From Isel to Emilia (2)
"Returning... to Emilia? Hold on a moment. The brief freedom that Sir Dubel left behind before departing...? What do you mean..."
Rosel let out a low sigh at the anxiety flickering in Emilia's eyes before speaking. He prayed she wouldn't suffer a great shock. He prayed the wounds that had only just begun to scab over wouldn't tear open again.
"...Sir Dubel attacked Brikal and died in the process. Brikal is hovering between life and death, having lost an eye, an ear, and an arm. Even the high priest couldn't guarantee when—or if—he'd awaken."
"...What?"
Emilia froze, clapping a hand over her mouth in disbelief at Dubel's final fate. The ominous feeling she'd sensed from his retreating back had proven true. That desolate, sunken silhouette had been his final farewell.
"Ah... How could... something like that..."
"It probably wasn't for your sake. It was hatred for Brikal and self-loathing that drove him to that end. So don't take it too hard."
Rosel said it to calm her, though it was the truth—and atonement for her was surely woven into it somewhere. But he framed it as Dubel's self-punishing end. That way, Emilia wouldn't feel pointless guilt over his death. He alone was enough to bear that burden.
"He met his end as a knight following his convictions. Your share in that end is negligible, so don't grieve. After all, he did betray you, didn't he?"
"..."
Emilia walked silently to the window and gazed up at the clear blue sky. It was heartbreaking. Though he'd once pointed his sword at her, as a royal guard sworn absolutely to the king's command, he couldn't have defied it. It had hurt back then, but now she understood completely. Her master, Rosel, was healing those wounds.
Was that desperate departure—his atonement for that day's choice? She resented him for leaving behind just a single diary and vanishing so abruptly. He could have at least said a proper goodbye. She didn't resent the sword he'd wielded that day, but she did resent this end. What was left after death? It would have been better if he'd lived and atoned.
Today, more than ever, she resented Dubel for departing so meaninglessly.
But even in her grief, no tears came. The premonition had softened the shock. And her master wouldn't want tears shed over his end. If it was a choice born of atonement, the best farewell was to pray for his peace.
Emilia pressed her palms together and closed her eyes.
'Please... go to a good place, Master.'
With that prayer for his soul, Emilia drew her bond with Dubel to a close. He'd been one of the people who'd shaped her into a hero during their months of shared trials, so ending it brought sorrow—but a departed carriage never looks back.
And as her master had said, if he'd left her that freedom, wasting it in grief would dishonor his choice. Better to move toward the future. Above all, her master didn't want her sadness, so Emilia simply stared into the distance with eyes grown misty and heavy.
"...Are you all right, Emilia?"
Rosel asked worriedly from behind her. But moments later, as she turned with a smile, he felt his concern ease. He thought to himself that the scab over her wounds was like a sturdy shield, protecting the new flesh beneath. And how fortunate that was.
"...I'm fine, Master."
Rosel's face softened into a pleased smile at hers.
—Knock knock knock.
"Ah, looks like she's here."
Someone knocked on Emilia's door. Rosel opened it to find Jichel entering with a neatly folded dress and vest, a few hairpins in her other hand.
"My lord, I've prepared as you commanded."
"Thank you for your hard work, Jichel."
"It's nothing."
"Then take good care of Emilia. I need to fetch something, so I'll step out for a bit."
"Yes, my lord."
Emilia, having set aside her resentment toward Dubel while cherishing her lingering affection, gazed blankly at Rosel.
"Master...?"
"Didn't I tell you? It's time to prepare for your return to Emilia. Jichel will restore you to the Emilia of that day."
"M-Master..."
At the words "the Emilia of that day," a complex expression crossed Emilia's face. It felt awkward, unfamiliar. Returning to that time, that self. The image from those days had been erased so thoroughly she'd barely remembered it—and now it felt utterly foreign. Unreal. Unimaginable.
She'd never dreamed that after the hell of the underground dungeon, a bright life awaited. She'd expected a wretched existence as a sex slave. Never dared imagine reclaiming her place as the hero Emilia. It had been too grand a dream for a slave.
Yet here it was, unfolding. Of course, shedding slave garb and changing her hairstyle didn't make her the hero Emilia again—but the process beginning filled her with a touch of fear. She'd felt hope shatter into despair all too keenly. That's why she feared this growing hope with her master Rosel turning to despair once more. The higher the hope, the deeper the fall.
Sensing that fear, Rosel approached and took her hand.
"M-Master..."
"Don't be afraid. I swore an oath to protect you with my life."
"An... oath? To whom...?"
Like a knight to his lord, an oath was a promise to someone—so Emilia asked curiously.
"To Roden. He insisted I protect you no matter what."
"Ah... R-Roden...?"
A duke swearing to a commoner boy like Roden might sound like a joke to others, but Emilia knew Rosel wasn't one for jests. And she knew Roden was no ordinary boy. From that, she felt a warm truth, and it gave her courage.
"...I'll try, Master."
"Good. We'll take it one step at a time, like climbing stairs. Eventually, we'll reach the real you."
Climbing on her own would be best, but given how broken she'd been—her legs metaphorically severed—Rosel intended to carry her up if needed. Together, they'd reach salvation's end.
"Then I'll be off."
"Yes, Master."
Rosel released her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb, and left the room. He had something to fetch. Dubel hadn't left just the diary.
"Then let's begin, Lady Emilia."
"...P-Please, call me comfortably, Jichel."
There'd been no order to address Isel as "Lady Emilia," but Jichel did so anyway. Outside the estate, she'd use Isel—but within these walls, she wanted to show respect. Her esteemed lord wished for Emilia's recovery, so she'd join that cause. Nothing more.
Well... Emilia did feel a bit like a daughter.
Jichel spread the dress neatly on the table.
"It's fine. This feels right."
It was the name and honorific she'd always heard before the betrayal, yet it burdened Emilia now. But she didn't refuse again. She had to adapt to the discomfort.
"Then shall we have you undress?"
"...Y-Yes. I'm trembling..."
"No need to worry. It's a comfortable dress."
She'd undressed for showers before, but this was different. Not mere changing clothes, but a shedding—like a snake sloughing its skin. Casting off the stale slave rags for new clothes, a new life. Fear mingled with an unfamiliar thrill.
Swish.
Emilia slipped off her top, then her bottoms. Jichel glanced at her torso in mild surprise before averting her eyes.
"Wh-Why?"
Emilia looked down, wondering if something was stuck there, but saw nothing.
"Ah... Th-They're... quite impressive. I hadn't realized, Lady Emilia."
"N-No... Not really."
"Your figure matches your beauty perfectly. A brighter dress would suit you, but the lord said it might be too much for you now, so I prepared a simple one."
Jichel spared no praise. They say praise makes even whales dance—and she had to. It was a truly magnificent figure: long, shapely legs, toned lower abdomen, slender waist, delicate yet ideal shoulders and neck, slim wrists and ankles. Like a sculptor's masterpiece, it mesmerized Jichel.
"Th-That's... embarrassing..."
"Oh—s-sorry. It's just... I've never seen such a perfect figure. Forgive my rudeness."
"R-Rudeness? It's fine. Sh-Should we get dressed?"
Jichel composed herself and helped Emilia into the plain white dress—a commoner's style, single-colored with a vest. Practical over ostentatious noblewear; the vest even had pockets.
"Ngh...!"
"Hup...!"
Emilia's ample chest made the vest's top refuse to close. Holding her breath only swelled it more dramatically. Finally, sweating profusely, Jichel conceded defeat—her first in thirty years as a maid. She'd misjudged from the loose slave clothes. And she'd never seen Emilia properly during baths with young Lady Silia, who stayed in the tub.
"Hah... This style won't work. One moment, Lady Emilia."
"Ah, y-yes..."
Feeling guilty for troubling Jichel over her own chest, Emilia bowed her head like a sinner. But as Jichel stepped out, her gaze lifted to her reflection in the full-length mirror.
"P-Pretty..."
A plain dress, no patterns or lace—yet stunningly beautiful. Overwhelmingly so. She'd never imagined donning such a thing again. Not as a sex slave dressing for her master's pleasure, but as a person. Even this simple garb moved her deeply.
She was so grateful. To her master, who made this happiness possible.
"Thank you... Master... truly."
Emilia twirled, the skirt fluttering lightly. Jichel entered, watching fondly.
"With your figure and beauty, even this plain dress outshines fine gowns."
"Ahh...!"
Caught up in the dress, unaware of Jichel, Emilia let out a low cry and flushed crimson. It felt like being caught in wrongdoing.
"I-I mean..."
"It's fine. Loving dresses is natural for a woman, right?"
"F-For a woman..."
Her beet-red face echoed the words. "As a woman"—so natural, yet alien. Her slave life had made "as a slave" fit better; she'd forgotten she was a "woman," a full person.
"...What's wrong?"
Jichel unfolded a new vest, eyeing Emilia's touched expression as she fiddled with the neckline.
"N-Nothing... Just feels awkward in a dress."
"Hehe, I see."
Jichel chuckled lightly. In her lifelong service, she'd always restrained her emotions—the noble house like a blood-soaked battlefield, survival demanding control. That's how she'd met the noble Rosel. Even after, until Emilia arrived, she'd been coldly dutiful. Now, she smiled. Rosel's ducal estate felt like home, not war; no need for mere "survival." Or rather, she'd felt it before but clung to habit.
"You look stunning even if it feels awkward. I want to dress you in even prettier ones soon."
"Th-Thank you..."
"Now, the vest?"
"Yes."
Emilia spread her arms; Jichel fitted the new vest—one with a deep plunge for her exceptional(?) bust, fastening only at the bottom.
"Hm, perfect."
"Ah, um... Isn't it a bit... provocative?"
Her prominent chest on display, Emilia tucked hair behind her ear shyly, glancing down.
Jichel tightened the waist ties.
"Not at all. Your pure beauty keeps it from being so. It suits you perfectly."
"R-Really...?"
"Hehe, yes. Now sit. I'll trim the damaged ends and style your hair prettily."
The lovely commoner attire complete, Emilia sat with a warm smile. Jichel stood behind, using her honed grooming skills to restore Emilia's lost true appearance.
"...Truly beautiful. The title 'peerless beauty' suits you perfectly, Lady Emilia."
Trimming split ends, smoothing the texture, tying it elegantly, applying light makeup—Jichel beamed with pride. A beauty surpassing any noble lady she'd adorned bloomed anew on Emilia's face.
"Y-You're too kind..."
Emilia squirmed bashfully yet stole glances at her mirror self. Thus, the Emilia of that day revived in the glass.