#49. Emilia Curious About Her Master
Rosel had stepped out of the room to receive a report from Sir Duraton, leaving Emilia alone. She carefully spread her hero's garb across the bed—the clothes that held the memories of that day. Most of them were unpleasant, of course, but somehow, she could feel the true Emilia within them. The real Emilia who had shouted at the top of her lungs that she was no traitor.
"Wait... does this mean the prophecy will come true after all?"
The thought struck her suddenly. Duke Rosel was preparing a revolution for her sake, and for the kingdom's. Given what an extraordinary man her master was, he would surely succeed. And if she joined him, wouldn't that make her the prophesied rebel? But the injustice of it burned too fiercely for her to accept that. They had branded her a traitor without a shred of evidence—despite her never even dreaming of rebellion—tortured her, and sold her into slavery. Wasn't it only natural to dream of revenge? Had the prophecy foreseen her sale to Duke Rosel? And the distant future where she would spark a revolution against the rotten kingdom alongside him?
"Wait... then the phrase 'the hero who will save the kingdom' does kind of fit...?"
She had once questioned it, but Yuria the saint had always dismissed her with, "I am merely a vessel transmitting the words of the Lord God." Which implied the Lord God Himself had said it... Even chewing it over again now, the doubts yielded no answers. All she wanted was to see Yuria once more—to ask if that prophecy was truly real, or a fabrication born of external pressure. Yuria's eyes that day in the royal court had been filled with unmistakable sorrow. If the prophecy was true, why had she looked so heartbroken? And it was absurd to think her party members would lie over a future that hadn't even happened.
Right. If the prophecy was real, lying to justify it makes no sense. Backing a prophecy with lies wouldn't make it true—what would it be, then?
Such thoughts had been impossible in her life of slavish submission. Back then, the terror of tomorrow had left no room to reflect on the past. But now she could see it clearly: the prophecy's so-called justification was built on falsehoods.
Does Master know...?
Come to think of it, Biela had met with Master alone and then confessed her sins to Emilia. What on earth had happened? Unless Master knew the prophecy was false, how else could he have drawn out her confession so swiftly? It didn't make sense otherwise.
Should I ask him next time we meet...?
They had only ever spoken of healing and recovery, never delving into the past. Master had probably been too cautious to bring it up himself.
Yes, now it's my turn to start the conversation.
In truth, she had never truly shared deep stories with her master, Rosel. More precisely, she had never heard his inner thoughts. Because of that, there was so much she didn't know about him. She was curious. How had a commoner risen to duke? How did his precognition work? Did he have parents? No fiancée? How had he come to adopt Silia? What was his ultimate goal? And so on.
Come to think of it... I don't know a single thing about him...?
She was even ignorant of his age. Emilia blinked in surprise at herself. Strangely, her master seemed to know her inside and out. The food he brought matched her tastes too perfectly to be coincidence. And honestly, it puzzled her a bit. Why did he treat her so kindly? Why spend 500 gold—a fortune—on someone he barely knew, asking nothing in return but her recovery? She was deeply grateful, of course. But it felt excessive for mere repayment for slaying the Demon King. And the way he looked at her was always filled with affection.
She had assumed it was pity. He was kind-hearted and good, after all—pity-tinged affection for a fallen hero. Though sometimes it felt a touch more tender.
She hadn't dwelled on it. But now she understood: she was an unworthy slave receiving love far beyond her deserts.
Ugh. Now I feel so sorry toward Master.
Since arriving at this mansion, she had been showered with kindness—kindness without strings. Yet she knew nothing of the man she respected as her master. As one who served him, she couldn't let that slide.
How could I not even know his age? I've only been taking and taking.
And he had promised before that, when the time came, he would share the unfinished tales. Until then, learning about him would be her way of repaying that kindness. Who knew? In getting to know him, she might discover what else he truly desired.
Yes...! It's time I started learning about Master...!
Even if what he truly wanted was her virginity—she, Emilia, was now prepared to offer it to him. Terrifying as it might be.
***
After the storm had passed, an unaccustomed peace settled over the Rosel mansion. The maids and servants, who had been holding their breath in rigid tension, could finally relax. Jichel, who had been sweating bullets managing them; Gellion, buried in noble errands without a moment's rest—all regained their composure and snatched a brief respite. King Brikal had collapsed, yet the Rosel mansion carried on as peacefully as ever.
And Silia was no exception. She had fretted over what that vile king might do to the hero, so this relief was especially sweet.
"Hum-dee-dum~"
Her steps toward the hero's room were as light as a mountain rabbit's, a cheerful tune humming from her nose. Knock-knock, knockity-knock. Her usual playful rapping on the door. The moment it opened, she darted inside.
Today was the day for the third installment of the comic, and she seemed even more excited for it.
"Welcome, Lady Silia."
"Eek!"
But as Silia stepped in, her eyes went wide and she let out a shriek—as if she'd seen a ghost. Slender braids like a noble elf's tied back in three strands; lustrous golden hair cascading to her wingbones; flawless porcelain skin gleaming from a base layer of makeup; and a dress to top it all off. To Silia, who had only known Emilia in ragged, threadbare clothes with unkempt hair, this transformation was shocking.
"H-Hero...? Wh-What's going on?"
"D-Does it look strange...?"
"No...! It's insane!"
"P-Pardon?"
"Your beauty is absolutely insane...! Oh, no."
Silia snapped to her senses and smacked her own pink lips as if scolding them.
"S-Sorry. I was just so surprised."
"Ah... Master and Jichel did this for me."
"Dad and Jichel?"
"Yes."
Silia clapped her hands over her mouth in disbelief, circling Emilia repeatedly with gasps of admiration.
"Wow... whoa... woooow...!"
"L-Lady Silia... it's embarrassing."
"This is epic!"
Finishing her appraisal(?), Silia flashed double thumbs-up at the change. Emilia shyly tucked her hair behind her ear, a smile playing on her lips. It felt like life was easing back into normalcy. She was gradually adapting to the freedom Dubel had left her.
"You're far prettier than any noble lady I've ever seen. Though you were always beautiful, of course!"
"Th-Thank you. That's flattering. Here's the third chapter."
She was adapting, but her self-esteem was still too low to bask in praise outright. Emilia handed over the third page to change the subject. Silia, naturally, beamed and snatched it up.
"Squee! The next part! I'll devour it gratefully!"
"Y-Yes."
Having her creation scrutinized right before her eyes felt like being an idol auditioning. Emilia fidgeted, stealing glances at Silia while awaiting judgment.
A moment later, Silia set the paper on the table.
"W-Was it fun?"
But Silia's expression was dark. The comic was thrilling—the current arc followed their adventures en route to slay the Demon King. Yet it soured her mood. No, more like it filled her with sadness and rage.
"Your party members are the worst! How could they betray you after all your sacrifices?"
This chapter depicted Emilia facing the Death Knight—one of the Four Heavenly Kings—alone to save her endangered comrades. Taking the wounds in their stead, battling solo. It had been perilously close; she'd nearly died.
Silia's eyes welled with tears at the tale—tears born of genuine care, laced with fury and sorrow.
"I don't know what happened. But things started changing on the way back from the Demon King's castle?"
"No way! If they knew something, they should've told you first! Daltan, Gleon, Biela—any of them!"
"W-Well, there must've been a reason...? Betrayal's betrayal, though."
"Even with a reason, after all you sacrificed for them, they had no right! They're unforgivable!"
Silia spat her tirade in righteous anger, defending Emilia fiercely. Having learned the hero party's true story through the comics, how could she not be furious? It made her blood boil.
"Hmph! Those party members deserve every punishment! The absolute worst!"
Emilia watched her fervent reader(?)'s unrelenting rant with a warm smile. It felt like having a thousand troops at her back—solid and reassuring.
Thus ended comic critique time. As Silia grumbled on, Emilia ventured cautiously, "Lady Silia, may I ask something?"
"Of course~! What is it?"
"How old is Master? I realized I don't know a thing about him..."
"Age? Twenty-three."
"Twenty-three?"
"Why?"
"Oh, nothing."
Emilia swallowed the words he looks older and nodded. His title as duke and mature aura had made her assume at least twenty-five, so his youth surprised her.
Well, his vibe is mature, but he does look twenty-three.
By this world's standards, she was twenty-four. Choi Yoon-seo's modern age was twenty-one, but Emilia's body was twenty-four—making her a year older than Master.
...Does he like older women...?
A mere year's gap, but in this world, women older than their men were exceedingly rare in relationships. Among nobles, nonexistent. Emilia felt a pang of melancholy.
Silia eyed her with a sly(?) grin.
"Suddenly curious about Dad's age~? Why, Hero?"
"N-No, it's not that. Just... you know."
"Just?"
"Y-Yes. To serve my master properly, I need the basics."
"That's really all~?"
Silia already knew Dad and the hero shared a tender bond, so the question delighted her. She hoped the hero would become her new mom.
After a thoughtful pause, Silia grinned and said, "Hero, could you give me that self-portrait you drew?"
"P-Pardon? Why?"
It was drawn solely for Silia—and to never forget her modern self as Choi Yoon-seo.
"I wanna show Dad. He'll love it."
Whoosh! At the mention of showing Rosel, Emilia's face flushed crimson. She hadn't imagined presenting it to Master.
But those sparkling puppy eyes won out. She retrieved the self-portrait from the drawer. Embarrassing, yes—but it was her true self. Just as she was starting to learn about Master, showing her real face was important too.
"H-Here."
"Eee, I'll watch Dad's reaction super closely and report back! But he'll definitely love it!"
* Patter-patter-patter. Like a love-struck messenger, Silia hurried on short legs to the study and burst in.
"Oh, Silia. What brings you?"
"Got something to show you~"
Her hands clasped behind her back hid the self-portrait, her lips twitching with excitement. She was sure he'd be thrilled. Dad doted on the hero more than anyone.
Waiting for Sir Duraton's report, Rosel sat at his desk and gazed warmly at Silia as she approached.
"What could make this dad so expectant?"
"Hee-hee, ta-da!"
Brimming with glee, Silia thrust the portrait right in Rosel's face.
His breath caught.
"Wh-Who is this...?"
He knew, but feigned ignorance. Silia, thrilled at his shock, boasted proudly.
"It's the hero from her world's days! Super pretty, right?!"
"Ah... yes, truly beautiful..."
Rosel stared at the paper's depiction of Emilia's other face. He examined every curve, every feature with meticulous care.
"Yes... this was her face..."
The murmur slipped out unbidden. Silia blinked blankly, scrutinizing her father's every expression, oblivious to its meaning.
Rosel took the portrait. His eyes reddened slightly as he looked down and said to Silia, "Could you ask Emilia if I may keep this?"
"The self-portrait? Hee-hee, I knew you'd love it, Dad!"
Patter-patter. Silia scampered out again. Rosel gazed at the portrait with misty eyes.
Then he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, placing it beside the self-portrait. Unlike the clean, vivid lines of Emilia's drawing, this one was crude and blurry. Comparing them, Rosel chuckled softly.
"Heh, as expected—no talent for art."
The beautifully rendered face of Choi Yoon-seo. The human, hazy sketch of Choi Yoon-seo.
He had tried his best, but it was mere scribble compared to an art major's work.
"Yes... this was your face, Yoon-seo."
His lips curved in a smile laced with warmth, longing, joy—a complex tapestry of emotions. And so, he spent long minutes gazing at Choi Yoon-seo's face until Sir Duraton entered the study.