The Slave Who Dreamed a Happy Dream, The Master Who Shed Sad Tears
I'm so happy! The sequel to Throne's Adventure is finally out! I've been waiting 364 days for this! Hee hee, I can't wait. Ah, I just can't focus in class today~ Sorry, Professor. That's how much I love Throne's Adventure~
My heart's pounding. Three hours felt like it flew by in less than one. Ah, it was so good. Gotta own this one! Friendship, loyalty, teamwork. And those epic adventures with awesome companions! It's flawless. Exactly the story I've always dreamed of!
Man, I wanna be born into that world too, adventuring with hot, handsome comrades on breathtaking quests. Reality sucks. Overdue assignments, tuition, job worries—everything's so stressful and suffocating. Someone, please let me be reborn in that amazing world!
Screeech!
"Hic."
Isel lifted her head with a sharp intake of breath, just as she always did after crying herself to sleep from exhaustion. The room was now filled with pitch-black darkness. How long had it been since she'd slept so deeply? She felt incredibly refreshed.
Isel turned to glance at the wall clock. It was already pointing to 2 a.m.
"..."
Yet beneath the clock stood a figure. Red slit-like eyebrows, pale blue hair, and black eyes gleaming even in the dark—they were fixed on her.
It was Rosel.
"...Had a good dream, did you?"
Rosel had arrived thirty minutes earlier, bringing food and a small gift. He'd waited. For some reason, Isel seemed to be having a pleasant dream in her sleep. He couldn't bring himself to wake her. He didn't want to disturb it, and he hoped her happy dream wouldn't end because of him.
"...Yes."
Isel nodded. It had been so long since she'd dreamed—and a good one at that. Perhaps that's why tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. Not the sorrowful ones she usually wiped away upon waking, but something different.
Rosel smiled warmly and sat at the wooden table. His own eyes held a faint mist.
"I'm glad. A good dream."
He meant it. If the dream hadn't ended, he might have stayed all night, listening to her sleep-talk.
As Rosel sat, Isel sat up. On the wooden table sat a bowl of cooled food and something wrapped in red cloth.
"Brought the leftovers again today."
Isel knew it was an obvious lie by now. But she didn't know the truth—that Rosel skipped dinner every night for this single bowl. To evade Jichel's sharp eyes, he always requested his evening meal in the study, where lavish spreads weren't possible. And since taking in Isel, he'd kept things simple to avoid suspicion. Of course, the study's snacks filled him up enough; he wasn't truly hungry.
"Come, eat. This'll be tasty too."
Today's dish was pork stir-fried with spices and strong-flavored vegetables—the scent perfectly masked any gaminess, making it one of Isel's favorites.
Isel sat without hesitation and expressed her gratitude.
"Thank you..."
"...No need to thank me. I'm not the sort you should be thanking."
"Pardon?"
"...Never mind. Eat up."
"Yes."
Isel picked up her fork and dug in. How does my master know my tastes so well? This was her second-favorite after grilled red salmon, so she didn't stop.
"Good to see you're recovering quickly. Oh, and my daughter was rude today. Let me apologize for that."
"N-no, it's fine..."
"As amends, I prepared a small gift. Unwrap the red cloth after you eat."
"...A gift?"
"Well, less a gift and more a treatment aid."
Isel chewed vigorously, cheeks bulging, eyes on the red cloth. Rosel watched her fondly.
"You eat so well—it's a pleasure. Tell me if you want anything else."
"...Nothing."
"Alright, let me know if you think of something. Applying the ointment properly?"
"Yes."
Rosel eyed the glass bottles on the table. Both were noticeably depleted. He nodded in satisfaction. Soon, Isel finished, wiping her mouth with the handkerchief Rosel offered. She'd scraped the bowl clean, not leaving a single vegetable.
Her gaze turned to the red cloth.
"Curious? Go ahead, open it."
"Yes."
Isel pulled back the cloth at once. What she saw made her doubt her eyes.
A small, adorable bird sat inside a cage. Red face, orange beak, pale green body, green wings—a tiny parrot.
"Th-this is..."
Isel's face lit up in shock as she stared. It was an orange-beaked parrot, known for its intelligence; well-trained, it could even hold simple conversations. And this one...
It was the bird that had perched on her shoulder throughout her journeys, sharing her adventures. Though it had met its end in the dead of night, alerting her to a monster attack.
To the moved Isel, Rosel grumbled curtly.
"I don't want my slave losing her mind. It won't be great company, but at least it'll listen."
"Ah... Th-thank you."
"Right, then rest."
Rosel stood, picking up the empty bowl. But Isel called to him—for the first time since arriving, initiating speech.
"M-Master..."
Rosel, back turned, smiled. Tremendous progress. Perhaps her shattered heart was mending a little. Pride swelled, but he schooled his face to neutrality before turning.
"What is it?"
"Um, well..."
"Speak freely. I'm not going to scold you."
"Y-you said... you'd tell me why you brought me here once the scars are gone..."
Still too scared to meet his eyes, Isel hunched her shoulders and bowed her head.
"Yes."
"Sorry, but... it's hard to apply on my back..."
Rosel gazed down at her golden blonde crown and nodded warmly. Her recovery was faster than expected—he couldn't hide his joy. Isel really is a strong woman.
"You want help?"
"Y-yes, please..."
"Then as your master, I should. Sit on the bed."
At Rosel's words, Isel demurely perched on the bed's edge, turning sideways to bare her back. Rosel picked up the glass bottle and sat to her right. As their bodies touched, his breath trembled.
"...Take it off. Can't apply it otherwise."
Isel hesitated briefly, then gripped her top's hem and stripped it off. Moonlight gleamed on her snowy bare skin. Rosel's eyes widened.
His eyes, similar to Silia's yet a shade lighter black, dilated fully. And trembled.
He hadn't expected this. His cream-laden hand froze; his gaping mouth refused to close in horror.
He knew she'd endured brutal torture—from the scars visible in the carriage. He'd anticipated some on her back.
But not this.
Her lower back bore over ten thick gashes at a glance; her upper back at least that many. Especially around her shoulder blades—a massive burn, palm-sized, skin charred and cratered like granite. The pain was unimaginable.
A lament escaped Rosel at Isel's honeycomb of a back.
How much it must have hurt. How agonizing.
"Haa..."
"Wh-why?"
Isel had never seen her own back—no mirrors in the underground dungeon. Knowing this, Rosel swallowed his grief.
"N-no, it's just... how hard it must have been..."
"..."
At his consoling words, Isel bowed her head. Showing her scarred back wasn't shameful. It was her pitiful state, needing comfort, that saddened her.
"..."
"..."
Silence fell. Rosel's trembling hand began applying the cream. How could anyone mar such a delicate back like this?
"...Lots of scars?"
Isel asked cautiously, worried it might burden him.
"...Not too many."
"G-good..."
She sighed in relief. Late hour made people sensitive; she feared his mood shifting.
But then, his hand paused. Something leaned against her nape; warm breath spread across her back.
"...M-Master?"
And then—his sudden sobs startled her.
"...I'm sorry... Isel... Truly sorry."
"Pardon...?"
Rosel apologized to her. Hot tears traced his cheeks, wetting her back. Isel couldn't yet grasp the meaning.
"Pathetic..."
After meticulously applying the cream and leaving the room, those were Rosel's first words. As master, he should maintain dignity, yet those unfathomable scars drew tears. Already stirred by her dream-talk, perhaps.
He felt like crawling into a hole from her shock. "Hoo."
Shaking off sorrow with a sigh, Rosel walked the darkened corridor.
This was a world of force. To protect what was his, overwhelming power was essential.
Click.
Entering the study, Rosel stood before the bookshelf. Noble estates always hid secret spaces—for dark secrets or treasures. Never obvious.
He pushed a book in the upper-right corner. The shelf swung open like a door. Long-sealed, musty dust assailed him.
And at the small space's center gleamed something iridescent. A tiny ring, its light's texture extraordinary at a glance.
"..."
Rosel took it. King Brikal kept no strong warriors or mages close—post-revival, arrogance bred tyranny. He exiled threats to remote borders.
Nebron the Sword Count. Rusillan the Ice Grand Duke. And others.
Thus, Rosel had extracted and sealed mana here for the future.
And that future was now approaching.