The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 114

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.

“If it’s clear, do you prefer a cool breeze or warm sunlight? If it rains, do you like a drizzle, a soft shower, or a downpour? And if it snows—gentle flakes or thick, heavy snow?”

Lately, the emperor had taken to rambling about trivial things like this to Jaha, hoping to coax even the smallest reaction from her.

To restore something, one needed to know its original state—yet he realized, with a pang of regret, that he knew nothing about her.

We should have talked more instead of wasting time on pointless power struggles and pleasure.

The remorse tightened around his heart. It was far too late, but he had to try now.

Jaha stared blankly into space, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

“I asked what kind of day you like. Hm?”

Still, no response. But the emperor didn’t lose his temper. Through stubborn repetition, he had learned that if he pestered her enough, Jaha would eventually open her mouth—if only to make him stop.

After relentless prodding, Jaha, worn down, finally spoke.

“Snow is nice.”

A bitter smile flickered across the emperor’s lips.

Last time, she had said she liked rain. Before that, clear skies. The ever-changing answers made it clear—her words weren’t genuine, just random selections from the choices he gave. Yet even this was better than silence, so he kept talking. To remind himself that Jaha wasn’t a doll.

Irony at its cruelest. The very man who had denied and crushed her humanity now clung desperately to proof that she was still a thinking being.

Adjusting his hold, he turned Jaha toward the window.

“Look. It’s snowing.”

Technically, it was a clear day—but over the imperial palace, snow fell. An unnatural phenomenon conjured by the emperor’s magic. Controlling weather within a fixed range was nothing difficult for him.

Jaha stared blankly as white flakes drifted to the ground.

The old Jaha would have first recoiled at being held by him, then felt dread at his inhuman power to warp even the skies. But now, stripped of complexity, she only found the sudden snowfall curious.

“Shall we go see it up close?”

The emperor had suggested it. Jaha wasn’t particularly interested, so she ignored him at first—but his relentless pestering wore her down, and eventually, she gave a small nod. Immediately, the emperor bundled her tightly in a blanket, lifted her into his arms, and in the next moment, they were outside in the falling snow. Spatial teleportation magic.

Only a handful of mages in the entire continent could cast such high-level spells consecutively without strain. Yet the emperor showed no sign of exertion, his expression calm.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen snow. The first time I saw it, I was twelve. I wanted to make it snow with magic, but I couldn’t—because I’d never seen it before. So I traveled to a cold country just to learn what snow was. The empire doesn’t get snow, you see.”

He spoke in simple words, carefully tailoring his story so Jaha could follow along easily.

Just as he wanted to know everything about her, he also wanted her to know him—who he truly was.

“…The next day, all my masterpieces had melted without a trace. I was so furious I begged my teacher to teach me preservation magic. I wanted to bring ice sculptures back to the empire. So then—”

Mid-sentence, Jaha let out a small cough.

Startled, the emperor instinctively hunched over, shielding her with his body as he adjusted the blanket around her.

“Are you cold? Should we go back inside?”

Fumbling anxiously, he suddenly remembered he could use magic and quickly cast a spell to warm Jaha’s body. Still uneasy, he carefully checked for any other signs of discomfort.

As cozy warmth enveloped her, Jaha soon began to nod off. Once her dark eyes disappeared completely beneath her eyelids, the emperor activated his spatial teleportation magic and returned them to the bedchamber.

Staring at Jaha, peacefully asleep and oblivious to the world, a wave of crushing despair suddenly washed over him.

Exhausted, he leaned back against the headboard to rest—only for his gaze to land on her exposed legs. In her sleep, Jaha had shifted, causing her skirt to ride up.

The emperor’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. His eyes locked onto the pale thighs, unable to look away. Desire flared like wildfire through dry kindling, his lower abdomen tightening with a familiar ache.

He knew that skin too well.

He had touched it countless times, bitten and sucked on it, rubbed his c**k against it.