Chapter 6: A girl chasing dreams, a slave whose dreams have ended.

The study in the mansion.

As always, Rosel was reviewing documents when the study door swung open without a knock, and a reflexive, warm smile appeared on his face.

There was only one person in the lord’s mansion who could open the study door so rudely—his adopted daughter, Levion Del Silia.

“Daddy~”

“My sweet Silia~ Come here.”

Rosel stood from his desk and hugged Silia tightly as she ran into his arms.

Holding the tiny young lady, barely half his size, gave him a sense of relief from the constant stress of paperwork.

When he spun her around a few times, as she loved, Silia giggled gleefully in his embrace.

“So, what brings my daughter here? Weren’t you playing with Roden?”

“Nope~ I wanted to ask Daddy something.”

“Oh? What is it?”

Silia pouted with a playful expression. The dignified demeanor she showed when with Roden seemed to melt away in Rosel’s arms.

“Well, Roden keeps saying Lady Emilia the Hero is a traitor. That’s not true, right? You think the same as me, right?”

“Haha, is that what Roden said?”

“Yes! That brat! He doesn’t even know we owe her our peaceful nights!”

Rosel chuckled at Silia’s adorable indignation.

Despite the kingdom’s slander claiming Emilia merely reaped the rewards of her party’s efforts, Silia firmly believed in her.

In fact, even within the mansion, whispers among the staff suggested Emilia had fallen victim to a conspiracy.

As the first female hero, Emilia had garnered significant support from women, especially in Elond Kingdom, where women’s rights and status were notably lower.

This inequality stemmed from King Bricall’s misogyny and male supremacist ideals.

Rosel even knew that the family of Biela, the only female in Emilia’s party, had received only half the promised rewards.

“It’s true, right? Daddy, Lady Emilia isn’t a traitor, right? You know everything!”

“The king must have had his reasons for such a judgment. But sometimes, holding onto faith is what matters most.”

“Hold onto faith…?”

Rosel gently stroked Silia’s still-plump cheeks.

“Do you trust Daddy, my Silia?”

“Of course!”

“Then you know Daddy has never made a wrong decision, right?”

“Totally~ Daddy knows everything!”

“Good. Then, you can believe whatever Daddy says, can’t you?”

“Geez, I said yes already~ What is it?”

Silia playfully wiggled, urging him to speak, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Rosel decided it was time to reveal Emilia’s presence.

It wasn’t something that could be hidden for long anyway.

He leaned in and whispered to her, framing it as a secret—a concept perfectly suited for a thirteen-year-old.

At that age, girls loved secrets.

“Lady Emilia the Hero is staying here in our mansion.”

“Huh? Really? Did Daddy bring her here?”

“Yes. But her heart is deeply wounded, so she needs some time to rest. For now, Daddy will secretly help her recover. Can you help me too?”

Silia, who had inherited her biological father’s talent for swordsmanship and possessed a sharp mind for her age, quickly grasped the significance of “secretly.”

Pouting slightly and tapping her rosy lips with a finger, she eventually nodded with enthusiasm.

“Yes, sir! I will carry out Daddy’s orders!”

“Haha, you adorable thing. This will be our little secret, okay?”

Rosel raised a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture, and Silia giggled as she mimicked him.

He wanted to protect her innocence for as long as possible.

In a kingdom like Elond, where women’s rights were suppressed, her dream of becoming a female hero was precious.

“Okay~!”

“Then, I’ll be off now.”

Silia kissed Rosel on the cheek and left the study.

As if signaling a change in players, the study door opened again, this time accompanied by a knock. Gellion entered.

“Haha, young Lady Silia seems to resemble you more and more each day, my lord.”

“Haha, welcome, Gellion. At times, I wonder if she truly isn’t my biological child, despite knowing otherwise.”

“Haha, that’s because of your esteemed reputation and noble heart, my lord.”

Rosel gave a gentle smile.

As Gellion said, Silia was growing more and more like him in many ways, despite the fact that their bond had begun under the humblest of circumstances.

“So, what brings you here?”

“I have an urgent matter to discuss.”

“An urgent matter, you say? Then please, take a seat.”

Knowing that whenever Gellion prefaced a conversation with the word *urgent*, it usually meant a lengthy discussion.

Rosel took a seat on the sofa, and Gellion sat on the right-hand side of the upper seat.

“Is this about Esil?”

“Haha, as expected, my lord, I cannot keep anything from you.”

Once again impressed by his lord’s insight, Gellion got straight to the point.

“Esil is a convicted traitor. May I ask why you allowed her to come here?”

At Gellion’s question, Rosel nodded, as if acknowledging that it was a fair query.

He had anticipated this question.

Gellion, a staunch loyalist to the kingdom and trusted by the king himself, was naturally displeased with Esil’s presence.

Moreover, Rosel himself was outwardly regarded as part of the pro-royalist faction.

“What do you believe is the proper punishment for a traitor, Steward?”

Rather than answering directly, Rosel posed a counter-question, causing Gellion to fall silent in contemplation.

But there was little to contemplate.

The law of the kingdom dictated execution by one of the three immediate methods as the standard punishment.

“Execution, of course.”

Rosel nodded in agreement.

“Correct. Execution. And yet, the king released her. Likely intending for her to be sold to a noble household, where she would be forced into servitude as a s*x s*ave, meeting a miserable end.”

That was, indeed, the reality of the situation.

Had Rosel not purchased Esil, that would have been her fate.

Rosel adjusted his posture, his tone and expression growing firmer, his crimson brows subtly arching to convey his determination.

“However, I see things differently.”

“Differently? In what way?”

“Do you recall two years ago when our small domain was attacked by a band of thieves?”

Gellion remembered it vividly.

It had been shortly after he had assumed his role as the steward of this estate.

A band of about fifty thieves infiltrated the estate at dawn, exploiting the vulnerability of the western gate, which had been opened by a spy they had planted.

At the time, Rosel, preoccupied with building a new chapter of history, had failed to predict such an attack.

Five of the estate’s residents lost their lives.

Fortunately, thanks to significant investments Rosel had made in training the guards, there were no further casualties, and they successfully captured thirty of the thieves.

Rosel had faced a dilemma.

At the time, the estate needed laborers to support its development.

After much effort, he persuaded the grieving residents and sentenced the captured thieves to forced labor to atone for their crimes.

They worked in the very place they had tried to destroy, ironically laboring to rebuild and strengthen it as part of their penance.

“What became of them?”

“They’ve all been performing their duties faithfully to this day.”

Now, those former thieves were working sincerely for the estate and making significant contributions to its growth, even aiding in the production of pencils.

“I believe that making someone pay for their crimes with death is, in fact, a lenient punishment. Murderers should live to atone for the lives they took, and thieves should live to repair the damage they caused. That is how true justice is served.”

“Then, does that mean…”

Gellion felt as though he had been struck by his lord’s words.

He knew well enough that his lord was not the type of man to keep a “s*x s*ave” or anything of the sort.

Instead, Gellion had worried that his lord might have purchased her out of pity, which would have been seen as an act of defiance against the king.

But now, it was clear that his lord’s intentions were the exact opposite.

Rosel offered a calm smile.

“A traitor is someone who endangered the kingdom. Therefore, the proper atonement for such a crime is to perform labor for the benefit of the kingdom.”

As if struck by an epiphany, Gellion slapped his thigh with his palm.

“Ah… as expected, Your Grace has such profound wisdom!”

“However, due to the gravity of her crime, she must work as a s*ave for life, with no compensation for her labor.”

“Haha, understood!”

Gellion bowed his head slightly in respect, his earlier concerns now put to rest.

With such noble intentions, his worries had been unnecessary.

“Well, I shall take my leave then.”

Rising from his seat, Gellion offered his farewell and left the study.

Rosel remained alone.

He let out a low sigh as he leaned his head back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

Then, he closed his eyes.

Gellion was a perceptive man, skilled at reading situations with an insight born of experience.

Lying to someone like him was no easy task.

Still, it seemed he had successfully wrapped things up.

Though Rosel was eager to reveal the card that would clear Esil’s name, everything had its time.

Unripe fruit is bitter and inedible.

With that thought, Rosel rested for a moment, eyes closed.

“It’s working…”

Esil murmured as she examined the scars that had begun to fade slightly.

The Neo-Elves, known for their healing magic, were a rare and extraordinary race. Their powers surpassed even the mightiest holy priests.

Two vials of their healing salve cost ten gold coins.

Why had Duke Rosel spent such a fortune to remove her scars?

‘…Ah.’

A thought struck her.

Of course. A s*ave covered in scars would hardly be beautiful. Perhaps he intended to erase the scars for some grand scheme in the future.

‘…Well, it’s an order, after all.’

With that in mind, Esil diligently applied the cream to the scars on her chest and abdomen.

At this rate, she might finally hear from her master in a few days why he had purchased her.

‘But… how am I supposed to apply it to my back?’

She could fumble around to reach her lower back, but her hands couldn’t reach her upper back.

No matter how many times she tried, it was impossible.

Particularly on the areas near her shoulder blades, where severe burn scars remained—a reminder of the time her tormentors had pressed red-hot irons against her skin.

‘Sigh…’

—Knock, knock, knock.

At that moment, a knock sounded on the door.

Esil quickly sealed the jar and put on her clothes.

She walked to the door.

The knock wasn’t from her master, Rosel.

Nor was it the steward, who had recently delivered bread to her for dinner.

‘…Who could it be?’

The unfamiliar knock made Esil’s eyes fill with renewed fear.

Her trembling hand opened the door, but no one was there.

“Over here! Hero! You’re really here!”

At the sound of a voice calling out to her, she looked down to see a little girl smiling brightly.

It was Silia, the child who believed in her.

This time, Esil’s eyes held a different kind of fear altogether.