After I Died, My Husband Went Mad - Chapter 22
She had a bad feeling about today.
Sebelia tilted her head uneasily as she inspected her corpse for the last time.
“It feels so strange.”
She stood up, leaving the fake corpse lying on the bed. The air that should have been warm from the sunlight stirred ominously as she approached the window. She peeked through the drawn curtains, her chest rising and falling with each staggered breath.
That’s…
It was the shaman.
A man in gray robes paced around the guest house. His unusual attire made it easy for Sebelia to recognize him at a glance.
A shaman? Why on earth…!
She realized that the curse that was causing such a stir in the manor had brought him here. The worries and fears of the household had reached a breaking point.
“Oh, no…”
Sebelia quickly recalled what she knew about shamans and breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, shamans didn’t have much to do with illusions – their realm was largely limited to curses, spiritual bindings, and herbs.
“But I can’t just stand by and watch.”
Sebelia shifted her position by the window so as not to be seen, still carefully observing the shaman. Luckily, he seemed to be without tools, only circling the guest house today and perhaps doing a rudimentary inspection. Shamans wielded illusions and other unorthodox powers, and while he wouldn’t be able to detect them… She could still end up trapped in the guest house if she made a mistake.
They could use lifting the curse as an excuse to imprison me.
With that thought, Sebelia sprinted down the stairs and grabbed Denisa who was preparing dinner.
“Denisa!”
“My Lady?”
Denisa looked up in surprise from stirring her ladle. Seeing the look of urgency on Sebelia’s face, Denisa flinched and threw off her apron.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m going to execute my plan tonight.”
“What?”
The date they had previously planned for was two days away, but Sebelia had an ominous feeling. Tonight, this very night, everything had to be done.
“I apologize for the change of plans, but there are shamans out there, and I need you to contact the people we’ve enlisted immediately.”
“Very well.”
At the mention of a shaman, Denisa immediately understood the situation. She grabbed her coat and left the guest house. Once she was gone, Sebelia was alone. She rubbed her pale fingertips together and let out a shaky breath.
“It’s going to be alright.”
She thought of the fake corpse lying upstairs and the things she’d prepared for her escape.
“I can do this.”
She pressed her forehead to her clasped hands and whispered to herself for a long time before rising to her feet. She went up to her room, where she began to write, fiercely determined.
The final step in a successful death: writing a suicide note.
* * *
“Dehart, calm down,” said Roger with a shaky voice. “I have no idea what’s gotten into you.”
The man was sprawled on the floor in a room with thick walls on all sides. He was still shaken by Dehart’s sudden, unannounced entrance through the door which had left him covered in blood.
“Yes, I understand. I know you’re disappointed in me for coming in and out of a place like this, but I have my reasons.”
Roger felt a pit in his stomach and continued to make excuses. He chalked up Dehart’s unruly behavior to him simply being concerned about him. He firmly believed in Dehart’s affection and trust for him. He was like a father who had raised him himself, after all.
I need to get him out of here before he wakes up….
Swallowing hard, Roger’s eyes quickly swept over the sprawled guild master. He needed to do it now.
“Uncle.” Dehart, who had been silent the entire time, listening to his excuses, called out to him.
Roger’s heart jumped and then sank. “Y–yes.”
The moment their eyes met again, Roger realized something had gone terribly wrong.
“I gave you a chance.”
“What do you mean…oh, God.”
Gold eyes burning cold, a crisp white glow at the edges. He was furious.
He can’t…
Roger stumbled backward, unable to stop himself. Something was wrong. Dehart was on the verge of exploding right now. This was more than just a temper tantrum caused by his uncle being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If Dehart, who trusted him like a father, could be so angry, it was most likely because…
Roger gulped. His collar felt uncomfortably tight around his neck. It was too late. Dehart smiled gently at Roger who was now turning as blue as a frog before a viper.
“You once taught me swordsmanship when I was younger.”
“D–Dehart, don’t do this. We’re family…”
“We are family, and that’s why I’m taking care of you.”
With a boyish grin, Dehart grabbed Roger by the collar.
