A Relationship That Invites Misunderstandings
The mighty female hero Emilia. The ordinary college student Choi Yoon-seo. Bearing two legendary titles, she had been struck by the infamous "reincarnation truck" and transported to another world.
It was quite a distance away, and she'd even dodged it, but the truck veered like a guided missile, as if shouting, "I'll send you to another world!" In the end, she met a screaming end on some nameless road.
When she awoke again, the saintess Yuria called her "Hero."
At first, she panicked, but soon she sensed that the isekai life she'd always dreamed of was beginning. She melted into this new world without hesitation. Unlike most girls her age, she loved fantasy genres—movies, novels, webtoons—and this was a dream come true.
Thus, she proudly embraced her title as the continent's first female hero in history and set off on her journey to save the world with her companions.
Biela, master archer. Daltan, master swordsman. Gleon, master mage. The three party members supported her devotedly, sometimes as comrades, sometimes as friends.
Her ideal adventure unfolded just as she'd imagined. Sure, there were dire crises, uncomfortable beds, and exhausting days, but Yoon-seo simply reveled in it. She felt alive. She kept smiling through the hardships, enjoyed the thrilling rumors with her handsome companions, and even Biela's cute jealousy.
And a year into the journey, they finally defeated the Demon King. She had fulfilled her duty as the hero summoned to slay him.
The hero party headed home triumphant. But from that moment, Yoon-seo felt an unease creeping in. Her once-affectionate companions turned cold. Their warm support chilled overnight.
She brushed it off—they're just tired—but the ominous vibe sharpened upon arrival at the Royal Palace. It became a blade at her throat.
The charge: treason.
"Hero Emilia tried to assassinate King Brikal!"
"I heard it too! She called the king incompetent and said she'd rule herself!"
"Exactly. She often said a kingdom was her reward for saving the world."
Yoon-seo was dumbfounded by her companions' lies to the king. After a year of life-and-death battles, after saving the continent—what could make them spew such nonsense?
She couldn't believe it at first. A hidden camera? Pranking her before a grand homecoming?
"W-what's going on, everyone? Why would I dream of treason for some glory? That's ridiculous."
It was ridiculous. Her reward—a fief in the kingdom, lavish honors from the empire—was more than enough for a peaceful life. That's all she wanted. Treason? Absurd.
Who would buy such drivel?
"For a holy hero to plot treason... We thank you deeply for saving the continent, but we cannot ignore this vile scheme."
"What? Not me! I've never even thought—"
"Enough. The longer this drags, the uglier it gets."
Yet the king believed the absurd conspiracy. Or rather, he seemed to know it all along. He had no interest in her defense, issuing judgment as if granting mercy. Like a scripted play with a fixed end.
"Treason normally warrants beheading, but considering your 'service' to the kingdom, we commute it to enslavement. The saintess says executing you would bring 'misfortune' to the realm. Emperor Demibela has also approved. Imprison the criminal in the Underground Dungeon."
She had saved the continent and returned in glory. Yet on her companions' word alone, she was condemned to slavery?
Emilia surged with uncontrollable rage, unleashing all her power to survive. But branded a traitor, even that worked against her.
"Look at her! She's trying to rebel right now!"
"Her true colors at last!"
"Indeed! Seize the traitor!"
As if waiting, her three companions attacked in unison. Emilia fought for her life, but they knew she could best any one-on-one. Their combined assault overwhelmed her.
Seizing a moment of distraction, Royal Archmage Wolrock absorbed and sealed her power.
Emilia was strong, but not from raw might. She was born with the fated destiny to defeat the Demon King. Her strength came from that providence, not skill—leaving her vulnerable to their onslaught.
In the end, she became the traitor they decreed. As if it was inevitable.
Her desperate struggle? More treason. Then over a month in the Underground Dungeon.
There, she endured every torment short of sexual violation. Saintess Yuria warned King Brikal it would defile the palace, so that was spared.
Instead, grotesque methods broke her down. And they all demanded one thing:
"Admit your treason. Do that, and you might save your life."
Emilia couldn't fathom it. Why hound her when she'd planned a life of world travel? What frightened them so?
She asked, but got no answers. Just demands.
Two hellish months passed. Emilia shattered into utter ruin, gripped by terror.
Guards alone made her piss herself. Food came back up. Claustrophobia, flogging phobia, foot torture phobia—bizarre terrors plagued her.
She surrendered everything. Her dreamed isekai wanderings. Her legacy as Hero Emilia.
It was all a fleeting dream. Slavery was her true self. A slave dreaming treason deserved punishment.
She accepted that.
"Have you finally realized you're a traitor deserving mercy?"
"...I am a traitor. Thank you, Your Majesty, for your mercy despite my treasonous dreams."
One answer sufficed.
Emilia understood at last. She was etched in history as a traitor, her life now slavery.
She was grateful. Sunlight after the dungeon brought tears.
From Hero Emilia to slave Isel. She met her master—the one who paid 500 gold for her worthless, traitorous self.
Absurd. And this master knew her; he was the king's confidant, complicit in her fall.
Isel sat rigidly across from her master, Lebion del Rosel, tense as a bowstring.
Clop, clop.
The quiet carriage filled with hoofbeats. Isel stole a glance at Rosel. Or the tenth such glance.
Two hours from the Capital City, and her master stared silently out the window, expression inscrutable.
His reputation was stellar. But to Isel, scarred by nobility's betrayal, he was just another noble.
And investing 500 gold in a virgin traitor? Clearly deranged.
She'd thought him courteous once. Humans couldn't be trusted.
"..."
Even with the window open, the cramped carriage with her master triggered her claustrophobia. She gnawed her nails.
Memories of solitary confinement with torturers crumbled her mind anew.
Crunch, crunch.
A slave damaging nails without permission crossed a line, but two months of torment made it an unbreakable habit. Like eating led to shitting, anxiety led to nail-biting. Natural law to her now.
She bowed her head to hide it. Out of sight, the terror eased slightly. Focus solely on the biting.
Crunch, crunch.
No nails left, yet she gnawed furiously, head down.
"..."
Rosel pulled his gaze from the window at the sound.
Crunch, crunch.
The anxiety transmitted clearly, piercing even the wheel's rumble.
"...Doesn't that hurt?"
After opening and closing his mouth several times, Rosel asked gently.
Isel gasped, shoulders stiffening. She began trembling. Fear leaked from her tightly shut eyes.
Instinct screamed: her rude habit would earn a slap.
Just a question, yet she panicked. Rosel awkwardly looked away.
Scaling this mountain had only begun. No need to rush, scold, or restrain.
"...Don't be so startled. I didn't mean that."
"..."
"We'll reach the territory soon. I prepared clothes—change into them."
"..."
Thud. A rough bundle landed beside her. White cloth revealed garments within.
Rosel nodded at her rags.
"Rosel Territory is famed for cleanliness and decorum. You wouldn't tarnish it with those tatters, would you? It's fitting for a slave—put it on."
"..."
At her master's command, Isel fumbled the bundle open with trembling, palsy-like hands.
"...Your hands shake a lot."
"S-sorry..."
Another torment-born affliction. Tension made gripping impossible.
Rosel sighed where she couldn't hear. Every word built unintended walls.
"...I didn't say that to hear apologies. Just change."
"Y-yes... sorry..."
"...Another habit, it seems."
"S-sorry..."
"...Enough sorries. Change. We're almost there."
Urged by her master, Isel hastily unpacked and lifted the clothes. Plain gray tunic, no frills. Perfect for a wretch like her, as he said.
"..."
Clutching it, she blinked at Rosel.
He tilted his head. "Problem? I had it tailored—it should fit perfectly."
Wondering if she disliked it, he asked. But Isel misinterpreted, blurting apologies.
"Ah... s-sorry..."
"...Now what?"
Rosel truly didn't know—he'd never owned a slave.
But as she wordlessly shed her rags, baring her skin, he understood. She mistook him for a voyeur.
He squeezed his eyes shut, coughed, crossed his arms, and leaned back, head tilted up—signaling no such tastes.
"...Say something when you undress."
"Y-yes...? Ah... s-sorry..."
"Enough. Just dress."
Seemed more mountains loomed. But after years of preparation, a few peaks meant nothing.
Skilled from frequent dungeon changes, Isel dressed swiftly and murmured cautiously.
"I-I'm dressed..."
Rosel cracked his eyes. To avoid glimpsing skin.
Good—she'd managed it. He exhaled in relief, uncrossed his arms, and inspected her.
He'd have preferred something prettier, but that risked more misunderstandings. Everything had stages.
Achromatic pants and tunic would do. At least her scars and bruises were hidden now.
He didn't want the territory folk seeing her pain.
Satisfied, Rosel smiled faintly and nodded.
"You look good, Isel."
Unsure what praise meant, Isel bowed her head in hollow resignation.
Rosel clicked his tongue, voice tinged with pity.
"...You'll be a hunched crone soon enough."
Moments later, the carriage entered Rosel Territory's breadbasket plains.