The Girl Who Fell from the Polar Star

Chapter 25: Persuasion

 

 

March 12, 2023

“I’m back.”

“Welcome back, Stella,” Rye said.
“Wait, who’s that? Is she okay?”

“Don’t worry, she’s still alive.”

“That sounds even more concerning.
She’s got puke all over her clothes! What did you do, Stella?!”

“I was just watching some boar tricks.
Anyway, Marie, I bought these three for you.
It’s up to you to get them ready to work at the restaurant.
I won’t help with their training.”

“Of course, Miss Stella.
If I might ask, what are their names?”

“Their names? Who knows.”

Rye, who’d been inspecting the unconscious Typica, turned to gawk at Stella.
“How do you not know? Didn’t you handpick them?”

“I didn’t, actually.
And I didn’t hear their names.” Nor would she have remembered them if she had.
These slaves were extra labor, nothing more.
She’d have purchased grown men instead, but unfortunately, there had been none for sale.

“Man, you’re so cold,” Rye said.
“Can’t you do something about that?”

“I let the merchant pick them for me.
Anyway, they’re mine now.” Stella paused, curling her lips.
“Is that a blessing or a curse, I wonder?”

“Don’t ask me! I mean, Marie’s gonna look after them, so they’ll be all right.
I think.”

“I suppose so.”

Marie wouldn’t mistreat them.
And neither would Stella, so long as they behaved.
They were slaves, however; their lives were a far cry from what anyone would call a “blessing.” Stella, their current master, didn’t even know their names.
How could they be happy in these conditions?

“So,” Marie said, “Mr.
Mace says the paperwork has been dealt with, and the house next door is ours to use.
Is it okay with you if they make their quarters there?”

“That’s up to you, Marie.” Stella turned to the three slaves.
“Now, I should warn you.
You can try to escape if you want, but that’ll lead to one of two things.
You’ll either starve to death or end up in a cage again.
It would be a waste of time and human life, so I don’t recommend it.”

“Come on, Stella, don’t talk to them like that,” Rye said.
“Look, you’re scaring the kids!”

“This town won’t wait for them to grow up, so why should I?” Stella turned to Marie.
“All right, they’re yours.”

Marie nodded.
“Everyone, follow me.
Let’s talk in more detail about your new lives here.” She grabbed a few spare changes of clothes and led the girl and the two boys to the house next door.

Stella glanced at the contract.
The renovations were scheduled to start tomorrow.
This store was too small to accommodate everyone, but with two buildings available, that wouldn’t be a problem.

And if that’s still not enough, I can buy the house on the left side as well.
As long as my needs are met, I don’t really care.

Stella didn’t intend to move out of this house.
She liked her room; it was relaxing, familiar.
Still, the place’s defenses were extremely lacking.
With the renovation of the house next door, this was the perfect time to bring up the matter with Mace.
And maybe Apollo too.
His manor was pretty much a fortress.
A few well-put compliments might, at the very least, coax him into installing metal plates around the house.

Rye was mumbling to herself.
“Is something the matter?” Stella asked.

“I was just wondering.
Those three are probably lucky to have you as their master, but still, I don’t like the fact that they’re slaves.
I hate that word.” Rye grimaced, resting her chin in her hands.

“I doubt many people do,” Stella said.
“Save for a select few degenerates.”

“Why does God allow slavery to exist? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, that’s simple.
Because there is no god.
God is an idol, a convenient tool created by man to tyrannize over his own kind.”

“You’re gonna anger the sisters, you know.”

“So? If they’re going to denounce me as a heretic, they might as well use the power of their god to end all suffering in the world.
I’d be kissing their feet and begging forgiveness in no time.”

“I don’t think they can do that.”

Apparently, the Church didn’t offer miracles, only salvation, which came in the form of prayers that you had to pay money for.

“Of course they can’t,” Stella snapped.
“The whole thing is stupid.”

Rye looked bummed out.
Perhaps I said too much, Stella thought, patting her on the head.
When she asked what the girl had in mind, Rye said she’d “come face to face with the unfairness of this world.” A fascinating impression.

 

It was time for the main event of the day.
Stella went with Rye to see the boar lady, Typica, who was in Rye and Marie’s room.
Varrell had wiped her face with a wet cloth and laid her down in bed, though, understandably, he’d refrained from undressing her.
When Stella said she’d take care of that part, Varrell left the room with a sigh of relief.

“Let’s sanitize her, then, shall we?” Stella said.

“That’s really rude, you know.
She’s Varrell’s sister, not some dirty bathroom.”

“Well, she definitely smells like one.
Her reek is seeping into the walls.”

“You’d be smelling too if you’d just thrown up like she did.
Come on, let’s get her off this armor and into a fresh change of clothes.” Rye took a whiff.
“Man, this is gonna take a lot of work.”

Rye removed Typica’s armor, piece by piece, with incredible efficiency.
Almost like she’d done it before.

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” Stella said.

“R-Really? I think you’re looking too much into it.”

“It’s a little weird that you know how to remove armor.”

“N-No it’s not.
Anyone can do it, I bet.
Not weird at all!”

“Sure, let’s go with that.
For now.” Stella raised the corner of her mouth.
She would find more dirt on Rye.
Then she’d confront the girl, present her findings one at a time, revel in her torment until she finally gave up and revealed the truth.
It would be so much fun.
Rye was very responsive to teasing.

“What’s with that creepy self-satisfied expression?!” Rye said.
“You look like a snake ready to jump me!”

“You don’t want me to smile, you don’t want me to look satisfied .
.
.
There’s no right answer with you.”

“You’re kinda cute when you try, you know.
If only your personality wasn’t so messed up!”

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment!”

Marie’s size was similar to Typica’s, so they decided to use her clothes.
They were a little too plain for Typica, but she’d have to make do.
Typica’s body was pretty and had few scars.
Her hands were firm and her legs lean.
It was a warrior’s body, but one earned through consistent training rather than on the battlefield.
Typica’s muscles weren’t as strong as Varrell’s but were more supple.
From what Stella had seen, her fighting style favored speed over raw strength, and it was geared toward fighting a single enemy at a time.
Typica’s style was simply too intense for a real battlefield, where she’d have to fight for hours at a time.
Once her stamina ran out, she’d be dead.
From up above, Stella had seen countless aspiring heroes meet that exact fate.

Typica slowly opened her eyes.
“W-Where am I?” she mumbled.
“What is this place?”

“This is Glenn’s General Store,” Stella said.
“After you lost your fight against Varrell, you were carried here, and now we’re taking care of you.
Did you get all that?”

Typica blinked, confused.
“Me, lose? That’s impossible! Do not lie to me, young lady!”

“I’m not lying.
After Varrell hit you in the gut, the blood rushed to your head and you tried to chew his neck off.
Then you took another hit, spewed vomit all over the place, and passed out.
Here, I have proof.
Your dirty clothes and underwear.
Go on, sniff them.
Makes you want to retch, doesn’t it? Breathe it in.
It’ll help you shake off the grogginess.”

Stella brought the bundle closer and closer to Typica’s face, holding it with her fingertips.
Typica shrieked, terrified of these pieces of fabric she’d been wearing until not long ago.

“S-Stop! Get it away from me!”

“I’m trying to help.
You need to open your eyes to the truth.
Come on, don’t be shy.
See? You’re not dreaming.”

“All right! I’ll say whatever you want, just get it away from me!”

“Is that all you have to say? We changed you out of your soiled clothes, you know.
I think some appreciation is in order.
Don’t you agree, Rye?”

“Uhm .
.
.
yeah, I guess.
That’s too much to ask from someone who just woke up, though.
And she looks like she has an annoying—I mean, difficult personality.”

Rye corrected herself in a hurry.
The girl was right: Typica’s personality was both difficult and annoying.
Rye was ever so insightful.

“But how else can we know if she’s capable of understanding human speech?” Stella said.
“I’m doing this to see if she needs to be domesticated.
Humans who can’t show gratitude are no better than beasts.”

She coldly whispered those last words, causing Typica to meekly lower her head.
She seemed relatively composed now.
Their first contact was off to a good start.

“I-I thank you for your help,” Typica said.

Good, she speaks my language.
“Your brother was kind enough to hold back, but you still took two hits in the stomach.
You should get some rest.
Meanwhile .
.
.” Stella edged closer to Typica, her mouth twisted in a creepy smile.

Typica let out a muffled shriek and huddled into a corner.

“Why are you so scared?” Stella asked.

“I-I taste terrible! You’ll get indigestion!”

“I’m not going to eat you.
Where did you get that idea?”

“S-So you’re going to sacrifice me?! Perish the thought.
I won’t stand for it, witch!”

“What? I never said I’d—”

“I’ll play no part in your foul necromantic experiments! I’m not throwing away my humanity!”

And then, all of a sudden, Typica started bawling her eyes out.
Stella was shocked despite herself.
“Can she even hear me? Poor Varrell.
I think I understand his struggles now.”

Rye looked at Stella, who was still scratching her head, and finally succumbed to laughter.
I know it’s amusing to see other people suffer, Stella thought, but that still pisses me off.
“You have no respect, you know that?”

“Wonder who I got it from.”

“Clever, surely.”

“Wha—it was from you!”

Varrell busted into the room.
“W-What’s going on? Is everything all right?” He must have thought Typica had gone on another rampage.

Still crying, Typica grabbed a nearby vase and flung it toward Varrell.
He managed to catch it in the air.
Stella gave him a meaningful look.
Varrell scratched his head and went back outside, taking the vase with him.

 

It took five minutes for Typica to calm down.
And when she finally did, she seemed quite embarrassed by her tantrum.

“I apologize for jumping to conclusions,” she said, “and mistaking you for a cursed witch.”

“Is my abnormally pale face that terrifying?” Stella smiled, drawing her face closer to Typica’s.
“Does it make me look like a witch?” And closer.
“Do you find my corpselike pallor off-putting?”

Typica backed away a step.
“N-No, not at all.
I got used to it now.
I’m quite all right, thank you.”

“All right, then.
In that case, I’m going to need you to answer a few questions.
It’s only fair, considering all I’ve done for you at my own expense.”

“Sounds reasonable.
Ask away! I’m ready for any questions you throw at me!”

Does she have to be so energetic all the time? Ignoring the warning signs of a headache, Stella asked her questions.
She was most curious about who Typica was, why she was after Varrell, and whether his crimson greatsword was valuable enough to be worth the trouble.

“I’ll answer in order, then.
My name is Typica Art, and I’m the eldest daughter of the honorable Art Family!”

“The Art Family?”

Typica smirked.
“All who know it agree that it’s a reputable house.
Right now, I’m on a journey of personal growth to become its long-awaited next heir!”

Who’s waiting, exactly? Stella cocked her head.
“Oh, that Art Family!” Rye exclaimed.
Apparently, it was a prominent noble house in the northern part of the continent, known in particular for its barrier magic.

The Art Family.
Barrier magic.
That rings a bell.
An ancient, rusty bell.

Stella vaguely remembered being involved in something of the sort.
Clever might know more, but he didn’t like to talk about the past.
In his view, it wasn’t necessary for their current life.
Even choking him hadn’t been enough to get him to talk.
That bird could be extremely stubborn when he wanted to.

“Varrell—my wretch of a brother—took the greatsword and left to wander the world.
Which makes getting it back one of the goals of my journey.
It was supposed to have been mine!”

“Was it? And who decided that?”

“I did, of course! Therefore, it’s mine!”

Stella gave her a flat stare.
You know what? I’m too tired to argue.
I’ll just go with it.

Typica was not very bright, but not in the same way as Beck.
They were different breeds of stupid.
Typicas were prone to jump to conclusions and double down on their mistakes.
Other defining traits included their inability to listen to people and their aggressive charge attacks which usually ended in a shower of puke.
It was a rare breed; further investigation would be necessary to determine its value.

“That’s why I followed my brother,” Typica said.
“To challenge him and take back what’s rightfully mine—since he refuses to return it willingly.”

“Mind explaining why you’re so obsessed with that sword? What’s it worth?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.
In fact, I’ve never held it in my own hands.”

Stella frowned.
“And you still want it?” I have a feeling I’m going to regret this question.

“I do.”

“.
.
.
Your weapon of choice is the dual blades, right?”

“That’s right.
Their graceful stances and flowing fighting style synergize perfectly with my natural agility.”

“Can you swing a greatsword?”

“Of course not.
It’s an inferior weapon in every way.
It lacks grace, is far too heavy and unwieldy, and is designed around absorbing blows with your body, which is a terribly unrefined fighting style.
My style is to overwhelm the opponent with speed, striking through their defenses with deadly precision.”

If you didn’t know, when you strike with your teeth, that’s called biting.
At that moment, the doubts which had been simmering in Stella’s mind turned to certainty.
She glanced at Rye.
The girl looked bemused.

“You want it for yourself,” Stella said, “but not to use it.
What for, then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Typica said.
“Because that greatsword—that sanguine blade—is the coolest thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon! Even the most expensive jewels can’t achieve that sublime crimson gleam.
It would be perfect as a trophy, don’t you think? In any case, it’s not for the hands of my brother.
That brute can’t appreciate it the way it deserves!”

In response, Stella simply sighed and let herself fall face-first into bed.
Rye moved to gently stroke her hair, and she allowed it by inaction.
This conversation had drained the last of her mental and physical energy, a too-steep price to pay for the discovery of the new Typica breed, as fascinating as it was.

Stella scrounged up the willpower to sit up in bed.
“Is Varrell aware of this?”

“Of course not.
I can’t talk to the man.
We’re too fundamentally different.”

Stella sighed.
“Why am I not surprised?”

“Am I imagining things or do I sense a mocking tone in your voice?”

“I’m sure it’s just in your head.”

Varrell thought Typica wanted the sword so she could use it.
As it turned out, all Typica wanted was to hang it up on a wall.
To her, it was more akin to a family heirloom than to a real weapon.

Such a silly misunderstanding.
Stella smirked as she imagined Varrell’s reaction to learning Typica’s real motives.
He was always so solemn regarding his responsibility to the sword.

I can’t deny they’d make for an interesting duo.
They’re so dissimilar it’s absurd.

If Stella were to pair them up, all kinds of interesting things could happen.
Their interactions were bound to be lively and fun—or rather, they’d better be, or her efforts would all have been for nothing.

“So you like that tone of red?” Stella said.

“That’s right.”

“Well, then.
Behold.”

Stella grabbed a blunt steel knife from the nearest shelf and held it up to her Magic Crystal.
The next moment, she activated it.

The knife took on a faint reddish glow.
As they watched, it grew more and more intense until it became indistinguishable from the bloodred gleam of Varrell’s sword.

Typica gasped.
“It’s that same crimson gleam! What did you just do?”

“I’m a sorcerer of sorts.
I can replicate that color.
Search as you might, though, you won’t find anyone else in the world able to do so.
Do you know what that means?”

Stella waved the crimson knife before Typica’s nose.
It was the bait, and she was the fish.
Typica followed the movement with her boar’s eyes, head rocking sideways.
“I want it!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.”

“This is amazing! You’re quite talented for an albino imp! How much do you want for it?!”

“Albino imp”? Seriously? Well, at least I got her attention.
“Calm down, Typica.
This was just to convince you that I can do it.
I can give the same treatment to your own dual swords, though that’ll take a fair bit longer.”

“Really?! Do it, now! I’ll pay as much as you want! Go on! What are you waiting for?”

Typica grabbed her weapons from where they’d been lying against a wall and shoved them toward Stella.
Her face is too close.
If she gets on top of me, I’m dead.
Stella was not built to hold back a boar.
Rye desperately tried to hold Typica from behind, but her efforts were in vain.

“T-There’s no rush,” Stella said, pushing the swords away.
“Fixating this alluring tone of red into steel is no simple feat, you know.
For weapons as large as yours, the process is going to take years, not to mention a great deal of effort from my part.
You’re going to have to pay me back somehow.”

That was only half a lie.
Stella could simply leave Typica’s swords next to her Magic Crystal at night and the process would happen automatically during her sleep.
She’d only offered to do it at all because it wouldn’t require any effort.

“But how can I pay you if you won’t take my money?”

“I don’t need more money than I already have, but I may need something else.” Stella thoughtfully put a finger to her chin.
Then an evil grin crept onto her face.
“Oh, I know.
Would you be willing to become my property for the duration of the process?”

Rye shot Stella a disapproving look.

Typica paled.
“I-I’m not into that sort of thing! Same-sex relationships are strictly forbidden by the Church! Besides, I refuse to be toyed with by an albino imp!”

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m not into that either.
All I’m asking is that you acknowledge me as your master.
I won’t take your money, but I will need you to work for me.
Mainly as security guard and bodyguard, same as Varrell.”

“Security guard .
.
.
and bodyguard?”

Stella nodded.
“This town’s arena is a good place to hone your skills, but you’d improve much faster with your brother as a sparring partner, don’t you think? And he’s currently working for me.”

“You have a point.
W-Wait, do you? Well, I have other things to worry about.
And I can hardly be convinced to train with him, of all people.”

“Hmm.
All right, then.
Forget I said anything.”

“W-Wait! I didn’t say no! Just give me some time.
As I was often told in the past, difficult decisions such as this require careful consideration.”

Typica crossed her arms and screwed up her face.
She seemed to be thinking—or at least going through the motions.
It was hard to believe she was familiar with the concept.

One last push.
“What’s there to consider? You fought Varrell and lost.
A real warrior would jump at any opportunity to have a rematch.
But well, if you’d rather stay a loser, suit yourself.
Losers have no place working for me, though.
Goodbye, Typica.
Why don’t you go back home, to your mother’s milk? You must miss it terribly.”

Stella delivered her rapid-fire insults and waited for Typica’s reaction.
As expected, her face shortly went red as she started to get angry.
So much for careful consideration.
I like her simplicity, though.

Typica sprang to her feet.
“L-L-Loser?! Did you just call me a loser?!” she said, putting her hands on her hips.
“Fine! If that’s how it’s going to be, then I pledge my swords to you! You shall witness my swordsmanship and sear its gracefulness into your mind’s eye!”

That was easy.
“Good.
From now on, you’ll give me your swords every night before bedtime.
Don’t forget to get them back in the morning.”

“Uh, yes.
Understood.” Typica nodded politely.

Typica had been properly trained; whenever Stella spoke with authority, she was quick to oblige.
Stella gave a satisfied nod and left the room.
Varrell was standing outside, holding the vase.

“It sounded pretty intense in there,” he said.
“How did it go?”

“We’ve worked things out.
She’s not going to come after your sword again.
You can thank me for that.” She still wants a rematch, though, Stella thought.
But I’m not lying.

“R-Really?”

“However,” Stella said, raising a finger, “Typica is going to stay with us for a while.
She’s mine now.”

“What?”

Stella gently tapped the dumbfounded Varrell on the arm.
“Now I have two more hands to help around the store and one more human to play with.
This one is a rare breed, too.” She smirked.
“Yes, this was very much worth the trouble.”

“Y-You’re joking, right? You must be.
I mean, why do you think I left home in the first place? I was running away from my chaotic sister!”

“Who are you calling chaotic?!” Typica screamed from inside the room.
“All I’m doing is being true to myself! Your criticism is unwarranted!”

“Oh god, this is giving me an ulcer .
.
.”

“Typica,” Stella said.
“You’ll keep it down at night if you know what’s good for you.
Otherwise, I’ll punish both you and your brother.”

“Me too? Why?! If she messes up, that’s her own fault!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Varrell.
As they say, blood is thicker than water.
It’s your responsibility to keep your sister in check.
Typica, if you’re going to make a scene, do it outside, while the sun is out.
I couldn’t care less about the townspeople, so go nuts.”

“Yes, of course.
I would never inconvenience you in your own home.
I was raised better than that.”

“Good.
Now, it’s time for dinner.
I can smell Marie’s delicious cooking from here.
Go on, you two; don’t just stand there.
Typica, take me to the living room.”

“Naturally.”

Typica curtsied, then politely extended her hand.
Stella took it and, like a princess being escorted to the dance floor, allowed herself to be led to the living room.