The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 183

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.

He forced her face up from the sheets, making her look at him as he kissed her forehead, the space beneath her eyes, the bridge of her nose—a tenderness bordering on reverence, at odds with the brutal pace of his hips.

Another lightning bolt of pleasure seared through Jaha’s mind.

“Ngh—!”

Her brain was on fire, but all that escaped her was a broken moan. Overstimulated, even that much was a struggle.

As another flood of c*m filled her, Jaha trembled, vision unfocused.

Her body had grown terrifyingly sensitive from their daily couplings—now, just the barest hint of arousal left her dripping. If he pulled her underwear down, translucent slick would stretch in threads between them.

All his fault. He was the one who’d drilled this addiction into her, pleasure poured into her veins like poison.

When it came to s*x, every part of Jaha—from the first gasp to the tenth scream—had been shaped entirely by him.

“It seems Jaha’s body grows fonder of me by the day.”

His voice, laced with laughter, whispered as his fingers traced the curves of her still-dazed form, lingering in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“And what of Jaha’s heart?”

Silk-gloved fingertips slid along the lines of her body.

“Is it… growing fonder too?”

After a brief silence, she responded:

“Do I have any reason not to favor Rikanan?”

She felt his fingers hesitate—just for a second—against her skin. Noticing his reaction, she added playfully:

“Of course I do. Unless you’ve committed some terrible wrong behind my back… or plan to.”

His eyes narrowed slightly before curving into a practiced smile.

“That will never happen. Not in the past, nor the future.”

Her memories were incomplete. No—more gaps existed than fragments. But even those pieces revealed two truths:

The first time Yoo Jaha came to this world, she lived an unfortunate life.

And behind that misfortune stood a man.

“Let me rephrase this with more sophisticated rhetoric…”

Madame Marie penned the sentence in elegant cursive.

Imperial script, if one had to compare it, resembled Cyrillic. The difference between printed and handwritten forms was so vast they might as well have been different languages—doubling the effort required to learn.

‘Yet I picked it up suspiciously easily… Turns out I’d learned it before.’

Other knowledge, too, had settled into her mind with unnatural speed. Now she knew why: it was all review.

Madame Marie remained uncomfortably deferential. Jaha fiddled with the ring still on her finger—the one its owner hadn’t reclaimed.

The Ring of Abrixa.

She vaguely recalled Madame Marie calling it that before she lost consciousness. Given the circumstances, she couldn’t be sure.

Abrixa. The first mage and the founding emperor of the empire.

If this was truly the ring of Abrixa, its value was beyond comprehension. It would be like Caesar’s sword, King Sejong’s brush, or Napoleon’s hat back on Earth.

‘Even if it’s just an ordinary ring and not a magical artifact, it would still be incredible.’

And yet, someone in a position to casually hand over such an item as mere proof of identity…

Jaha’s gaze darkened.

Madame Marie’s eyes were already fixed on Abrixa’s Ring. Keeping her expression neutral, Jaha extended her hand to give a clearer view of the ring, subtly steering the conversation toward it.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? I can hardly believe this ring is in my possession.”

“Every object has its rightful owner, and without a doubt, this ring belongs to you, miss.”

Jaha had probed lightly for information about the ring, but Madame Marie responded flawlessly, offering no openings. Watching her reaction carefully, Jaha pressed further.

“I’m not sure if I’m truly worthy of this ring. As you know, it’s no ordinary object.”

She had to be cautious. Madame Marie was no easy opponent. The slightest hint—whether in her gaze, expression, or demeanor—that Jaha was fishing for information would make her wary.

‘Madame Marie is not on my side.’

Of course not. Jaha wasn’t her employer. Someone else paid her, so there was no reason for her to show loyalty to Jaha, who offered no benefit.

“Do you think I can really bear the weight of this ring?”

Jaha feigned uncertainty. Unless someone was utterly heartless, seeing another person disheartened would usually prompt them to offer encouragement—and in doing so, they might let slip useful information.

“I, too, was surprised to see one of the imperial family’s lost treasures, something I’d only heard of in rumors. But I hadn’t expected you to be troubled by it.”

Beneath the table, Jaha quietly clenched her fist.

The imperial family’s lost treasure?

Then why did Rikanan have it?

Was it granted as a reward for merit? Or purchased?

It wasn’t uncommon for the imperial family to sell off luxuries when finances grew tight. It was possible that a past ancestor had acquired it that way and passed it down. But before that, a far simpler and more obvious answer seized her mind.

‘No.’

Jaha clenched her eyes shut. Just the thought alone sent a chill through her entire body, as if her blood had turned to ice.

‘That kind of thing… It can’t be. It mustn’t be.’

Even imagining it made her heart plummet. A violent shiver ran through her, as though all warmth had evaporated from her body. She curled her trembling fingers into her palm, hiding them until the shaking stopped, then picked up her teacup as if nothing had happened.

That’s enough for today.