is all over, huh?
"Mahla!" Suddenly, one of the guards standing in front of the gates of the Qaat Al-Arruwa calls out to us. I turn around, to find that he's staring at me in surprise. "Limadha anthuna?"
"What is he saying?" I ask Jalil, who shifts his gaze between the guard and me in confusion.
"He ask why you here." He interprets for me, but that doesn't tell me much. I'm nowhere near the entrance, and there are women walking past us right now, so why am I getting singled out?
"Hal harabatmin Al-Harimul Sultanahten?" The guard tightly grips his halberd and walks toward us while asking this in an almost angry tone, and I notice that other guards are approaching from both sides of the street as well.
"He ask you run away from sultanah's harem?" Once again, Jalil interprets, but he grows even more confused - as do I.
Is there somebody who looks just like me in the sultanah's harem? But I basically only darkened my skin and turned my hair black to blend in; I didn't change anything about my facial structure, which is the one I had in my previous life. And that should be distinctly Japanese.
This has me intrigued. Even if it turns out to be a mistake, I'd like to meet someone who could be mistaken for me that was born in
this world. However, what I do know about harems is that the people in them have no rights and are treated as property. They think I ran away, so I'll be brought back there in chains.
"Lha shaka fi dhelika, 'iina Fulanah." The first guard, now just a few steps away from us, says to another one. Judging by his tone, he seems to have confirmed something.
"He say you are Fulanah." Even when surrounded by men towering over him, Jalil still faithfully interprets for me. Goes to show that he fears me more than them.
Suddenly, one of the guards grabs him by the collar and raises his voice in accusation. I extend an arm toward him, but another pulls on my shoulder. Out of pure reflex, I deliver a backhanded strike to his chest, which sends him tumbling backward. Accompanied by screams, the people crowding the streets retreat and form a circle around us.
"Medha?!" Another guard points his halberd at me in surprise. I've blown our cover in less than a day.
"Tawaqafa!" I command while gesturing at the guard manhandling Jalil. It's one of the few words I learned from our guide during our stay on the ship, and it means stop. The men surrounding us turn to stare at me in surprise, and the one I addressed directly even lets go as I told him to. "Interpret for me, Jalil."
And I go on to tell the guards that I'll go with them if they leave my companions alone. Hestia protests, but I tell her that I have everything under control; I actually want to enter the palace and meet this Fulanah person whom I could be mistaken for.
"Don't worry. They can't hold me." I grin and wink, but she doesn't look convinced.
"No, that is not my concern." She says and points at her neck.
"Oh." Now it's my turn to forget that as long as we're in public, I can't take off her collar and chain. "Then tell them that she's going to come with me. She's my servant."
Jalil does as he's told, but his expression tells me he's thinking about the fact that I'm not ordering him to come along. Maybe he sees this as his way out of his servitude towards me, but I shoot him a knowing glance, and he flinches. He'll be waiting out here until I return.
Looking at each other for a moment, the guards think about my demands a bit. Then they turn to my interpreter and reply to him, as they've realized that I don't understand their language. After a short and more civilized exchange than before, Jalil turns to me again.
"Go now." He summarizes the contents of their conversation.
"Lead the way." Maintaining a regal attitude, I nod to the guards.
We were brought to a guard post where they locked us into a room with two men to keep watch. Soon after, an important-looking man with the face of a condescending toad came in and scrutinized me. If he hadn't been so professional in his attitude, I would have never let a person I didn't know stare at me from so up-close. But when he forced my mouth open to check my teeth, I still pushed him away.
Even after that, he confirmed that I'm this Fulanah person; it would seem we're practically doppelgangers. After my checkup, he proceeded to take a closer look at Hestia, who was still chained to me. With her, he didn't spend nearly as much time and only took note of her appearance with a more superficial approach.
I actually felt a little inadequate next to her when I considered the fact that we were being judged based on our looks, but I quickly pushed that thought aside.
More guards entered the room and guided us outside to a palanquin, which would carry us to the palace while unseen by the masses.
Despite being called the sultan's palace, the pyramid itself is just a monument without any rooms on the inside. The actual royal housings were built around it and stand separated from the city by a wall and a moat filled with precious water - and crocodiles.
The palanquin bearers weren't allowed to go any further inside and let us out at the gates to the harem buildings. There, a matron and a dozen female servants guided us to a room where they motioned to undress us. I guessed their motive from the fact that we were inside a large bathhouse and the pile of clothes they brought along.
But the chain is still connecting me to Hestia, and this isn't the time to reveal her secret just yet. Thus, I shooed them away so that we could do it on our own. The matron wrinkled her nose but was unexpectedly understanding - whatever she may have gleaned from our close relationship, with the angel girl sticking to me and never letting go, she may be right. She and the female servants stayed behind the folding screens while we got undressed and entered the pool-sized bath.
I made sure to keep the cover over Hestia's wings, and it was the right decision. Eventually, the matron peeked around the screen to signal us that we've taken long enough. She ordered the servants to help dry us off and fit the clothes they brought.
Judging by the dismissive attitude of the matron, I was sure they would throw out the new outfits we bought on our date, so I took them behind the folding screen and pulled them inside my storage space earlier.
It does cause a moment of confusion in the servants, but they eventually shrug it off as a mystery for another time. They get busy dressing us instead, and I can understand why the matron wants us to change. The harem dresses are adorned with plenty of gold and have far purer colors than those we got from the stores in the city. A part of me thinks that the latter have their own charm and look good on the angel girl nonetheless, which is why I kept them.
After the dressing session is done, and we're in our new clothes, the matron leads us into a nested room filled with furniture in shades of deep red. The color makes it clear what this place is used for, and the scantily clad women talking to each other, doing their hair or makeup, or just lounging around lazily are irrefutable evidence.
I look down at myself and wonder why I'm the only one wearing something far less risqué than they are. Hestia's outfit is barely hiding anything, but being by my side is giving her the self-confidence to strut her stuff. I find that incredibly hot, while envy about her naturally good looks does creep up in my mind. I suppress that feeling and peer across the girls in the room.
The person my eyes get caught on is sitting at the window alone, looking out over the palace garden with their back turned to us. She's wearing a light blue dress that looks more like a dancer's than one of the harem girls' outfits - much like mine. There are ornamental golden bracers around her upper and forearms, and gold medallions adorn her belt. But the reason for my interest in her is none of those; it's that her hair and stature are just like mine. That must be Fulanah.
I walk over to her with Hestia in tow. Along the way, I notice all eyes resting on me, with some round like saucers. They must be surprised at my resemblance to the girl I'm approaching, as they repeatedly look over to her and then back to me.
"Fulanah?" I try calling out to her, and she turns around. When I see her face, my mind goes blank for a moment.
It seems the same is true for her.
She's a perfect copy of me, down to the imperfections on her face, which I've seen in the mirror every morning and evening since I can remember. I didn't change anything about it from what I looked like in my previous life aside from the coloring of my hair and skin tone when I transformed to blend in among the people of the Kingdom of Lares. But now our dark skin is exactly the same, too.
"Huh?" Her eyes widen when she sees me, and it's clear that I'm not the only one feeling like I'm staring into a mirror that isn't doing its job correctly.
"Who are you?!" I point at her at the same time as she does at me, and our voices overlap perfectly.
"Do you speak Japanese?" The two of us ask each other in Japanese with perfect timing once again, then we both raise our eyebrows as if the world is trying to correct its earlier mistake of producing a broken mirror. Only that we both raised it on the same side, and thus not as a mirror image would.
"Wait!" I lift my hand and put a stop to this developing loop. "You're very clearly me. But... who are you?"
"That's my line. Who are you?" The other me returns my question and continues the loop I tried to break just now.
"If you're me, y
ou should know that we're repeating each other." I don't answer and instead, try to make the other me realize that we're getting nowhere.
"You're repeating after me! I asked you first." But as stubborn as I am, she doesn't let up.
"Not at all! I asked you first." And as stubborn as she is, I don't let up.
"Wait! You're very clearly me." Now it's Fulanah's turn to try breaking this loop we found ourselves in once again. "But who are you?"
"This is going nowhere!" After a brief thinking pause, both of us say in unison once again. Then we switch gears and start introducing ourselves at the exact same time. "Alright, I'm Kuroe Makoto. I was a second-year high school student, a track and field ace if I may say so myself, and somehow died and got reincarnated into this fantasy world. Argh!"
How can there be a copy of me around? Or am I the copy? Are we both just copies of another being that is actually Kuroe Makoto?
We look each other in the eyes, realizing that the other thought the exact same things just now. Sighing, we calm down and dig around in our memories silently.
Then it comes to me. The transportation accident, when Maou-mama tried to teleport us to the Blood Pits of Rodens but instead sent me to Yagrath. Along the way, I was ripped apart, and most notably, everything from my abdomen down disappeared into the violent stream of light.
"You're my lower half!" I point at Fulanah as the epiphany strikes me.
"Huh?" She stares at me and blinks. "Are you saying that I'm not really you?"
"Oh no, we've pretty much established that you are." Shaking my head, I point at myself. "But I'm absolutely certain that I'm the upper body, the part that was left after the teleportation accident."
"I see..." Fulanah becomes quiet and thinks about the matter for a bit. "What was your earliest memory from after the teleportation?"
"Well, I was drifting in that storm without arms and legs for a little before I returned to real space and went splat against a rock." I explain the unpleasant experience of having my pristine human face turn into something that would have to be hidden by mosaic on television. It's bad enough that my real face is like that already.
