The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 10.4

He exhaled, the cold night air forming a small puff of white that quickly faded into the darkness. For once, Justin felt a strange sense of peace.

Two years. A short span. Watching over this bratty emperor, seeing if he could truly become a great ruler, might not be so bad after all.

The sound of boots striking white marble echoed across the hall as the new emperor’s procession advanced. Flanked by eight knights and a retinue of attendants, they moved toward the grand doors of the coronation hall.

As they reached the entrance, servants rushed to push the golden doors wide, ensuring the emperor’s path remained uninterrupted. The lead attendant raised his voice, announcing with all the volume he could muster, “Presenting His Highness, Prince Yernen Helio!”

The declaration split the heavy silence of the hall, drawing sharp, hostile gazes from the assembled crowd. Those eyes conveyed the same message: none welcomed this coronation.

Draped in regal garb with his golden hair neatly swept back, Yernen strode in without a glance at the disapproving faces, his gait marked by the imperious elegance of royal protocol. He walked with the air of one who belonged nowhere but the very throne he approached.

When Yernen reached the dais, he surveyed the crowd with an icy, detached gaze before settling into the grand chair prepared for him.

It was all too obvious. The hall was filled with enemies. Not a single person showed genuine warmth. Recognizing that truth was as basic as breathing. The nobles who once supported Harriet, along with lords from various provinces, all looked upon Yernen with cold disdain.

Why wouldn’t they? Justin thought. To them, Yernen was an outsider, a usurper who had slain his kin to take the throne. That narrative would stick.

The room held only a handful of true allies—knights he could trust. It was a lonely coronation.

But it didn’t matter. Even if these hostile stares remained unchanged until the end.

Yernen knew there was someone he needed to pass this throne to. It wasn’t out of guilt for failing to protect this person, but from a conclusion he had reached after much deliberation.

The mighty Yernen Helio would never choose an unworthy partner. And Lyle Beltimore, the person he intended to crown one day, was the finest candidate for a ruler that Yernen had ever known.
Though it had been a long time since Yernen last saw Lyle, he had faith in him—faith built on all he’d witnessed over the years.

For now, Yernen was content to let these lords foster their resentment. The more discontent they harbored toward the crown, the more willing they would be to support a change.

“Let us begin,” Yernen said, crossing one leg over the other, his voice laced with authority.

An emperor, after all, was the child of the gods. And no emperor ever bowed. Today, it was Yernen who would be receiving pledges of loyalty, not giving them.

The first to step forward after Yernen’s command was none other than Iden Petra, clad in the ceremonial robes of the Pontiff. He recited a brief blessing before kneeling.

“I, Iden Petra, as the representative of the divine, recognize Yernen Helio, son of the 27th Emperor of the Empire, Beynon Helio, and bearer of the divine bl00d, as the 29th Emperor of the Empire. From now on, the Holy See shall heed only Your Majesty’s commands.”

With his pledge complete, Iden placed a reverent kiss on Yernen’s hand. Yernen, however, only gazed down at him with detached eyes.

When Iden stepped aside, next came Irion. With the Holy See’s loyalty affirmed, it was the knights’ turn to swear fealty.
“I, Irion Fleur, protector of the southwest and head of the Order of Divine Bl00d, pledge my loyalty to Your Majesty. From now on, the Order shall serve as Your Majesty’s sword.”

Irion, wearing a rare look of solemnity that replaced his usual affable expression, kissed Yernen’s hand. Yet, Yernen’s indifferent expression remained unchanged, save for a slight nod.

Pledges of loyalty to the new emperor continued without pause. Yernen, however, appeared wholly uninterested, enduring the ceremony with an air of impatience.

When the last oath had been taken, and all had returned to their places, silence blanketed the grand hall once more. Despite the gathering of hundreds, an eerie stillness reigned, heavy with tension.

Yernen’s cold eyes swept over the assembled nobles. Some wore calculating expressions, trying to gauge who might align with the new order. Others looked stricken with fear, unsure of what Yernen’s reign would bring. A few openly glared, barely containing their desire to overthrow him on the spot.

But the common thread was the pale, strained look on their faces. The reason was simple: Yernen had denied them the right to sit.

Who would dare to offer seats to disobedient dogs?

“Are we staging a silent protest?” A smirk twisted Yernen’s lips. “If someone walked in, they might mistake this for a funeral rather than a coronation.”

Leaning further back into the ornate throne, he let out a sharp chuckle. “My brother has been dead for over a month now. It’s almost laughable.”

Yernen straightened, resting one hand on the armrest, fingers scarred but pristine against the cold marble.

“Ever since you all delayed setting this date, it’s been clear—you haven’t accepted the change of hands on the throne,” he drawled, tapping the armrest rhythmically. “And when dogs won’t obey, they must be disciplined.”

A few nobles clenched their fists, faces flushing with indignation at the blatant insult.

Yernen touched a finger to his lips, icy gaze drifting across the crowd until it fixed on one man.

“Jesse Bissen.”

“Y-yes?!” Jesse stammered, eyes wide with shock as if struck by lightning.

“Step forward.”

“…Yes,” he answered, moving reluctantly, his jutted jaw—a mark of Eastern nobility—set in defiance as he walked to the center.
“Joshua Berlon,” Yernen called, his voice slicing through the silence like a knife.

Joshua, who bore the name of a northern land but had the unmistakable features of the East, was a product of conquest—a branch of an Eastern family that had seized northern estates.

“…Yes,” Joshua answered, face taut with displeasure as he joined Jesse.

Yernen’s voice continued, calling name after name. Nobles flinched, their nervousness palpable as they stepped forward, unsure of why they were being singled out. A handful wore expressions tight with fear, uncertain of their fate.

“I think that will suffice,” Yernen said at last.

The momentary relief was visible, the named and unnamed alike letting out breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding. But relief was premature.

Yernen raised his right hand.

A resounding crash echoed as the doors around the hall flew open. The armored soldiers of the Partashu family stormed in, their metal boots striking the marble as they marched into position, surrounding the group of nobles in the center.

Thump. Thump.

The formation was seamless, like a rehearsed play. The nobles’ panic surged, eyes darting in disbelief.

“What is…?”

“This is madness! What’s the meaning of this?” cries erupted from various corners.

The grand hall, once silent, became a cacophony of shouts, nobles trying to flee or call for aid, only to be blocked by the immovable ranks of soldiers.

The chaos was absolute, shattering the coronation’s solemnity into a spectacle of fear. Anyone paying attention knew exactly what this meant. Yernen intended a purge.

But stripped of their weapons before entering, and with only a few guards allowed magic under imperial command, resistance was futile.

Yernen watched the writhing mass below as though observing insects in their death throes, eyes impassive as he delivered his final command.

“Kill them.”

The clear, cold order rang out over the tumult, piercing through the noise. And so, the massacre began.

Screams filled the air as swords were drawn and swung, cutting down the nobles gathered in the center. Bl00d splattered across the marble, seeping into the seams and marring the once-pristine hall with streaks of red. The soldiers, relentless, did not discriminate; even those rushing to aid their masters met the same fate.

In mere moments, the hall, once prepared for a regal ceremony, was a bl00d-soaked battlefield. And through it all, Yernen reclined in his throne, a look of boredom shadowing his features.

“What should the charge be?” He mused aloud, mockingly. “How about… showing irreverence at the emperor’s coronation?”
Faces turned pale, eyes wide with horror at the absurdity of the accusation. The terror in their gazes seemed almost to spell out their defeat: Tricked. It was a trap.

Yernen smirked, a twisted sense of satisfaction flickering as he observed expressions on familiar faces that he had never seen before. It was strangely thrilling.

The faces were familiar.

Yernen had spent eight years on an isolated island, imprisoned within the imperial palace grounds. It was a place so secluded that not even his betrothed, his sister, or those once close to him had come to visit. Time had passed, and the faces he had known either vanished or aged beyond recognition. Yet, if these faces remained familiar to him now, their identities were obvious.

He wanted nothing more than to tear them apart. To repay every bit of torment he had endured over the years. He fantasized about cutting them limb from limb, throwing them into the most wretched brothels where each day would be a living hell. Even just looking at them made his bl00d boil, a blaze of fury threatening to consume him whole.

But Yernen forced himself to calm down, striving for composure.
Today, he did not plan to kill all of them. Among those he had called out, only two had actually visited that wretched cabin. The rest were merely their limbs and tools—puppets performing their masters’ will.

Over the past month, Yernen had prepared meticulously, weighing who would live and who would die. Every move he made today was calculated. None of those who had stepped onto the island were innocent. They had not only exploited their own subjects but had seized northern lands, enslaving their people.

Under Harriet’s reign, these nobles had wormed their way into power, amassing wealth through sly words and engaging in acts far beyond legal bounds. They were fated to die eventually.
But not today.

Yernen had chosen to become emperor. To be emperor was to place the well-being of others above his own wrath. Every action needed careful deliberation. It wasn’t enough to claim their lives immediately. First, he needed to secure everything. Then, he could end them.

Hiding his fury behind an expression of mockery, Yernen gazed down at those below him.