Come and Cry at My Funeral - Chapter 34
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This monster hunt ended much earlier than expected due to its small scale. Still, Izar planned to leave well after wrapping up the campaign.
He saw no need to change his original plans for a certain ‘someone’ at the castle.
But somehow, he found the thread bracelet wound around his wrist, fiddled by his finger.
The accessory, made of thick, smooth black thread and gold wire, was utterly useless.
Just like the person who made it.
Yet, as he fiddled with it, the unique texture of the weave was clearly indented upon his skin.
He felt pathetic, like someone addicted to tobacco or alcohol.
‘Surely, I’ve lost my mind somewhere.’
And to think she seriously believed those words?
<It is as a village woman who admires you that I give this to you, Duke.>
It was absurd, yet part of the anger he had harbored for so long dissipated into futility.
He had set out upon hearing rumors of a great beast, only to find a kitten without claws, hissing in the darkness.
Meanwhile, Van, who had been assisting Izar, trembled slightly.
‘So she really made it…’
To think she earnestly followed the advice he had given carelessly.
Seeing the thread bracelet, he didn’t know what to say, feeling a surge of pity.
As a mere vassal, Van had no place to sympathize with the ‘Duchess’.
However, having already seen the new bride of the domain anxious about her husband’s departure, he thought helping her once more wouldn’t cause much trouble.
He approached Izar and cleared his throat.
“My lord, if I may. I have a suggestion.”
“What is it, Sir Dike?”
“How about you return first?”
“…”
“The scale is small, so only a few people need to handle the aftermath.”
Izar made no reply to that. However, his silence did not imply disagreement.
But Charles Károli rebuked him from the side.
“Sir Dike, what are you talking about! The Duke always oversees the aftermath himself!”
“The aftermath can be handled as usual.”
It was not uncommon for the Duke and his close aides to return first, leaving the rest of the subordinates to check the devastated area and report back.
Only then did Izar gruffly rebuke Van, looking straight ahead.
“Nonsense. Return to your position, Sir Dike.”
He wanted to see the thread bracelet no more and put it back into his pocket.
…But when he took out the thread bracelet for the thirtieth time or so, he sighed in frustration.
“Haah, fine.”
He had to admit it.
Just as the texture of this thread bracelet had seeped into his senses, thoughts of the shepherdess had wormed their way into his heart, whether those thoughts were annoyance, guilt, or anything else.
‘She’ll probably be humiliated at the tea party.’
His stepmother was surely pushing the shepherdess into a subtle hunt by the ladies.
But any humiliation the woman would suffer was ultimately his own humiliation.
‘They say it’s better to be beaten quickly.’
Then, it seemed better to just endure the unpleasantness and partake in that disgrace.
So, he and a few close aides set off for the castle ahead of schedule.
He didn’t think it necessary to send a message.
‘I’ll arrive before any message could anyway.’
Yet, the servants who greeted him seemed too panicked for his early arrival.
“Your Grace! First, let— let us take care of the equipment.”
“Never mind that. Is the tea party over?”
He expected to find one humiliated noblewoman complaining, but the castle was eerily quiet.
Uncomfortably quiet.
Like the stark silence before facing a beast.
“…Where are the Elder Madam and that woman?”
“The thing is, umm…”
Those who had worked here for a long time hesitated.
But then, the red-haired maid shouted robustly.
“The Madam is with the Elder Madam!”
She was the maid assigned to the shepherdess from the capital.
He thought about correcting the displeasing title of ‘Madam’, but decided to meet them first.
What scene had he expected to find? Had he thought his stepmother would be lecturing the shepherdess in a typical manner?
Then why did the butler look so pale and alarmed when he unlocked the door at his command?
“…What is this.”
As the door opened, it felt like he was peering into a foggy nightmare.
The room was filled with the smell of blood and the fragrance of sweetbriar.
The sickening mix of the bitter scent of iron and wild roses made him want to vomit.
“What on earth…”
And on the floor lay a woman with flaxen brown hair, motionless as if she had fallen unconscious. Her white dress was rolled up to her knees, completely stained with blood.
Her legs exposed beneath were gruesomely torn apart.
“…What exactly are you doing right now.”
His voice sounded distant, as if someone else was speaking through him. A sharp pain suddenly hit his temples as if he had been bludgeoned.
It was the dizzying pain of someone smashing that spot with a sledge hammer.
At the same time, a voice from his childhood overlapped.
<Father, what are you doing?>
The throbbing in his veins seemed to reach his eardrums.
Thump, thump.
Just like when he naively opened a door in his youth.
Just like when he would discover a woman curled up on the floor, crying.
“I, Izar.”
Startled by Electra’s stuttering voice, he suddenly snapped back to reality.
Electra was holding a bloody sweetbrier switch.
And that blood came from the shepherdess…