The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 10.6

Now, every three hours, he needed to take his medicine on an empty stomach and wash it down with alcohol, just to keep the pain at bay.

Yernen glanced at the window.

Outside, dark clouds smothered the daylight, casting everything in shadow. In the faint reflection, a gaunt man with tangled hair and unfocused, fevered eyes stared back. He ignored his own image and focused on the city beyond.

A column of black smoke curled from the heart of the capital, evidence of the rebels’ last desperate stand.

During his coronation, Yernen had ordered a purge of the nobility. He hadn’t expected them to yield without resistance, and resistance they had mustered, plotting insurrection.

They defied him, ignored his decrees, opposed every move.

Eventually, they stopped attending court sessions altogether—a well-known method of contesting the emperor’s power.

In response, Yernen had chosen one absentee noble at random, charged him with fabricated crimes, and displayed his head at the city gates as a warning. The practice continued until even the boldest protested that it was tyranny.

But Yernen’s answer was always the same: another noble hung alongside the rest, until they dared no more.

Rebellion erupted, a bloody war that rocked the empire for a year before it came to its recent end.

‘In this wretched winter, of all times.’

The season he’d been crowned was upon him again. The season he loathed, a time of endless suffering and dread.

Snow began to drift from the brooding sky.

“…”

Even as it fell, Yernen found himself thinking of someone long missed.

Are you watching this sky too?

With a wavering smile, he covered his face.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. Could he last until that person returned to the palace?
There was no knowing. He couldn’t even be sure he’d see another sunrise.

As he reached for his jacket, Yernen glanced at his reflection.
He’d lost weight, making the tailored fabric hang loose. The sight made him frown. The cologne he applied every day to mask the scent of decay filled the room, yet no amount of it could fully erase the stench.

“…”

With the jacket draped over his shoulders, the man in the mirror no longer looked like an ailing patient.

The dull eyes, flushed cheeks burning from fever and drink, red-rimmed eyes struggling against pain, the slightly disheveled clothes—all conjured an image not of weakness but something more hauntingly resigned.

Yernen stood at the door, finally ready. He took a deep breath, and as if sensing his presence, Tenes opened the door. But Yernen’s gaze fell on another figure standing beside Tenes.

It was Denver Lonefeld, the Warden of the Northwestern Borders.
“…You’ve arrived.”

She was the one who had led the campaign to subdue the Eastern rebels and captured the insurgents.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I wanted to report my return to you first,” Denver said, bowing slightly.

“Well done.”

Yernen acknowledged her efforts briefly and began to move forward.

“How did it feel?”

“Pardon, Your Majesty?”

“The feeling.”

Denver hesitated, her eyes flickering with the weight of unspoken thoughts. She knew what Yernen was asking. The Marquis Lecruzet had been one of Harriet’s favored henchmen, notorious for his unspeakable deeds, including trafficking those from the North to neighboring kingdoms, such as Painan and Kylan. Among the enslaved had been Denver’s own brother.

From the moment he disappeared, Denver had scoured the land for traces of him. The truth, when it came, was merciless—sold as a pleasure slave in Painan and killed under a noble’s harsh hand.
The once-stable Lonefeld house fell into turmoil, and Denver was left with only memories. But she had kept her silence, powerless in the face of Lecruzet’s influence, shielded as he was by the former Emperor Harriet’s patronage.

Before swearing her loyalty to Yernen, Denver had sought him out one night with a simple plea: to let her exact her revenge on Lecruzet. In exchange, she vowed undying loyalty until the day she died.

Yernen had found the offer fair. The price of loyalty was often paid in bl00d, and trust earned in vengeance felt more tangible than empty oaths.

So he had granted her wish, appointing her commander over the Eastern campaign. At last, Denver had taken her revenge.

“I’m… not sure.”

Despite achieving what she had long desired, her response was uncertain.

“You should know, shouldn’t you? You’ve longed for this revenge. As promised, Benjamin Lecruzet’s fate is yours to decide. Burn him, dismember him, drain every last drop of bl00d if you wish.”
Yernen felt no shortage of reasons to wish pain upon Lecruzet. But an agreement was an agreement, and the loyalty Denver offered had proven invaluable. The cost was justified.

But Denver’s answer was unexpected.

“No, Your Majesty.”

It was a gentle refusal. Yernen paused, turning to look at her directly.

“I think this is enough.”

Her expression was surprisingly serene.

“May I ask one thing, then?”

“What is it?”

“We captured Lecruzet, but his followers still remain. Until they are all dealt with, my brother’s death cannot truly be avenged.”

Her voice faltered slightly, an edge of hesitation revealing her inner conflict.

“Please, allow me to stay by your side until you have vanquished them all.”

The task of rooting out every remnant of Lecruzet’s influence was monumental, a battle that might not end even with Yernen’s reign. It was an oath to stay until death—a pledge of true loyalty.

“…So be it.”

Yernen’s voice was low, almost dismissive, as he resumed his stride. Denver, with a resolve as firm as steel, followed, murmuring her gratitude.

Soon, they arrived at the grand hall.

The chandelier cast its glow over the expanse, highlighting sculptures and lavish tables laden with delicacies. The orchestra’s grand performance resonated through the chamber, but Yernen’s eyes were on the tower of wine glasses, poised near the main hall.

A subtle nod to Tenes, and the attendant responded. Lifting the topmost glass, Tenes took a sip before offering it to Yernen, who drank from the same spot without hesitation.

There were glances, wary and furtive, but Yernen ignored them. None dared voice dissent now.

With a few sips of wine, Yernen moved toward the center of the hall. Unlike the usual gatherings where ladies twirled in silken dresses and gentlemen exchanged witticisms, today’s spectacle was different. Kneeling in the middle were men bound and subdued, heads bowed.

Yernen stopped in front of the man in the most prominent position.

The rebellion had been led by Eastern nobles. But the momentum shattered when their leader, Duke Merion, was assassinated, leaving the uprising to collapse. Today, it should have been Lizzie Merion, the duke’s daughter, occupying the traitor’s place, but she remained exiled to the tower, detained for her loyalty to the late Empress. So, Benjamin Lecruzet knelt in her stead, bound and shamed.

“Hah.”

A smirk of disdain curved Yernen’s lips as he looked down at the fallen noble. The collar binding his neck kept him from lifting his head, a shadow of the man he once was.

Relief, long churning in Yernen’s chest, seemed to pour out. He downed the wine in one gulp and let the glass fall from his grasp.

Crash!

The shattering sound echoed, shards scattering across the marble floor.

Without missing a beat, Yernen’s boot met Lecruzet’s midsection, driving a gasp of pain from the marquis as he crumpled.

“Gah…! Ugh…!”

Even one blow proved too much for Lecruzet, sending him sprawling. Yernen placed a boot on his head, pressing it down until it met the cold stone.

“Aaaagh!”

The marquis’s scream was drowned in the silence that followed, save for Yernen’s unyielding presence. He leaned in, increasing the pressure as Lecruzet begged for mercy.

“You still have breath to plead?”

Yernen whispered into his ear, then began kicking him relentlessly. The sharp cries turned to whimpers, then silence.
Around them, the bound men paled further with each strike, dread soaking into their bones. Only when Yernen was satisfied, panting slightly, did he step back, crouching to meet Lecruzet’s ruined face.

Bl00d dripped down, mixing with sweat and tears, as Yernen spoke to the man who had once thought himself untouchable.

“One must serve as an example for the rebellion, so I have no intention of granting you an easy death. But… even without saying it, you already know. Unless you imprison or kill me forever, the one who will be thrown to the bottom will be you.

So… what would be fitting?”

At Yernen’s sharp, biting words, the half-unconscious Marquis Lecruzet flinched. Yernen looked down at him, savoring his pitiful appearance with a cold smile.

“Ah, yes. That will do.”

Drawing out his words as if in deep contemplation, Yernen finally revealed his decision with a crooked smile.

“You had such a fondness for brothels… So why not have you live out your days in one, just as you always wished? For a traitor’s punishment, it’s almost merciful, wouldn’t you say?”
Yernen stood up slowly, his eyes scanning the kneeling traitors before him with a cold indifference.

“Cut out Benjamin Lecruzet’s tongue, sever his limbs, and throw him into a brothel.”

At the brutally cruel sentence, expressions of terror began to paint the faces of those gathered.

“…!”

Yernen’s cold gaze swept over them, assessing whether any among the assembly were worth sparing. But as he scrutinized each face, he reached a conclusion.

‘What a waste of thought.’

All of them were hopelessly incompetent. For those guilty of treason and without any usefulness to the empire, there was only one fate.

“The rest… kill them.”

“Aah!”

“Your Majesty!”

“Please spare us!”

“Just this once, Your Majesty…! This was all orchestrated by Marquis Lecruzet and Duke Merion! We were merely coerced!”

“Your Majesty! We were wrong! Have mercy!”

As soon as Yernen delivered the verdict, a chorus of screams and desperate cries erupted from the crowd. However, without sparing them a glance, Yernen resolutely turned and left the hall.