The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 126

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.

Jaha screamed the question.

“Why should I submit to that man?! He’s no different from me—we’re both human!”

—Ah, I always find it hilarious when you people spout such hypocrisy.

The enigmatic voice responded without a trace of anger.

—Two people are drowning. One is an exceptional doctor—let’s say, if saved, he could someday cure cancer in your world. The other is a d**g addict. You’re the rescuer, and there’s only one life jacket. Who do you give it to?

“That’s…”

—Or imagine a hero destined to defeat the Demon King and an ordinary civilian both ingest the same poison, but there’s only one dose of antidote. Who would you save? Be honest—wouldn’t you prioritize the former?

The voice whispered to Jaha, who stood silent.

—Equal worth for all humans? Equal value for every life? You don’t truly believe that either, do you?

That day, Jaha finally accepted it:

This man and I are not equal.

How nice it would’ve been to realize sooner—but no, she had to break herself to pieces before understanding.

I am a slave.

Prey.

It took her too long to swallow that truth. Yet even for something like her, one right remained.

“Explain yourselves! How did this disgrace happen again?”

Behind her, the Emperor raged at the servants. Jaha closed her eyes.

The French writer Françoise Sagan once said in court:

I have the right to destroy myself.

Jaha’s gaze lingered on the tightly shut window. Every window in the bedroom now had a lock installed. She had thought she might have a few more chances, but the response had been swift.

On her way to the bathroom, Jaha threw herself from the corridor window.

It felt good. She didn’t fall feet-first—it was her head. As the back of her skull shattered like a watermelon, her consciousness faded away.

She thought it was finally over, but when she opened her eyes, there was that familiar face again.

The Emperor looked ashen, as if it were a miracle she was still alive, and for a long while, he couldn’t even string together a proper sentence.

“This time… really, truly… Ah…”

From the fragmented words he muttered in shock, Jaha gathered that she had hovered between life and death for half a month before waking—her attempt had come agonizingly close to success.

Unlike before, when magic had patched her up in an instant, this time, even with all the royal physicians mobilized, her survival had been left to the will of the heavens.

Terrible luck.

Jaha let out a hollow, breathy laugh.

Every window in the palace was now strictly controlled. Only authorized individuals could unlock them at designated times. A grim atmosphere hung over the palace, cut off from the outside world.

So Jaha adjusted her approach. She went into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, twisted them into a rope, and looped it around the doorknob to hang herself.

You don’t always need a high beam and a kicked-away stool to die by hanging. If one is determined, even a seated position suffices.

Perhaps because the fabric was soft, the pain was surprisingly bearable.

Back when the Emperor choked my neck, it hurt—what’s the difference? This meaningless curiosity was her last thought as consciousness sank into darkness.

The Emperor once again forcibly pulled Jaha out from the black waters.

“Why, why does this keep happening… It’s okay. It’s okay so you can rest easy.”

Though it was time to accept the truth that everything was Jaha’s own will, the Emperor ultimately denied it. This wasn’t just once or twice but the fourth time, yet he treated it solely as unfortunate accidents.

Even if the three falls could be excused as accidents, how making a rope from clothes to hang one’s neck could fall under the category of ‘accident’ was incomprehensible, but the Emperor was stubborn.

No matter how many more times Jaha hanged herself, cut her wrists with a knife, or swallowed non-food items to suffocate, the Emperor persistently classified the series of events as ‘accidents.’

Suddenly finding that voice disgusting and unbearable, Jaha stabbed her neck with a fork right before the Emperor’s eyes.

As the Emperor’s expression collapsed, a peculiar thrill blossomed deep within her chest.

Catharsis obtained through harming myself.

Just one year ago, this would have been unimaginable. Back then, I was too precious to myself to gain satisfaction from such actions. I was too valuable to injure myself just to see that expression on the Emperor’s face. But not anymore.

Just as she tried to twist the fork embedded in her neck, the Emperor reached out. With a sudden pulling force, the fork was flung to the floor before she could resist. The absolute difference in physical strength gave Jaha a renewed sense of deprivation.

No matter how hard I try, I’m nothing to this man.