My Husband Lives in a Painting - Chapter 66

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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My Husband Lives in a Painting – Episode 66
“Come to think of it, my connection with the Young Duke began far longer ago than I realized. My younger sister was a maid at his estate, you see.”
“…….”
“Looking back, it seems he was always so very kind to both of us even then. He’s truly a warm-hearted man.”
……What did he just say?
“Excuse me, brother.”
“Yes?”
I opened my mouth, desperate for one final confirmation.
I steadied my breathing carefully, terrified my voice might betray me.
“Where is Meden now?”
“Ah, well…….”
Illos could not hide his confusion, his gaze dropping away.
After a moment, he spoke again, his voice heavy with bitterness.
“Meden passed away ten years ago. A carriage accident.”
* * *
The empire was home to only a handful of families with ducal rank.
The last duchy had been granted centuries before, so each great house carried a history of profound antiquity.
Thus it was perhaps inevitable that each developed its own secret customs, rooted deep within the walls of their isolation.
In Calangco, the ducal house kept a whipping girl.
It was one of the grotesque traditions born from such closed-off worlds.
“You’ve made another mistake, Densum.”
Another day like any other.
The Duke’s gaze upon his son was glacial.
“P-please forgive me, Father! Next time I swear I won’t—!”
“No. If you had truly reflected, you would not repeat the same error.”
The Duke cut off Densum’s words as if with a blade and raised the willow switch without a word.
“Meden.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Meden approached obediently and lifted her skirts, then the switch of woven willow branches whistled through the air.
What followed was, as always, the lashing of flesh that wept blood and split open.
“……Ugh.”
Densum watched the scene with eyes brimming with tears—until his father, punishment complete, sent him one final icy glare and left the room.
The door closed with a soft click, and the Duke vanished. Only then did Densum’s tears spill over.
“H-hngh! Sob…….”
“Young Master, are you all right?”
“Why did Father bring someone like me into this world? I’m so stupid, so worthless!”
“Don’t say that. Your father only does this because he loves you, Young Master.”
It was Meden herself who comforted the sobbing boy.
She who could not even tend to her own bleeding shins steadied him with hands as delicate as ferns.
“If he loves me, how could he do that to me? How could he?”
“…….”
While Densum wept, folded across the desk, Meden stood trembling on her injured leg, bearing all her weight alone.
“Meden, that must have hurt so much. I’m sorry, it’s all because of me…….”
It was only after a long while that he noticed her wounded legs at all.
“It’s all right, Young Master. This is my duty.”
“But still…….”
Densum glanced around, searching for something to use.
Then he spotted the crumpled handkerchief clutched in his own fist—tear-stained and snotted—and quickly thrust it toward her.
“Use this. Blood’s unpleasant when it dries, isn’t it?”
“Ah…….”
Meden hesitated before accepting the handkerchief, then smiled awkwardly.
“Thank you, Young Master. I’ll wash it clean and return it to you.”
“And…… I won’t let this happen again. Trust me, all right?”
“Of course.”
Meden gently stroked the hair of her weeping young lord, then whispered softly.
“……You will make a wonderful Duke one day.”
* * *
Meden died only a few months later.
The cause: acute shock from internal bleeding.
For a child’s death, the reason was unspeakably cruel.
“Poor thing.”
Densum knelt before the corpse, covered roughly with woven bamboo, his gaze vacant and unseeing.
The Duke’s hand descended upon his shoulder.
“So Meden had an older brother with a limp, I hear.”
“…….”
“I’ve just paid his life’s price and returned.”
Densum, who had been letting his father’s words drift past him, finally lifted his head.
“……A life’s price?”
“I sent more money than he could earn in a lifetime. Surely that’s sufficient.”
In that moment, Densum’s eyes fixed upon his father.
“H-how could you say such a thing……!”
“…….”
“Meden…… Meden died because of you, Father!”
But the Duke remained unmoved.
He regarded his trembling son with perfect composure, his rage evident only in the faint quivering of his frame, and broke the silence.
“I, too, have learned much from this affair.”
His voice dropped lower.
“So whether to take on a new whipping girl—that choice, I leave to you.”
“But…… surely that’s only natural?”
Densum sprang to his feet, his face flushed crimson.
“Meden died like that, and you expect me to take another girl and—”
“However.”
The Duke cut off his words.
“If you keep no whipping girl, then from now on you’ll take the blows yourself.”
“……What?”
The color drained from Densum’s face in an instant.
“Now that I think on it, you were right. Perhaps it would be better without such a servant.”
The Duke continued matter-of-factly.
“Why did you repeat your mistakes? Was it not because there was someone to take the punishment in your stead?”
“I…… what do you mean…….”
Densum could find no answer.
Never once had he considered it that way. Had I truly used Meden as a shield?
‘No, I did my best every moment!’
He tried to convince himself, but the sharp whistle of the willow switch cut through his ears again, vivid and immediate.
The memory of blood beading upon pale, slender calves returned with terrible clarity.
‘From now on…… I’m to take those blows myself?’
Terror crept slowly through his entire being.
“So what have you decided?”
Densum flinched at the Duke’s voice and raised his head.
In those eyes meeting his were nothing but deepening dread.
“……F-Father.”
After a long silence, Densum forced his lips open.
“Perhaps…… perhaps we still need a whipping girl, don’t we?”
“…….”
“It’s only that…… everyone must have their appointed role…….”
He swallowed hard, then added in a trembling voice:
“Isn’t that God’s will?”
“God’s will, you say.”
They knew better than anyone how to endure what was unjust.
“Yes.”
The Duke’s lips curved with satisfaction.
“All of this is God’s will.”
Those words were like an incantation that numbed the human conscience.
* * *
Today, too, Densum made his habitual way to Silrakwon.
The moment he opened the rickety wooden door, Illos greeted him as though waiting.
“Young Master!”
Densum offered a slight nod in greeting and sat in silence before the bartender’s table.
Illos, familiar with the routine, prepared a drink glass before him without a word.
“It’s been ten years now since I’ve had the honor of serving you, Young Master. I remember being quite startled when I first met you on the streets.”
Densum’s reunion with Illos was purely by chance.
Illos recognized him first, and from that day forward, Densum made a habit of stopping by.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you, sir. Has something troubled you?”
……
Densum fell silent for a moment.
Veins rose prominently across the back of his hand gripping the glass.
‘The mercenaries have gone silent.’
Men he’d hired at considerable expense, specifically to deal with Ob Ortega.
But the operation had failed. Days ago, he’d already received word that she’d returned to the Ortega Estate without a scratch.
‘The audacity. They took my coin and fled like dogs. Wretched bastards.’
The more he dwelled on it, the hotter his blood boiled—yet there was no way to pursue men who’d vanished without a trace.
“……It’s nothing.”
But Illos, reading his expression alone, quietly set a fresh glass before him.
“It seems something burdensome has weighed upon you, sir.”
A Gimlet.
The cocktail he always drank.
“Forget it all with this. You’ve always endured as you must, young master.”
……
Densum raised the glass, stealing a glance at Illos’s eyes.
Golden eyes—the only feature he shared with Meden.
Looking into them, somehow, the turmoil in his chest eased a little.
He drained the drink in one long pull and set the glass down.
“Pour me another.”
“The same, sir?”
“Yes. A Gimlet.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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