‘Karin Difon Valstar,’ who entered an unwanted marriage, always wished her husband would die.
The man who dragged her into the mud with a single vulgar gesture.
A vagrant of foreign blood with no refinement, no learning, and nothing to his name but the ability to cut people down.
He may be called a hero of the empire now, but she had long been sick to death of his disgraceful conduct that could not hide his origins.
On top of that, the way he obsessed over her went beyond unsightly and bordered on contemptible.
Then one day, that husband suddenly died.
“This…… is Feron?”
The man said to be able to level an entire forest with his sword energy alone had gone out on a hunt and returned as a headless corpse.
But even more astonishing than this undignified death was the fact that the husband she had buried after holding his funeral walked back into the manor perfectly alive.
“I’m home, my lady.”
And he came back equipped with the refinement he would not have learned even if someone had beaten it into him before.
* * *
“You are not my husband.”
“Why not?”
“Because my husband is dead.”
Watching Karin, who could not bring herself to trust him, Feron whispered quietly.
“We can just verify it. Through something certain that only you and I, the two of us, would know.”
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