After I Died, My Husband Went Mad - Chapter 220

While Claude happily rummaged through the crumpled documents, Dehart discreetly circled the exhibition hall before heading back into the city.

Whether it was fortunate or not, he found no suspicious devices or any signs of tampering.

“So, what now? Should we head back?”

Frowning and arms folded, Dehart stared at the plaza, now tinged red by the setting sun. The reports from the spies he’d placed among the eastern nobles, including Silas—would come in at dawn. For now, he had some time.

After a moment’s thought, Dehart loosened his tie and gestured to Eli. With no suspicion, Eli stepped forward—only to yelp in surprise when Dehart ruffled his hair.

“Ow! What are you doing?”

“That suits you.”

Dehart said, clearly pleased with his handiwork as he messed up Eli’s hair. Then, without another word, he spun on his heel and strode into the nearest tailor shop.

Grumbling, Eli followed after him.

“Hmm.”

A short while later, Dehart emerged wearing a deeply pulled-down hat, looking like any ordinary office worker. Of course, he still gave off that unmistakable aura.

“Let’s go.”

Without hesitation, Dehart set off for District 4’s Marlen quarter—known as the haven of artists. Eli, realizing belatedly where they were headed, asked.

“Are we going to check on the exhibition participants?”

Dehart just nodded. This exhibition was mainly composed of eastern artists favored by the First Queen. If there were any underhanded tricks at play, surveying the atmosphere wasn’t a bad idea.

Besides, Marlen was somewhere Sebelia had always wanted to visit. Dehart kept that second reason to himself as he set off at a leisurely pace.

Before long, Marlen came into view. Open-air cafés and bars lined the street, welcoming guests with signboards advertising prices hardly believable for the capital.

Eli followed, quietly impressed.

The streets were bustling with penniless artists and young intellectuals. It took them several minutes to cross a single block—proof of Marlen’s immense popularity.

“Tsk.”

Dehart clicked his tongue as the crowds jostled him. Still, the sea of people was perfect for concealing his identity—though it was undeniably unpleasant.

Moving slowly, Dehart began to pick out the artists sitting at the cafés, those who were listed as exhibition participants. They were engaged in lively debates on every topic imaginable.

“I wonder how the Third Prince is these days. He’s a kindred spirit to us, after all.”

“You mean the one always wandering the countryside? I’ve heard he’s fallen for some beautiful woman out in the countryside.”

“How romantic!”

Doesn’t seem like any funny business here.

Dehart picked up on the peaceful, almost lazy mood. He was about to move on—planning to check out the area where Nathan and his gang usually hung out.

Then someone in the crowd caught his eye.

“….”

An elderly man, likely old enough to have several grandchildren, moved slowly down the street, constantly squinting at shop signs as if his eyesight was poor.

Dehart’s attention was drawn to him purely by chance—but recognizing who he was, that was pure instinct. Pulling his hat lower, a sly smile crept across Dehart’s face.

Talk about luck.

In Lang Elisa, distant from the north, especially in the unique beauty of Marlen quarter, Dehart would never have imagined running into him.

Roden Aldreit.

He was the very man who had been secretly feeding Dehart dangerous d***s for years.

“Hah.”

He walked along with a pale face. Whatever was keeping the man so busy, he certainly looked worse for wear compared to last time. Of course, it had been six or seven years since their last meeting, so it would be no wonder he was hard to recognize.

Still, Roden Aldreit’s appearance was surprisingly neat. Not exactly what you’d expect from a former doctor, but it wasn’t out of place either.

Noticing the change in Dehart’s demeanor, Eli leaned over, abandoning his beer.

“Should we follow him?”

“Keep your distance and don’t lose sight.”

Dehart stood up with a cold smile on his face, and began tailing Roden. For once, the press of bodies in the crowd didn’t bother him at all—in fact, the thrill sent chills down his spine.

Thump, thump. Dehart kept a careful distance as he followed Roden. Roden paused frequently, glancing around, but eventually found his destination and walked on with purpose.

Like a predator stalking prey, Dehart followed in silence. It was an area just off the bustling center of Marlen Hill.