The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 105

Volumes 1-4 + Side Stories of DMS are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

A heavy silence fell. As Jaha waited for judgment, suffocating under the weight of tension—

“Fault? What fault?”

The Emperor’s voice was sharp and irritable, the unshakable calm from moments ago utterly gone.

“Go on, then. Tell me—what exactly did you do wrong?”

Jaha flinched at his sudden roar, her shoulders trembling.

In all her memories, the Emperor had never once raised his voice. He had been angry before, even violent, but his tone had never strayed far from its usual composure.

Even when spewing vulgarities, his tone remained incongruently refined and mellifluous—as though it were a nobleman’s basic decorum.

Yet now, that same man had lost his composure and was roaring in rage. It terrified her, bewildered her, left her strangely disoriented.

“Do you truly believe you’ve done wrong? Or is this just a ploy to escape the situation—do you actually feel any remorse toward me at all?”

His interrogations came at her like a scream.

Jaha’s heart sank. She felt guilty for no reason, as if she’d committed a crime she hadn’t. A pointless sense of culpability rose in her.

Why are you acting like the wounded one?

Did you really think you could do those things and still be loved?

After subjecting me to unspeakable humiliation, after refusing to even treat me as human—you still expected me to care for you?

How shameless can you be to dare act so entitled!

The fact that Yoo Jaha didn’t love this man wasn’t some betrayal or twist—it was the most natural consequence. So why was he the one harboring expectations, the one acting wounded? To the point of shedding the noble’s dignity he’d never once compromised, raging as though something fundamental had shattered.

She had thought him a man who wouldn’t bleed even if stabbed with a needle.

That nothing in this world could truly shake him.

She had never imagined he could sound this raw, this visceral—as though vomiting blood in the open.

In a way, she had unintentionally struck a blow. Yet for some reason, it didn’t feel entirely satisfying. No matter how much she relished the thought of vengeance for all she’d endured, an inexplicable weight of debt pressed down on her chest.

So it was real. Real enough to hurt him.

She had thought it was just a fleeting impulse, something as fickle as flipping a palm—but it had been genuine.

Jaha bit her lip. Not that it changed anything. What did it matter now whether the Emperor’s feelings were real or not?

There was no time to wallow in useless sentimentality. It was better to beg for forgiveness—Cedric’s life hung by a thread, and her own safety was far from guaranteed.

“It’s all… my fault. He’s innocent—punish me instead—”

“‘He’? Just moments ago, the two of you were laughing, chatting, sharing bread, getting along so well. Why the sudden formality?”

The Emperor’s voice dripped with mocking amusement.

So he saw everything.

Jaha’s blood ran cold. There was no way out.

As she stood silent under his gaze, the Emperor felt as though his insides were boiling, searing him alive.

That smile—she had never shown it to him.

No matter what he did, no matter what he offered, he could never draw it out of her. Yet with that wretched fallen prince, it flowed so effortlessly.

He had laid out delicacies from land and sea, desserts, jewels—yet her lips never so much as twitched. But for half a piece of bread shared with that man, how many times had they curved into laughter?

What he couldn’t achieve with all his power and wealth had come so easily to another man.

The realization enraged him beyond reason, filled him with indescribable wretchedness.

Why?

What did that slave have that he didn’t?

Status, ability, appearance—there was nothing inferior about himself. That man was nothing but a lowly insect, squirming under his boot, powerless to even whimper.

And yet—for someone like that, she had smiled like that?

Consumed by fury, the Emperor kicked Cedric again. As Cedric crumpled to the ground, the Emperor’s eyes gleamed with murderous intent.

“You truly have no sense of your place.”

He never should have let him live. He should have cut off his head right then and there, not dragged him back as a slave.

Now, with every intention of rectifying that mistake, the Emperor snatched a sword from one of his knights. The blade, wrenched violently from its sheath, caught the light in a sinister gleam.

Jaha’s head snapped up at the metallic sound—and horror seized her.

Before her mind could even form a plan, her body moved on its own. Scrambling forward on her knees, she threw herself at the Emperor, clinging to his legs.

The Emperor, sword still raised, froze.

“P-Please… spare him. Your Majesty.”