The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 250

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.

Ancient Egypt awarded prizes for guessing drawn lots, China sold lotteries to fund projects like the Great Wall, Roman emperors gave away gifts via draws at banquets, and medieval European artisans used prize events to sell goods. Primitive forms of lotteries naturally existed in this world too.

But a system where players pick numbers from dozens of options and win prizes based on matching drawn results? That didn’t exist yet—unsurprisingly, since even on Earth, it only emerged in the 20th century.

Most technical issues could be solved with magic. The real problem was whether the local government—the lord, or even the imperial family—would tolerate this venture. Historically, 15th–18th century Europe allowed private operators to run lotteries in exchange for profit-sharing, so a similar compromise seemed feasible.

Once decided, things moved swiftly. The eastern region permitted commerce even for non-guild merchants and artisans, so Jaha emptied her savings to place newspaper ads, print lottery slips, hire mages…

There was no prize money to begin with—it would come from ticket sales. In short, she’d pioneered a creative economy by promising rewards that didn’t yet exist.

The first lottery didn’t sell well, so the prize money wasn’t large—just 42% of total sales. But as word spread, sales grew daily, and with them, the prize pool swelled, creating a virtuous cycle. Soon, tickets were flying off the shelves. Jaha steadily added entertainment elements to match this momentum.

She replaced the plain balls used for draws with visually striking ones, crafting the equivalent of the Powerball from multicolored crystals and renaming the lottery Crystal Ball. She also moved beyond newspaper announcements, staging weekly draws in the square with dazzling magical effects so even non-players could watch.

The ever-changing fantastical magic. Glittering pollen scattering to celebrate the lucky winner.

The Crystal Ball draw ceremony itself became a spectacle. Those who saw it became new customers. Soon, lines formed at every Crystal Ball vendor—especially at this building’s first-floor flagship store, which drew the largest crowds.

“Should I really buy a new building and relocate the office?”

“Wow, buying a whole building just for a smoother commute? Weren’t you begging me yesterday to delay payroll because funds were tight?”

Istina, the resident mage, spoke with mock awe.

There had been a time when budgets were strained—though absurd profit margins quickly changed that.

“That was ages ago.”

“Not even a year, surely?”

“Since you’re chatting idly, I assume you’ve finalized the magic effects for the next draw?”

“Uh, well… This time, flower petals—”

“We did petals already.”

“No, this is different! Hear me out—I barely slept drafting this! First, vines bloom into buds during the opening, then the petals unfurl to reveal a glowing Crystal Ball—”

Istina sketched her vision on paper. Though not the most powerful mage, her aesthetic sense and creativity made each draw a visual feast, perfect for this role—like the rest of the staff, who worked tirelessly behind the scenes.

Everything had gone shockingly well, beyond all expectations. So well it felt surreal.

Leaning against the window, Istina clicked her tongue at the endless line below.

“All those people are customers? The money must be insane. If I were you Master, I’d be humming all day from sheer happiness.”

Jaha had expected as much. She’d often wondered how much more enjoyable life would be with money—buying whatever she wanted, solving every problem with wealth, living without a single worry. What a dreamlike existence that would be. She’d imagined and envied it countless times.

‘And what about me now?’

Tilting her head back, she stared blankly at the ceiling.

It was a relief, at least, not to worry about money in this unfamiliar world with no connections. In a place where a young woman with nothing could easily plummet into the abyss and wallow in the mud, she’d certainly avoided misfortune. But was she happy?

Was Yoo Jaha living a happy life?

She wasn’t sure. There was nothing in particular to fret over. It felt peaceful, like gliding down a well-paved road in a limousine. Yet, strangely, it wouldn’t have mattered if the limousine suddenly broke down, crashed into a guardrail, and tumbled off a cliff.

Not that she wanted to throw herself out a window or hang herself like she had in that other world where she’d been a slave. She had no active desire to die. But if some sudden accident ended her life one day, she didn’t think she’d feel particularly resentful or regretful. She’d probably just accept it without resistance—Ah, so this was my fate.

She wouldn’t deliberately throw herself in front of a carriage, but if someone tried to run her over with murderous intent, she wasn’t sure she’d fight desperately to avoid it.

‘Then again, survival instincts might kick in when it actually happens…’

Some things couldn’t be predicted until they happened.