Come and Cry at My Funeral - Chapter 285

The Emperor believed that Izar, out of a sense of honor, stubbornness, and patience, would forever endure his resentment. Wasn’t that only natural?

But when the bastard woman died, Izar Arcturus let go of all his duties.

He no longer answered the Emperor’s summons, nor did he send the ducal knights in response to other territories’ pleas for aid.

And this, of all times, when the rebels had appeared alongside unimaginably terrifying monsters.

When even repeated summons received no reply from Izar, the Emperor, finally unable to stand it, sent an imperial messenger to the duchy.

He acknowledged it was a mistake to have sent House Antares, with nothing but pride, to him. It was also a mistake to have underestimated how deeply that man had become attached to the crippled woman.

“Tsk. Go and offer my condolences. Tell him I will yield this once, so there’s no need for any more of this protest.”

But when the messenger finally arrived at the estate and saw the duke, he gasped. It was as if he’d stepped into a cave full of cold air, his chest frozen.

“Y… Your Grace.”

In a shaded corner of the garden where he was led, a dark-haired man was wiping the hand of a woman lying in a glass coffin.

Anyone would have seen the scene as a husband tending to his sick wife.

But the ‘illegitimate duchess’ had undeniably died and been buried.

That, too, was many days ago.

Yet, whether it was some magical preservation, the woman’s body showed not the slightest sign of decay.

Before the messenger could decide what to do, Izar looked away from the woman’s face.

“…What is it?”

Those golden eyes, always burning with anger and stubbornness when facing the Emperor, were now faded and dull. Though his gaze was on the messenger, his focus was just slightly off, as if staring into a distant void.

The messenger swallowed hard, seized by the instinctive fear one feels before a madman.

“His… His Majesty the Emperor has sent condolences for the departed, so I have come to deliver his words.”

“……”

“He said he deeply regrets the death of the Duchess, and—”

“Who, exactly, is dead?”

The man, who had let the messenger speak until now, finally reacted. On his face, weathered like an old statue, anger flickered.

“I knew His Majesty was going senile, but he should at least know his limits.”

“Y-Your Grace…”

“Sending condolences for someone who’s perfectly alive. Hah.”

At Izar’s mocking reply, the messenger was at a loss for words. Only then did he realize why the servants who had led him here looked so frightened.

This was not a protest against the Emperor’s actions.

The duke had truly gone mad.

When the messenger lost his words and could only open and close his mouth, Izar gradually withdrew the anger from his face. He did not wish to raise his voice beside his sleeping woman.

“My wife is not dead.”

“Your Grace—”

“She is merely asleep, that’s all.”

Izar went back to wiping the woman’s hand, muttering to himself.

He personally took care of the sleeping woman every day, making sure she was never uncomfortable. He gathered flowers she might like and placed them in her arms, and though he wasn’t much of a talker, he would occasionally strike up a conversation with her.

He had a vague sense of what people said about him.

That his grief had driven him mad… but he was never sad to begin with. The woman was only sleeping, so why should he be sad?

“She’s not dead…”

She had told him she would wait for him when he left. But he had returned far too late, and she must have grown weary.

Because he’d made her wait too long. Because he had turned away from her for too long. Because he hadn’t believed in her, leaving her in pain and hardship for so long…

To the woman who suffered more than anyone at the loss of their child, he had spoken words of betrayal and fear.

He had not confessed his wrongs about the marriage contract nor sought her forgiveness in advance.

So, of course, she had simply fallen asleep from exhaustion.

‘If I just wait a little longer, she’ll wake up.’

Having gritted his teeth and waited desperately before, Izar knew he could do it again if it was for her.

Seeing the duke’s state, the messenger gave up on delivering the Emperor’s condolences.

“Your Grace. I fully understand how difficult it must be to leave your wife’s side. But the Empire is in grave danger…”

“Is that so.”

“Your Grace, I beg you to send support to the southern manors. It’s not just the rebels, but monsters have devastated the entire region. At this rate, the Empire will fall—”

“Fall, hm… Well, wouldn’t that be fine?”

“…Excuse me?”

The messenger’s expression turned to utter shock.

Was this truly Duke Arcturus? The man who had always lived for his house’s honor and duty?

“There is no Imperial Prince, and the Second Prince’s heir is gone because of my mother. So the imperial family is finished. What’s the point of struggling?”

“Your Grace!”

“Leave now. And if you send another messenger, tell them I’ll return his head.”

Izar, who responded to the Emperor only with answers that bordered on insolence, no longer cared what would happen next.