The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 142

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 had no idea how suspicious her behavior must seem to him. She’d just claimed there were no mages across the sea, and now this nonsense? She wanted to kick herself.

She’d only even learned about magic through the translation ring he had given her. How could she possibly know any mage?

“No. I just crossed over here, and the only person I know is you, Sir Rikanan. It was a slip of the tongue.”

Sapphire-blue eyes—more reminiscent of the gemstone than the sea or sky—studied her, as if gauging her sincerity.

Oddly, despite the situation, Jaha found herself fixating on how unnatural that color seemed. Even though blond hair and blue eyes were a classic combination, there was something… off.

He’s already unfairly handsome, but wouldn’t a more unique eye color suit him even better? Like…

“Purple.”

The eyes facing her widened. As if entranced, Jaha reached out without a care for his reaction.

She gently cupped his flawless, sculpted face in her palm—not out of affection, but more like pinning down a specimen to observe undisturbed.

He froze as if ambushed. Though her touch held no real force, he remained perfectly still, barely even breathing, as though bound by invisible restraints.

“Are there people with purple eyes in this world?” she asked after a long silence.

“There are, the Emperor is the most notable example.”

The moment those words registered, Jaha’s stomach dropped.

A purple-eyed emperor.

Logically, it shouldn’t have been shocking. Yet a chill ran down her spine the second she heard it. She’d never even seen the man’s face, so why did it feel like she’d been burned by him before?

“The stronger the imperial bloodline’s magic, the more vivid their purple eyes become, that’s why people say if magic had a color, it would be purple.”

“I see.”

The more she listened, the queasier she felt. Jaha withdrew her hand from Rikanan’s cheek, curling her trembling fingers into her palm. The childish excitement she’d felt earlier about magic now seemed like a lie.

This wasn’t some fairy-tale world. Not a Märchen filled with kindhearted characters, but a reality where malice existed—one undoubtedly far more backward in human rights than Earth, rigidly stratified by class. In such a world, magic wasn’t wondrous; it was dangerous.

She nearly asked what kind of person the Emperor was, then stopped herself. Some omens felt too ill to name aloud.

If Rikanan’s words held true, the Emperor was a powerful mage. Absolute authority and supernatural abilities? The sheer threat of that combination was beyond calculation. The only silver lining was that someone of his station might as well have lived in the heavens—how would a nobody like her ever cross paths with him? She’d never even met Korea’s president back home.

“Can you use magic, Sir Rikanan?”

She felt his hand tense slightly against hers as they walked.

“No, I have no magic at all.”

“It’s fortunate that Sir Rikanan isn’t a mage.”

The words slipped out before Jaha realized what she was saying—that she’d just voiced her innermost thoughts aloud. Without permission, she’d touched his cheek, asked abrupt questions, and even made unforgivably rude remarks.

“I apologize. That was a mistake…”

“It would be better if you dropped the honorific.”

“Huh?”

“Instead of ‘Sir Rikanan,’ just call me by my name.”

Jaha blinked at the sudden change in topic.

‘Is this man deliberately changing the subject to spare me embarrassment?’

Though bewildered, she decided to play along.

“I don’t know the etiquette here, but… is that really acceptable?”

“If the person in question says it’s fine, who would object?”

The handsome man smiled softly under the moonlight. His features were naturally cool and refined, making his words seem perfectly reasonable—yet Jaha couldn’t shake the impression that he was wearing ill-fitting clothes.

Not in the sense of pretending to be kind when it didn’t suit him. Rather, it felt as though he had worked tirelessly to become the person he was now.

“Then, from now on, I’ll call you Rikanan.”

Jaha didn’t refuse twice. Being overly deferential would only make her seem lowly. If she acted like “How dare I…?” she’d just be looked down upon. Besides, Rikanan had already called her “Jaha” multiple times—what reason did she have not to address him the same way?

“I’ll arrange for a tutor as soon as possible.”

After their evening walk, Rikanan escorted her to her door, left those parting words with a polite bow, and departed. Jaha stared for a moment at his retreating figure melting into the dark hallway before finally entering her room.

With the maids’ help, she changed clothes and lay down in bed—where sleep crashed over her like a wave. She had thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep so soon after waking, but her body, more exhausted than expected, surrendered almost immediately. Her eyelids grew heavy, and darkness took her.