When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a wooden ceiling.
It was dim. Based on the angle of the light filtering through the window, it was either morning or evening. My head was fuzzy, making it hard to think clearly. My body felt heavy, and the core of my brain was still numb.
Awareness sharpened in an instant. Memories came rushing back. The ambush. Hiding Katia, putting the pendant around my neck, leaping from the carriage—running, being caught, and then…
Where was I?
The room was narrow, likely a room in an inn. The walls were covered in dingy plaster, and there was a single window. I had been left lying on a bed.
A man sat in a chair in the corner of the room.
He had a sturdy build, wearing a cloak over leather armor. His hair was cropped short, and he had a stubble beard. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and carried a sword at his hip.
Our eyes met.
"You're awake," he said.
His voice was low. He didn't stand up, simply looking down at me from his seat.
"…Where is this?"
My voice was hoarse. My throat felt parched, bone-dry.
"Past the border. A post town in Seltheim, the enemy country."
Past the border. The words echoed in my head.
"We transported you in a state of suspended animation using a combination of drugs and magic. You've been out for about three days."
"How did you…"
"After we secured you, we switched to horses we’d kept stashed in the city. We raced through the gates before they could be closed. After that, we split up and stuck to the backroads to get here."
He spoke in a detached tone, as if merely reciting facts.
I hadn't been able to get away. Even after pushing my Physical Enhancement to its limit, I had been caught. Thinking back, it was obvious. My opponents were professionals, hired specifically to suppress the guards of a Margrave’s house. There was no way a child’s Physical Enhancement could have outstripped them.
"Could I have some water?"
The man paused for a moment, then poured water from a pitcher on the table into a cup and placed it on the edge of the bed.
I pushed myself up and took the cup. My hands trembled, causing a little to spill. It wasn't cold, but it felt like life itself as it soaked into my parched throat.
"…Thank you."
The man returned the cup to the table and sat back down.
A heavy silence followed. The man watched me as if he were observing a specimen.
"You're calmer than I expected."
"……"
"A kidnapped brat wakes up and doesn't cry or scream. Not a shred of cuteness in you. Is this how all nobles are?"
I couldn't tell if it was a joke or a genuine probe. I remained silent.
The man raised an eyebrow and continued.
"You're Katia Laufen, no mistake?"
I reached for my neck. The weight of the pendant that should have been there was gone.
"The Crest Identification has already been disposed of."
Something must have shown on my face, because the man explained with a look of annoyance.
"A Crest Identification is a top-grade liability; if you're caught with one illegally, they'll torture you to find out where you got it. There’s still 'Grass'—the Margrave's spies—everywhere around here. I can't sell the thing, and there’s no point in keeping evidence of a kidnapping."
The man sat back in his chair and studied my face once more. Then, his expression suddenly hardened as if he had noticed something.
He stared intently, as if trying to confirm a suspicion.
"…Your eyes."
The tone of his voice shifted.
"I heard the Margrave's daughter had brown eyes. Yours—they're green, aren't they?"
My heart leaped. I had removed my hair tie and let my bangs fall to hide my eyes, but I couldn't disguise the color visible through the gaps in my hair.
The man's gaze grew sharp.
"Who the hell are you?"
My mind began to race.
Should I insist I was the Margrave’s daughter? No, now that he’d seen my eye color, that lie wouldn't hold. If I tried to force a falsehood only for it to fall apart later, I would only invite more of his wrath.
Should I reveal my true status? If I told them I was the second son of House Werl, I would gain value as a hostage. I didn't know how I would be used politically, but it would give these men a reason never to let me go.
What if I claimed to be a body double? A commoner child used as a substitute for the Margrave’s daughter. If that were the case, I would have no political value. They couldn't get a ransom for me. In my previous world, useless hostages might be released, but in this world—
…I might be killed.
But killing me wouldn't bring any profit. To get what they wanted, they would likely—
"……I'm a body double."
The words left my lips.
"A substitute for the Margrave's daughter. My hair color was similar, so I was taken along whenever she went out. I was told to carry the Crest Identification."
I had become the substitute of my own accord. The hair color and the fact that I was with her were true. Only the part about the Crest Identification was a lie. But my past memories had taught me that mixing a lie into a foundation of truth makes it far easier to believe.
The man's expression changed to one of pure rage. He abruptly slammed his hand onto the armrest of his chair. The dull sound of creaking wood echoed through the room.
"—A body double?"
His voice was low and heavy.
"……Yes."
"We crushed the guards, raided the carriage, and raced all the way to the border. I lost several men. And the one we snatched—is a body double!?"
The man stood up. In the eyes looking down at me, something bordering on murderous intent flickered.
"My comrades died—and all we caught was one lousy brat! You’ve really done it now…!!"
He clenched his fist. I braced myself for a blow.
But the man didn't strike. After glaring at me for a long moment, he exhaled a ragged breath and sat back down.
"Dammit! Killing you won't make us a single coin…" he muttered, as if to himself. "The face isn't bad. You're still small, but a slave trader should take you. I have to recoup at least a little of the loss…"
I thought I had won the gamble.
I would be sold into slavery. But I was alive. As long as I was alive, my family would find me.
The possibility of being bought back in a relatively short amount of time was very high.
The man summoned his subordinates and barked out orders, likely regarding a contact for a slave trader. I lay on the bed, staring up at the dim ceiling.
That was the beginning of everything.
My judgment had been half right. By hiding my status, I had avoided being used as a political tool. The mercenaries believed I was a "worthless body double."
But the other half—was completely wrong.
I hadn't understood the nature of the people who bought human lives.
I hadn't understood the true meaning of a mercenary giving up on a kill to sell someone into slavery instead.
I thought that as long as I was alive, I only needed to endure hard labor until I was found.
As long as I was alive.
I would repeat those words to myself over and over and over again from that day forward.
With that as my only anchor, I would endure the coming hell.