The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 186

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.

His touch, now gentle and concerned as he cupped her cheek, was a stark contrast to the lewd hands that had been teasing her moments ago. It was hard to believe they belonged to the same person.

“Are you feeling unwell, Jaha?”

“N-No, it’s not that… I just didn’t sleep well. I’m a little drained.”

“Didn’t sleep well? Another nightmare?”

“Not exactly… I just didn’t get enough rest.”

Unable to confess the truth, she fumbled for an excuse. His long lashes lowered slightly.

“Then I should replace your bedding with something better.”

“Huh? It’s already comfortable as it is.”

Thrown off by his unexpected concern, Jaha waved her hands dismissively. The bedding was unbelievably soft—like floating on a cloud. She loved it as it was; changing it was out of the question.

When she lightly shook her head and tugged at his sleeve, his touch grew even more tender. After smoothing out her disheveled clothes, he offered his hand to escort her.

“You should rest now.”

“…Alright.”

To avoid suspicion, Jaha obediently placed her hand atop his gloved palm and let him lead her back to her room.

Once alone, she finally spat out the name that had been lodged in her throat like a thorn—one she couldn’t utter in front of him. So quiet no one could hear.

“…Derek.”

When she had only thought it in her mind, she wasn’t sure. But now, saying it aloud, she was certain.

“Cedric.”

The owner of that headless corpse.

‘He ended up like that… because of me.’

Jaha trembled slightly. She couldn’t remember why, but she was certain. The crushing, suffocating guilt pressing down on her entire body and constricting her lungs was proof enough.

A man with platinum blond hair and blue eyes.

Though his face wouldn’t come to mind, she faintly recalled that he had looked like a prince. And that he had always been tender and affectionate toward Jaha.

“No way.”

At the sudden hypothesis, Jaha held her breath.

Was Rikanan Cedric?

His gentle demeanor, those blue eyes, his handsome features reminiscent of a fairy-tale prince—the two shared many similarities. Even if their hair colors differed, that could easily be changed with dye or a wig.

‘But Cedric is dead.’

No matter how much magic existed in this world, a man who had been beheaded couldn’t possibly be alive and well.

‘What if I traveled back in time—before Cedric died?’

Regression.

A recurring trope in fantasy novels, often grouped with possession and reincarnation under the term “return-reborn-transmigration.”

It was unfortunate that she had to use fantasy novels as a reference rather than authoritative research, but the moment she crossed dimensions into this world—one that seemed ripped straight from those very novels—her life had already diverged from any reality governed by common sense.

To be dropped into a world with magic and then refuse to believe in regression, possession, or reincarnation would be the real nonsense here.

‘If Rikanan is Cedric… then I can trust him.’

The circumstances still eluded her, but he had lost his life because of her. Far from being wary, she owed him atonement. But nothing was certain yet. There was no evidence that Rikanan was Cedric.

She couldn’t jump to conclusions until she was sure. Caution was the virtue of the weak. A single misstep could mean shoving her head straight into a monster’s maw.

Jaha stared quietly at her sweat-dampened hands, then murmured under her breath. Even if he wasn’t Cedric, it didn’t matter.

“…Just not him.”

◇ ◆ ◇

She fell endlessly downward.

By now, she should have hit the ground. At a glance, she had assumed the drop would be over quickly—but once she jumped, the height, which seemed no more than five stories, stretched on dizzyingly, impossibly long.

A twisted sense of liberation wrapped around her. Even as she plummeted toward the ground, it felt like she was soaring into the sky. At the same time, fear crept in.

What if I fail again this time?

What if she didn’t die properly—what if she survived, broken in some irreversible way, forced to live out the rest of her life trapped in this hell, unable to even try escaping again?

Please… let me hit headfirst. Let it end in one go.

Jaha opened her eyes. The bedroom was still shrouded in darkness. As her vision adjusted, she saw her own trembling hands.

The details were becoming clearer.

Nearly every night, she was tormented by nightmares—or rather, by lost memories resurfacing through dreams. It felt like being forced to piece together a puzzle she never wanted to complete. Even though she knew how grotesque the final image would be, she had no choice but to see it through.

This is what she had uncovered so far:

Yoo Jaha had arrived in this world just after coming of age, was enslaved, and was assigned to the imperial palace’s library. There, she caught the emperor’s attention. And in this world, where slaves weren’t even considered human, she endured things too painful to speak aloud.

Though technically an adult, she had still been young—naïve, uncompromising, with the reckless stubbornness of youth. And that had only made things worse.

If it had been the current Jaha—older, tempered by life, no longer so ignorant of the world—who had suffered that misfortune instead of the sheltered twenty-year-old who had known nothing but studying… perhaps things might have turned out differently.

She could have swallowed her pride, played along, flattered the emperor like a corporate lackey, then slowly manipulated him into granting her freedom—or even securing herself a government position.