After I Died, My Husband Went Mad [EN]: Chapter 18

Thoughts and explanations were useless now.

Faced with her death, all words felt hollow.

Dyhart simply ran. He ran even when his horse screamed, stumbled, and finally collapsed.

‘What a mess,’ he thought bitterly. The thought flashed through his mind, a cruel mockery. But his legs kept moving.

He didn’t know when the sun had set, or when his rain-soaked clothes had dried.

When had his throat become so parched, and when had he closed his eyes?

He remembered nothing, had no reason to remember, and even if he did, there was no time to recall. And so, Dyhart arrived in the North. To his homeland, his home, his family. And, of course, Sebelia should have been there. But all he saw was a sea of black mourning attire. The startled eyes of the servants.

“Ah.”

Dragging his mud-caked shoes, Dyhart ran towards the sound of the tolling bell.

Through the window, he could hear the priest’s low recitation. It was the final farewell, completely separating her from this world.

‘No way.’

It can’t be.

I can’t let you go.

Bang!

The cold air inside the funeral hall hit him like a wall. But Dyhart took a step forward. Ignoring the stares that seemed to push him back, he headed to the highest point, the platform. There, she was waiting for him.

“…No way.”

Sebelia lay there with a sorrowful face, peacefully closing her eyes. She looked completely at peace, as if she had finally escaped the pain he had caused her and found solace.

“…Ah.”

A scream he couldn’t release burned inside him. A crimson emotion clawed at his eyes.

“This can’t be real. You, really…”

His arrogant knees gave way, and he fell before her. Dyhart trembled, clutching the coffin.

“No, Sebelia. No, please…”

Pitter-patter, raindrops hit the window. Thunder began to rumble in the distance. It was a fitting day to mourn the Duchess’s unfortunate death.

* * *

Crash!

“Kyaa!”

With a deafening roar, the window shattered. Shards of glass scattered across the floor.

“Haa, haa…”

The bloodied servants clung to the walls, gasping for breath. They couldn’t even remember how many days it had been. The bizarre phenomena that had begun after the Duchess’s funeral were increasingly plunging Hillend Hall into fear.

A maid embraced a servant’s arm, asking in a trembling voice. A long scar was etched on her neck, the mark of a glass shard that had grazed her.

“W-what should we do?”

“Let’s tell the butler first. If we stay here any longer…”

The servant was about to leave the hallway, patting the maid with blood-caked hands, when—

Crash!

As if waiting for this moment, the ground shook violently. A bolt of pure white lightning struck the roof.

“Aaaagh!”

Screams erupted from everywhere in an instant.

“Kyaa! Someone come here, James fell off the ladder!”

Four days had passed since Sebelia’s funeral.

Hillend was turning into a living hell.

* * *

Standing before the shattered window, Dyhart gazed down at the mansion with dark, sunken eyes. Servants scurrying about, the butler busily calming them. Even Gren, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Haha.”

It was a ridiculous sight, hardly befitting the aftermath of a funeral.

‘The nobles who came to pay their respects will probably all leave in disgust.’

‘They’ll gossip about how this is the true state of the infamous Inverness family, doing as they please.’

Good, very terribly good. There was no greater joy than seeing the family’s prestige and honor buried in the mud.

Dyhart, who had been laughing for some time, suddenly froze, his face turning pale.

“…Sebelia.”

A wave of depression crashed over him like lightning.

His emotions swung wildly, like a ship tossed between the peaks and troughs of a stormy sea.

“You should be seeing this.”

You should witness Gren, who deceived you, wearing such an ugly face.

Then…

‘Ah, but what’s the point of all this?’

Dyhart shuddered with disillusionment. No, in fact, his hands had been trembling even before that.

“Haa…”

Everything was awful. Everything in this mansion was unbearably disgusting.

“But the most awful thing must be me.”

Mocking his own hypocrisy, Dyhart turned away. Bottles of liquor and dreamweed [a fictional or euphemistic term for a drug] scattered on the table greeted him.

“It’s all just an excuse anyway…”

He packed the dreamweed into his pipe instead of tobacco. This marvelous substance showed him a hallucination of Sebelia. It even showed him Sebelia loving him, waiting for him. An empty laugh escaped his lips.

Ah, if only he hadn’t pushed her so hard back then.

Instead of getting angry and turning away, if only he had asked her about her circumstances, even just once.

As always, regret came to him belatedly. And he welcomed the regret, which held sharp whips in both hands, with open arms.

“…Cough!”

A mouthful of blood spurted from his lips as he deeply inhaled the smoke. Yet, his eyes were filled with emotion, wandering somewhere in the void.

“Ah, Sebelia. You. You were there.”

Dyhart reached out his hand towards her.

“Come here.”

The sharp edge of the glass grazed his hand.

* * *

“What on earth are you thinking, Dyhart!”

The first thing he saw when he came to his senses was Flora, her eyes filled with tears, and Gren, on the verge of collapsing.

“Please stop it. Sebelia’s death was already a great loss, but if even you…”.

Dyhart blinked silently, recalling that he had been pulled up by someone just before he fell from the window.

‘Ryan.’

His eyes scanned the room. But Ryan was nowhere to be seen.

“…….”

Dyhart tried to get up and return to the room where he had been staying.

‘Sebelia only appears there.’

However, the moment he stepped out of bed, Flora’s thoughtless words snapped his reason.

“Brother, how long are you going to keep doing this because of that cursed woman?”

Clang! Clatter!

As soon as Flora finished speaking, all the glasses and crafts in the room burst at once.

“What are you doing now?”

Gren stared at Dyhart with disbelief.

“Do you still think…”

Dyhart continued, raising his thunderous golden eyes from amidst his disheveled black hair.

“I still don’t know anything?”

A sharp sneer followed. Gren’s expression stiffened in an instant.

‘Could it be.’

A sliver of doubt arose in her heart. Meanwhile, Flora, with a frightened face, shook her head and grabbed his wrist.

“Brother, please don’t do this.”

He wasn’t in his right mind right now. That crazy woman was trying to devour even her brother.

“Please come to your senses, okay? I’ll call a shaman to bring you back…”

At that moment, his gaze, which had been fixed on Gren, turned to Flora.

“Did you know too?”

“Pardon?”

‘If she knew, since when? Before her rights were stripped? Or…’

With a haggard face, disheveled clothes, and fiercely gleaming eyes, he looked like a madman.

‘S-Scary.’

Flora instinctively released her grip and stepped back. But Dyhart was relentless.

“Stop it, please.”

Gren, unable to watch any longer, stepped in front of Flora.

“Dyhart, let’s not inflict wounds on family over something that’s already done.”

Not a trace of shame could be found on her face as she held her head high.

“And as you know, Sebelia’s death was her own tragedy.”

Gren was inwardly grateful she had committed suicide alone.

What would have happened if she had hired an assassin? Cold sweat trickled down her back.

‘Judging by her attitude, she probably only realized the extent of the old tricks.’

Gren inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

‘That’s a relief.’

At times like this, she had to be brazen. The moment she bowed her head before wrongdoing, it was no different from handing victory to the opponent. Gren tried to persuade Dyhart with an exceptionally gentle and sorrowful voice.

“We were just doing what needed to be done for Inverness. Just as the late Duke’s family wanted.”

“……”

The same words as Rasch, the same attitude.

Flames ignited in Dyhart’s eyes as he looked up at Gren. He slowly rose from his seat. Gren instinctively hugged Flora and distanced herself. However, Dyhart didn’t rush at her.

“Do you know what, Aunt?”

Dyhart, who had swept back his disheveled hair, stared at her with eyes sharpened by weight loss. At the same time, small lights began to crackle on the floor throughout the room.

“What is this…!”

The sight of the room, now ablaze, was reflected in Gren’s astonished face.

The carpets, tapestries, and thick curtains covering the windows, even the door made of the finest wood, were consumed by white flames. Soon, small explosions began to erupt.

“They say you drive out mice by setting them on fire.”

Adding an explanation in a languid tone, Dyhart personally opened the window.

“But since you’re family, it’s a bit much to watch you suffocate before my eyes. Now, what do you think? If jumping is too difficult, I’ll give you a push.”

“Brother!”

Along with Flora’s scream, a strong wind whipped past his cheek.

“…He’s finally lost it. That cursed blood has awakened.”

Dyhart met Gren’s glare and smiled coldly. The fact that he was crazy wasn’t something he needed to deny.