Come and Cry at My Funeral - Chapter 170
“Hoh…”
In the capital, where the priests wielded considerable influence, such things couldn’t be openly discussed. But there was no doubt—this was an extraordinary power.
A power similar to that which could annihilate monsters.
Could it be that she was, in fact, a unique being?
“I even heard that His Highness the Imperial Grandson is re-examining the Duchess’s background. What if she really…”
“Oh, that’s just a rumor… surely.”
But there was another reason, beyond the mysterious background of the vanished woman, why none of them could voice their complaints or frustrations.
And as soon as they saw the recently returned search party, all the knights clenched their jaws and found themselves sweating involuntarily.
Izar Arcturus.
Now the undisputed head of the Arcturus family, beyond any restrictions imposed by the imperial court.
He had always been a figure worthy of respect, but those who had seen him standing, drenched in dragon blood after severing its head, couldn’t shake the shivers in their spines.
The shadows on his face, the increasingly sharp line of his jaw, and those piercing golden eyes—they made him seem like the god of death himself.
Izar even wondered if he had become a servant of death already.
Otherwise, why did he feel as though he were walking through nightmares every time he closed his eyes?
He listened to the tense reports of his subordinates, issuing instructions in response.
But the only sound that penetrated his mind was that voice, echoing vividly in his ears.
〈Come back safely. I’ll be waiting.〉
The woman who had whispered those words shyly after they kissed.
It was strange.
In a way, hadn’t he finally achieved everything he had pursued his entire life?
The emperor’s pardon, freedom from the constraints on his family. The fame that had risen even higher after he single-handedly prevented a catastrophe by stopping the dragon that could have razed the entire imperial palace.
Yet he had never felt a moment of exhilaration over slaying that immense beast. Such glory passed him by as meaninglessly as a shallow stream.
〈Only a child I choose to bear will be my child!〉
〈Being born to parents like us… you’ll end up the same way.〉
Just before falling asleep with Freesia in his arms, he recalled the curse that had echoed from his own flesh and blood, his parents, yet he had defiantly countered it in his mind.
They had said those things, yes.
But I am different. This woman cherishes the memory of our child, a part of me, with such tenderness.
She doesn’t find it repulsive.
This woman was his first love and his first taste of true happiness.
From the moment he realized that, Izar had unconsciously envisioned a future like this.
A future in which he restored his family’s honor, healed Freesia’s fragile body, and kept her by his side forever.
He would honor the child they had lost beneath the wild roses she spoke of…
Perhaps they could even bear a child in this life.
A child who would be raised by parents who stayed by each other’s side.
A child who would never be used as a pawn to forcibly claim a wife’s affection.
But the hopeful vision he had held in his heart, too faint to speak aloud, shattered into pieces before it could ever be voiced.
Imagining her captured, possibly with his despised half-brother, felt like having his throat cut from the inside.
The thought of her in another man’s hands was torturous. But as time passed, the thought that drove him mad was her survival.
‘Could Freesia still be alive?’
For the first time, Izar realized.
Losing a loved one felt like slowly spiraling down to the depths of hell.
Surely he wouldn’t kill her. Surely he wouldn’t imprison his wife in some deep, dark place.
Surely he wouldn’t… torture that small woman.
The image of her in pain was so vivid in his mind that he couldn’t sleep.
The only reason Izar hadn’t lost his mind to that fear was a single memory.
When his half-brother had healed Freesia’s seizures, there had been a fleeting moment in which he’d shown compassion.
Though it felt humiliating to cling to that one moment of emotion, he had no other choice.
“Milord, you must rest, even for a little.”
Back at the camp, even after returning, Izar couldn’t bring himself to put down the map, and one of his loyal retainers approached him with concern in his voice.
Without turning, Izar already knew who had spoken.
“…Charles.”
“Yes, Milord, you called for me?”
“How many years have you been by my side as my aide?”
“Pardon…?”
Charles forced his stiff lips to move and answered.
“…Since you inherited the dukedom early, it has been… thirteen years, Milord.”
“Right. In all that time, I’ve never doubted your loyalty.”
Izar slowly turned his gaze to his longtime aide.
“So, was it for the ‘family’s sake’ that you drugged Freesia’s drink?”
