The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 13.1

Lyle let out a short sigh before speaking.

“Fine, I’ll acknowledge that you talked non-stop for six hours. But you still lost Yurice. That’s not an excuse.”

Steffin pouted, his expression steeped in frustration.

“Your Majesty, it was beyond my power to hold her back. She’s a mage, after all. I couldn’t do anything. Besides, she suddenly claimed she needed to consult with other mages and left.”

Lyle narrowed his eyes and surveyed the surroundings once more, trying to piece together where Yurice might have gone and why she disappeared just before he could bring up Yernen. Was it just a coincidence, or had she sensed something and slipped away on purpose?

Lyle’s lips curled into a faint smile as he glanced back at Steffin.

“I know how hard you tried. But next time, be more vigilant.”

Steffin’s face softened, the bitterness in his eyes fading as he gave a slight nod. “Understood, Your Majesty. What’s the next step?”

Lyle fell into a brief silence, deep in thought. To uncover the truth about Yernen, he had to face Yurice directly. His suspicions were stronger than ever, and he needed to hear what she knew.

“Find out where Yurice has gone. Make sure she doesn’t slip away next time, no matter what you have to do.”

Steffin met Lyle’s resolute gaze and nodded firmly. “As you command, Your Majesty.”

With that, Lyle cast his eyes back toward the empty horizon, steeling himself. The journey to uncover the truth about Yernen had only just begun.

“Then where is Yurice Camellion right now?”

“What? Oh, the Camellion Viscountess? She said she was going to fetch some water…”

“Water?”

At that realization, Steffin’s eyes widened, and his mouth moved wordlessly, his face flushed with embarrassment. Lyle’s order hadn’t simply been to chat with Yurice but to keep her occupied until he could speak with her.

Steffin, caught up in the excitement of their conversation, had forgotten his true orders at some point and waved Yurice off cheerfully when she said she would step away for a moment.

With an awkward smile, Steffin managed to lift the corners of his lips. He could already feel the sting of his liege’s sharp tongue looming over him like a dark cloud.

“Well… but… I mean, it’s hard to stop someone from getting water, isn’t it? She did say she’d be back soon. Why don’t we wait just a little longer, Your Majesty?”

“By the time she’s back, the rest period will be over, and we’ll be on our way to the eastern dominion again.”

“Oh, ha ha… Well, yes, that’s true, but…”

If that happened, the six hours of conversation would have been a complete waste. Steffin had kept Yurice talking up until the break precisely to prevent her from slipping away.

No matter how much she wanted to avoid Lyle, she wouldn’t leave behind her gear and her horse. But what was done was done.

“…Never mind. I’ll go find her myself. Which way did Yurice Camellion go?” Lyle tipped the contents of his filled canteen onto the ground as he spoke.

“Well, she went that way, but—Your Majesty, really, is there any emperor who pours out his own water like that…?”

Ignoring Steffin’s muttering, Lyle began walking in the direction indicated.

Spring had just begun to touch the empire, but the chill in the breeze still bit at the skin. Snow had even fallen the day before, so the army’s march had started unusually late that morning.

Winter days were short, and sunset came earlier than in any other season. By the time Lyle reached the riverbank Steffin had mentioned, the sky was already aflame with the hues of twilight.
Lyle’s gaze flicked to the shimmering water, where the last rays of sunlight danced like fish scales. He began scanning the area for Yurice, but something else caught his eye first.

…Here, too.

What drew his attention was a small stone cairn nestled at the narrow path leading to the riverbank. He’d seen these stone stacks several times throughout the eastern lands over the past few weeks.

The first couple of times, he’d dismissed them. But as he encountered more of them, Lyle’s curiosity grew.

To his knowledge, there was only one tradition involving the stacking of stones in the empire: funeral rites for the dead.
It was a custom of the common folk, something he hadn’t known until he went to war. He learned only when he saw his soldiers burying their fallen comrades and placing stones atop the graves.

But what made these cairns strange to Lyle were two things.
First, these cairns were located in places where no one in their right mind would bury a body: busy pathways, riverbanks, even the middle of village squares. Second, the people he’d passed by treated these cairns as if they were sacred, offerings laid carefully before them.

In an empire brimming with devout worshippers and a multitude of shrines, there was no need to make new places of devotion. Small statues honoring the gods stood at nearly every street corner.
Yet, he had seen people bow before these cairns, leaving small tributes as if they were altars. If his guess was right, this cairn, too, would have ‘that’ in front of it.

The villagers had already left, so Lyle approached the small cairn and looked down at what lay before it.

As expected.

Flowers were arranged neatly in front of the cairn, just as he’d seen in other places.

He picked up one of the dried blossoms and held it to the light of the setting sun.

Once white chrysanthemums had faded and lost their luster, their petals pressed and dried flat. Unlike the common green stems, these had white stalks.

He knew these flowers well.

They only grew naturally in the south and had a unique trait. Fine, white fuzz covered their stems, giving them a pale hue.
And when held against the twilight, the stems reflected a faint golden sheen.

Much like the color of someone’s hair.

He’d once imported seeds from the south, planting them and gifting the blooms to a certain someone. He could never forget them. It didn’t make sense for them to be here.

These flowers needed strong, intense sunlight to grow. To cultivate them in the east would require the peak of summer and enormous effort. Yet, here they were, laid in abundance before the eastern cairns. Something that should have been impossible.
Once, driven by curiosity, Lail had stopped someone who was silently paying respects in front of a stone cairn and asked whose grave it was. But the person, upon hearing the question, had darted away with such a resolute expression that Lail couldn’t even consider stopping them.

Because of that, Lail had never discovered who the cairn commemorated. But now, something within him told him he had an inkling of who it might be for.

Crunch.

He heard the soft sound of footsteps. Lail turned his head slightly and saw someone approaching from behind.

“We meet here,” the newcomer said, their lips still curved in a friendly smile, though their eyes were as cold as ice.

“It seems so.”

Yuris stepped past him and stood before the cairn.

“It’s common to see these cairns in the East,” Lail remarked.

“Yes, it is.”

Yuris bent down and neatly adjusted the dried chrysanthemums placed in front of the cairn, as if she knew exactly what the cairn and the flowers signified.

“Whenever I ask what these cairns mean, people either scatter like frightened birds or run off without answering.”
“Did they now?” Yuris replied, her tone disinterested, as though she’d rather not speak with Lail at all.

“Whose grave is this?” Lail asked, watching her closely.

“…”

He caught the brief flicker of tension in Yuris’ expression. Suspicion turned into certainty.

“As Emperor, I can’t just stand by and watch a strange tradition spread among my people.”

The implication was clear: if her answer didn’t satisfy him, he would order the lords of the East to dismantle every cairn.

Yuris’ expression, which had remained neutral until then, began to harden.

“Strange? The Emperor is a ruler of the people, not their warden. And these cairns… they…”

Yuris hesitated, her words faltering. Lail saw the subtle tremble in her composure and knew he had her cornered.
“These cairns must be for Yernan.”

“…!”

Her reaction confirmed it before she could say anything more.
But it wasn’t enough.

‘If I want her to say it out loud, I need to push her further.’

“How ironic. That a former Emperor who slaughtered so many… who barely deserved a spot in the royal crypt… is now revered with such honors.”

“…”

Yuris tried to maintain her composure, but it was clear she struggled. Her face flushed red, refusing to cool.

“…No, that’s not it. This place… It’s for the late Emperor… The people…” Yuris’ voice faltered, and she clenched her trembling lips shut. Lail had never seen her so emotional; she had always seemed shrewd and calculating. But he had no intention of being merciful.

“Come to think of it, you were once the late Emperor’s knight,” he remarked casually.

“I only served him because he was a descendant of the divine bl00d, Your Majesty. I hold no lingering sentiments for that tyrant.”

“Is that so?” Lail’s eyes narrowed as he studied her unwavering response.

“Yes, truly.”

With a languid smile, one that resembled a lion surveying prey it had already claimed, Lail spoke. “I heard rumors the late tyrant and Tenes Trizia had… close relations. They say bl00d-stained sheets were found in the Emperor’s chamber, and that he reveled in wild parties every night. The stories were quite the spectacle.”

‘No feelings left? Hardly.’

Lail smirked, watching Yuris. Her body visibly trembled.
‘How can he say such things?’ Yuris thought as she clenched her fists, trying to suppress the shaking. If she didn’t, she felt she might strike the Emperor in a fit of rage.

If she did, it would mean her downfall. Touching the Emperor in anger was an undeniable offense, one that not even Yernan could save her from.

But the anger burned, deep and fierce.

‘To think he could be this disrespectful…!’

Yuris hadn’t always revered Yernan. She wasn’t among those who initially believed in him as the true ruler. But she never despised him either. Instead, she had pitied him.

Her knowledge of alchemy and her deep understanding of magic had naturally drawn her into medicine. And so, she had tended to Yernan, even though he had always been reluctant to show his vulnerabilities and accept help.

Yuris had worked tirelessly to suppress the monster’s bl00d spreading through him, remove the cursed artifacts embedded in his body, and study the dark tattoos that covered him. Through this, she saw glimpses of the torment Yernan had endured.

Anger and grief welled up inside her, but Yernan never spoke of what had happened to him. All Yuris could do was piece together the truth on her own. That is, until the discovery of a crystal orb containing damning evidence.

Despite the revelations, Yernan maintained an unyielding facade, showing no signs of the agony that must have ravaged him. He had to be suffering unbearably.

Yuris, in her rage, had hunted down the nobles connected to those atrocities, killed them and their entire households, shattered the incriminating orbs, and set their estates ablaze. She wept uncontrollably before the blazing ruins, shedding tears for her Emperor who never allowed himself to cry.

Yernan was strong—remarkably so. He was a figure who could have been one of the most extraordinary monarchs in the Empire’s history.

She hated how such a person was branded as a villain and how he had to live a life marred by constant pain and reliance on medicine to survive. But most of all, she despised that there was nothing she could do for him.

And the one person whom Yernan had cherished, even until his final breath, was Lail Beltemore—the man who now stood before her.

Yuris had witnessed Yernan orchestrating everything so Lail could rise to the throne. He had carried the weight of countless sins, ensuring Lail would ascend smoothly, even asking Yuris and the other knights to play along and pave the way for him on that fateful day when he decided to die.

That day, when he resolved to face his end.

Unlike Justin, who had screamed in protest and refused to obey, Yuris had accepted Yernan’s command with a forced smile, then retreated to a hidden corner to cry her heart out.