Enough with Dying as an Extra chapter 28

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In the hallway, bathed in the piercing light of dawn, soft footsteps echoed.

His face, pale from lack of sleep, held a shadow of unmistakable sorrow.

Haen, his bloodshot eyes sliding to the side, glanced out the window.

For a long moment, he stared blankly at the sky, still pale with the morning light.

Then, at last, he stopped in front of a door.

It was Vivisian’s bedroom.

Inside, Vivisian lay on the bed, his face as peaceful as ever.

“Haen.”

Ignoring the voice that drifted from nowhere, Haen approached the bedside.

As if to mark the constant presence of visitors, a chair was placed nearby.

Familiar with the routine, Haen sat down and quietly gazed at Vivisian.

“Vivisian.”

There was no reply, but Haen felt as if he were caught in the illusion that Vivisian was looking at him. He had spent a week denying it, another two weeks reviewing documents.

And just the other day, he had finally admitted it—he had been wrong, and Vivisian had committed no crime.

A death that no one could mourn, shrouded in guilt that never belonged to him, had quietly settled over the duchy.

As Haen recalled the heretics appearing across the once-peaceful land, he took in the sight of Vivisian, who, if not for the absence of breath, could have been mistaken for someone merely asleep.

‘I’ve made my decision, but I won’t say it out loud. Don’t worry. It’s a wish you would have liked, too.’

At that moment, Haen suddenly realized—he had only delayed his plans for a while, but from the very beginning, Vivisian, smiling in that prison cell, had intended to wish for his own death.

‘Haen. My friend. You never planned to believe me from the start, did you? Fine. We can’t remain friends anymore.’

Those words had been murmured by Vivisian in the past, after silently watching Haen spit out words that were practically a curse.

Back then, Haen had found it terrifying how calm Vivisian remained no matter what was said to him.

But looking back now, knowing everything, it made perfect sense.

He had no reason to waver—because he had done nothing wrong.

He had claimed his innocence dozens of times, but all those pleas had been denied.

And so, the only thing the accused could do was pretend the accusations hadn’t wounded him.

At some point, Vivisian had stopped laughing.

He had stopped crying, too.

Even when the truth was finally revealed.

Even on the day he was expelled from the ducal house.

The boy, Vivisian, had always worn the same expression.

Immaculate, serene.

The one who used to smile so brightly when his gaze met Haen’s—he was nowhere to be found.

And it was still the same, even now, nearly ten years later.

The man lying there, eyes closed, with his long hair braided down one shoulder, was still just as beautiful.

Still just as indifferent.

With a blank expression, Haen brushed his hand over the man’s cheek.

It was a tender gesture.

The skin beneath his fingertips was cold and smooth.

The sensation on his fingers brought forth a memory—an achingly beautiful one, despite the fact that Vivisian was now nothing more than a specter.

Memories he thought had blurred returned with startling clarity.

He tried to suppress them, to shove them away, but as the long-buried truth came to light, so too did all of Lejun’s shortcomings.

Overwhelmed by the sudden turmoil, Lejun, unable to maintain his composure, had spilled everything the moment Haen showed even the slightest hint of disgust.

Vivisian, whom everyone had once believed was threatening him, had in fact been helping him behind the scenes, guiding him toward the position of Duke.

And Lejun—Lejun had never been suited to the role of a Duke in the first place.

‘Haen De Winter, I’ve always been this kind of person! Of course, I have! The one who thought I could be Duke—there’s no difference between me and Vivisian’s creation! Do you feel wronged? But you’re no different! You needed me to drive Vivisian out. And now, you regret it?’

Lejun had shouted those words, looking relieved, as if he had finally unburdened himself.

And now, as Haen looked at Vivisian’s face, a question arose.

“Do I regret losing you?”

As he gazed down at Vivisian, he carefully considered his own emotions.

Was it regret?

In the end, he couldn’t come to an answer.

If he were honest, regret wasn’t the dominant feeling—he was more overwhelmed than anything else.

With a detached clarity, Haen lowered his gaze.

The body lying in the bedroom, untouched by fire, neither buried nor burned, remained undisturbed, even in the midst of this storm.

“What are you thinking right now? That in the end, all of us were just pawns dancing in your hands?”

But he couldn’t dwell on that thought for long.

Haen knew Vivisian.

And the Vivisian he knew—he wouldn’t have thought that at all.

He wouldn’t have spared them a thought to begin with.

That realization left Haen feeling even more wretched.

“Yeah… What am I even doing right now, clinging to a dead man?”

Letting out a hollow chuckle at his own foolishness, Haen ran a hand over his face and got to his feet.

“I’ll come back later.”

I need to do something about you.

Muttering under his breath, Haen left the bedroom.

He didn’t realize it, but his steps were unsteady, as if he might collapse at any moment.

✽ ✽ ✽

Several days later, at dawn, knights stood guard before a certain door.

Time passed in silence until, suddenly, footsteps sounded from beyond the door, followed by the rattling of hinges.

The knights tensed, their eyes fixed on the door.

They knew what was inside.

For several moments, the door shook wildly before slowly creaking open.

And the one who emerged was none other than Haen—his clothes disheveled, hanging open.

With an ashen complexion, as pale as a corpse come back to life, his unfocused eyes roamed the empty air as he walked forward.

Forward.

Forward.

His movements devoid of any apparent consciousness, a few of the knights standing guard looked visibly disturbed.

And the knight who had never witnessed this sight before—he whispered in shock, before he could stop himself.

“C-Captain, the Count—”

“Shh. What did I tell you? We saw nothing. Nothing happened. Now shut up and follow me.”

A senior knight quickly covered the younger one’s mouth and cast a wary glance at Haen.

Fortunately, Haen didn’t seem to have heard their conversation.

His hollow expression remained unchanged.

His eyes—empty, unseeing—were unmistakably the eyes of a madman.

And yet, his steps held no hesitation.

It had been some time since Haen began acting like this.

Two months had passed since it was revealed that all the charges against the former Duke had been false.

And from that day on, without fail, Haen had displayed some form of abnormal behavior.

It was a kind of sleepwalking.

The sleepwalking itself wasn’t the problem.

The real problem was that, in his sleep, Haen wandered the castle, attacking anyone he came across.

The first few times, when the situation wasn’t fully understood, people had nearly died.

The estate was already in turmoil, and if rumors spread that the Lord had gone mad and killed someone in the dead of night… there would be no turning back.

They had to find a way to stop it.

But no matter what they did, nothing could put an end to this madness.

He couldn’t be forced into unconsciousness, nor restrained, nor locked away.

He always found a way out. In the end, they had no choice but to deploy knights to stop him.

When Haen realized he had developed this affliction without even knowing it, he had given the knights a secret order.

‘There must be rumors by now that I wander the castle at night, trying to kill people. I called you here because I need to ask you something.’

‘…Should we track down whoever’s spreading those rumors?’

‘No. The rumors are true. I don’t know if I’ve gone mad, but every night, I leave my chambers and try to kill someone. I called you here to stop me. No matter what. Even if I get injured in the process, do whatever it takes to restrain me. Understand?’

And with a composed expression, the knight commander hardened his face as he recalled Haen, who had calmly admitted to his own madness.

Stealing a glance at Haen, who had already moved quite a distance away, the knight commander gave a small gesture.

At his silent command to follow the target, the knights trailed behind or beside Haen without making a single sound.

Officially, it was only known that the count suffered from sleepwalking, not madness, so it wasn’t unusual to see people wandering around the castle.

Before they could catch Haen’s attention, the knights discreetly sent them away.

If someone was unfortunate enough to be noticed by Haen, and he attempted to attack, they would do whatever was necessary to stop him.

The castle had been unusually noisy, and Haen had instinctively stepped outside, unable to turn his gaze away from the butler, who had come out out of habit. In the end, the knights had no choice but to knock him unconscious.

After sending the trembling butler back to his quarters, the knights, each wearing different expressions, hoisted Haen onto their shoulders and carried him back to his chambers.

Though he was unconscious now, there was no telling when he might wake and lose control again before morning.

A heavy silence settled among the knights standing guard at his door—until one of them murmured, breaking the stillness.

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