163. The Legal Husband

2024.03.11.

The old count was startled by the beautiful yet desolate eyes, but he didn’t show it.

Unlike the initial confusion over Clade’s sudden visit, now that he knew from Eugene’s testimony that Clade was the primary force behind the eradication of the long-standing pirate threat in the south, the old count could face Clade with entirely different feelings.

In the old count’s weary eyes, a spark of hope—never seen before—had begun to glow.

During his lifetime, thanks to the strong relationships he had built with neighboring countries adjacent to the east, even Emperor Igor couldn’t act recklessly toward the eastern region.

But after his death, the situation would change drastically.

Without a central figure, the anti-emperor faction had been unable to organize effectively. Yet now that Clade had grown into an impressive figure, contrary to rumors, the circumstances would shift completely.

He gestured toward Lancelot Rev, the one who had always delivered the long-admired Marquis Rev’s letters.

Under the old count’s silent approval, Lancelot, who had been standing at a distance watching where Clade’s gaze lingered, approached Clade.

The old count nodded meaningfully and then disappeared.

As soon as Clade saw them, he turned to leave, but Lancelot quickly called out, chasing after him.

“The old count is favorable toward us. He even spread the rumor that you came to the east to enjoy the Harvest Festival’s Night of Madness.”

Still chasing Clade, who pushed through the crowd without so much as a scoff, Lancelot continued.

“Who’s going to stop you? I came alone.”

As Clade climbed into a carriage with no insignia, Lancelot swiftly followed and closed the door behind him.

Once the outside noise was blocked, he lowered his voice further.

“I’m on your side, you know?”

“Eddie is on my side too.”

When Clade forced a smile in reply, Lancelot returned it and nodded.

“Still, if Eddie had come, you two would’ve ended up fistfighting right in the middle of the east. Isn’t it better that I came? Huh?”

Lancelot asked, rubbing his slightly damp eyes.

Instead of answering, Clade half-opened the window and turned his gaze to the people enjoying the first day of the Harvest Festival.

“Cold bastard. I practically dragged myself here instead of Eddie.”

“Eddie.”

“There’s been a monster sighting in the northeastern Drietter Grand Duchy. The crazy northerners directly requested support from Father, so Eddie got furious and volunteered to go. His mind’s completely occupied with that.”

Hearing that the frail Lord Rev Marquis had been summoned for the monster extermination order, Clade turned his gaze from the window to Lancelot.

Lancelot reassured him, speaking directly to his hardened eyes.

“It’s the Drietter Grand Duchy. The Grand Duke isn’t particularly hostile to us. Besides, we’ve sent a letter to Ariesta—no, to the pigeon—confirming Marquis Rev’s support. They’ll take good care of things.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“To help you!”

Lancelot answered, jumping slightly at the wary look in Clade’s eyes.

“I think differently from Eddie. I’ve said it before. Let’s clear up every discomfort about your wife. Support her as much as possible if she’s suffering. I also took the chance while visiting my family to smuggle out a personal physician and some medicine. Plus, I wanted to gauge the atmosphere in the east. Honestly, things are going better than expected—I’m almost stunned. Eddie nearly came too.”

Lancelot chuckled, recalling the old count.

“I thought we’d have to work hard to win over those stiff easterners, but they’re so cooperative I feel like punching myself—no, punching Eddie in the head. When I showed Father’s letter, the old count even teared up a little. It’s incomparable to the south. They’re ready to support you fully, not because you’ve proven your strength, but simply because they’ve confirmed you’re not some utterly reckless bastard.”

The carriage entered Count Kimfri’s mansion and stopped in the backyard.

Lancelot followed Clade out, glanced around the antique mansion layered with history, and upon seeing the room assigned to Clade, his mouth dropped open.

He had stayed in countless guest rooms of noble mansions, but none this large and lavish—except perhaps the imperial palace.

It was a direct reflection of how highly the old count regarded Clade.

While Lancelot stood gawking at Clade’s room in awe.

Clade’s sunken gaze, since entering the room, had remained fixed outside the window—on the distant back gate and the commotion in the square beyond.

Lancelot called Clade’s name several times, then gave up.

Though Clade’s face looked as solid as one that no needle could pierce, Lancelot, who had known him his entire life, recognized the flicker in his eyes—restlessness.

Instead of continuing to call out, Lancelot simply stood beside him.

“There’s no excuse.”

At the quiet words, Lancelot turned his shimmering eyes toward Clade.

Clade’s eyes were sunken with exhaustion, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“I don’t have an excuse to stay by her side.”

At the raw, hoarse voice, Lancelot sharply inhaled.

Like someone who had seen something he shouldn’t have, he turned his gaze to the window and tightly gripped the windowsill with both hands.

He had seen countless versions of Clade—versions that trembled and shattered endlessly—but never one so weakened.

He forced his trembling voice under control.

“Why not? You’re her legal husband.”

“I don’t know.”

Clade replied in a self-mocking tone.

“My heart. Her heart.”

“Clade.”

“She vomits blood and suffers in agony. Yet those quack doctors keep saying there’s nothing wrong with her body.”

Clade roughly rubbed his pale, bloodless cheek.

“Even Yuan Pelliese, even the doctors, say she’s fine—so I’m supposed to just accept that and leave? I know that….”

Clade couldn’t continue, clenching his teeth. Below his protruding jawbone, a vein bulged in his neck.

When his cheeks, repeatedly flushing red then turning pale, slowly regained their color, Lancelot, who had silently watched, finally spoke.

“What does your wife want?”

“I hope we never have to see each other’s faces again.”

At the voice that struck his chest like a sudden blow, Clade violently shut the window.

“Do you love me?”

Just that one phrase.

Was it really that important?

Hadn’t he once said—was their relationship ever built on love? Had the woman spoken love because he whispered love?

Lancelot watched quietly as Clade roughly wiped his face and slumped into a chair.

“This marriage is already broken. I know it well. Yuan Pelliese knows it too. The only reason I can’t just walk away now is because we’re still legally husband and wife….”

Clade fell silent for a long moment, then whispered.

“I don’t know. Like her, I’m just doing as I please now.”

No further words were needed—Clade looked thoroughly confused and tormented.

Lancelot had expected that Clade, rushing all the way to the east, must have done something drastic. But he hadn’t anticipated that Clade would be suffering so alone.

Growing uneasy himself, Lancelot calmly summarized.

“What about your wife? Does she still love you?”

Lancelot asked, looking down at the silent Clade.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t ask.”

That woman just…

Clade mumbled, crushing the words in his palm as he rubbed his face violently.

“She kept searching only for Eugene Kimfri, as if she couldn’t stand being with me for even a single moment.”

Throughout his stay, Clade had gone to the room where Yuan resided.

Each time, he arrived accompanied by an impressive group of physicians, causing passersby to turn and gape in disbelief.

With so many doctors crowding before the door, Yuan had no choice but to open it and receive daily examinations.

Every time the quacks listed endless minor ailments, she remained unfazed, merely wearing a calm, knowing smile as if to say, “Of course.”

But from a certain day onward, it became more frequent that Eugene Kimfri, rather than Yuan, was the one to greet Clade first.

Clade was nearly driven mad by how much he resented the sight of Eugene Kimfri acting like Yuan’s husband, and the old count rushing out the moment he heard Eugene had left the room, desperate to speak with him alone.

Watching Clade grow sharper and sharper with unease, Lancelot blinked rapidly when Clade’s gaze suddenly turned to him.

A chill ran down his spine as the usually cold cousin, showing no sign of warmth despite not having seen him in ages, nor uttering a single word of thanks for coming in Eddie’s place, twisted his lips into a cruel sneer.

“What? What’s wrong with you?”

“When do you think the monster extermination will end?”

“Eh, the monster extermination Eddie went to?”

Lancelot answered quickly, unsettled by the dark tone.

“He’s been gone over a week. Since it was sudden, it shouldn’t take long. Might’ve ended today.”

Meaning Eddie’s attention would return to Clade very soon.

“I’m going out. Don’t move from here.”

“Huh?”

Clade shoved Lancelot onto the massive bed and pulled the blanket over him.

“If someone knocks, pretend it’s me.”

“You—what about you?”

Lancelot sat up abruptly, arms crossed over his chest.

But he received no answer from Clade.

For in the blink of an eye, Clade, sword in hand, had leapt out the window.

***

Tasha seemed to have officially started dating Noel.

She often didn’t return to her room at night, and whenever faint movement stirred in the early morning, she’d briefly wake to hear Noel’s soft voice quietly leaking from beyond her door.

Today, after bickering all day during the Harvest Festival, the two had quickly disappeared together at nightfall.

Yuan, having finished her bath, lay alone in an empty room, idly touching her damp hair.

Everything she had done today felt like a dream.

Among so many people. Mingling with those she could call friends, rolling giant dough.

Dividing it, baking it in a massive oven, and distributing it to everyone gathered in the square.

She had been so absorbed imagining how many such joyful and exhilarating things existed in the world that she hadn’t noticed time passing.

‘Would someone like Clade even find enjoyment in doing such things?’

At the end of her thoughts, as always, came that face. Yuan stiffened like a guilty person and shook her head.

Her hands, drying her hair with a towel, moved faster.

Ignoring Clade was incredibly difficult for her too.

Thinking of Clade returning tomorrow with a group of doctors, and the idea of waking early to take the symptom-relieving medicine Enock had prepared, gave her a headache.

Late at night.

Someone knocked on the door—right at that moment.

Yuan quickly combed her half-dry hair, straightened her clothes, and stood before the door.

“Who is it?”

Feeling uneasy at the silence beyond, Yuan tensed and asked again, multiple times.

Just as she was about to step forward and pull the cord to call her servants, a voice seeped through from outside, breaking the long silence.

“Your legal husband.”

She held her breath at the low, smooth voice.

“Open the door.”

“…It’s late. Please go back—”

An utterly inescapable voice seeped through the door.

“I’m sick.”