The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 13.2

The truth about what Yernan had endured was known to only a few. So it made sense that Lail, who was unaware, would speak so callously. After all, everything was unfolding just as Yernan had planned.

Even now, Yuris knew that the reborn Yernan still wished for Lail to remain in the dark, not knowing the truth. So agreeing with the rumors, affirming he was as cruel as the world claimed—that was what she should do.

But there were things in this world that the mind could accept, yet the heart could not.

How could she validate such vile rumors about someone who had suffered so deeply, so unjustly, longing only for one person? How could Lail, who should have been the one to trust him when no one else would, believe those unfounded slanders?

“The late Emperor, while flawed, never did anything deserving of such disgraceful accusations. But…”

Yuris tried not to let her tone slip into sarcasm, knowing full well that biting remarks were practically Lail Beltemore’s trademark—something she loathed. But she couldn’t help herself.

“I didn’t expect Your Majesty to lend an ear to such baseless gossip spun by those with idle tongues,” she said, her voice steady despite the fire simmering beneath her words. Oddly, anger made her feel more composed. Smiling faintly, she looked at Lail.

“And as for why you think this stone tower is what you claim… it seems Your Majesty is mistaken. This tower was built by the people of the East to honor someone who showed them great kindness.”

Yuris realized that neither she nor anyone else had ever mentioned this memorial to Lail. His assumption that it was connected to Yernan must have been a test, a shot in the dark.
“Who is it for, then?” Lail pressed.

‘Just as I thought,’ Yuris concluded. His question confirmed he was only fishing for answers. She nearly played into his hand.

“I’m not sure,” she replied smoothly. “But does it really matter? If Your Majesty were to show the people kindness, one day you, too, would earn their respect.”

Lail studied her with curiosity as she spoke, catching the subtle defiance in her words.

“Well, I have things to attend to, so I’ll return to my duties. Even during a break, I can’t afford to be absent for long,”

Yuris said, taking the opportunity to distance herself.
“I’ll come with you,” Lail offered.

“Don’t you have matters to attend to, Your Majesty?”

Yuris’s gaze fell briefly on the empty water pouch hanging by Lail’s side, the gesture brimming with unspoken meaning. It was as if she were telling him to stay out of her way.

‘Hah.’

Lail thought, amused by her insolence. She was proving to be quite a bold subordinate.

“I find I’m not so thirsty after all,” he said, smiling wryly.

“Then why did you come to fetch water?” she countered, her eyebrow raised.

“I was, but the thirst has passed.”

“If you say so,” Yuris muttered. “Then let’s go. Though I doubt someone as strong as you truly needs protection.”

She turned on her heel and led the way. Lail followed, watching her every step with a mixture of intrigue and calculation.

“Um… Your Majesty, isn’t this… problematic?” Steffin’s voice pulled him from his thoughts as he leaned in to speak in a hushed tone, cautious that no one else could hear.

“What is?” Lail pushed Steffin away, irritated by the intrusion.

“The… the Baroness Carmelian, sir! You said you needed to speak with her, but she avoids you at every turn, shudders at your approach, and even sends subordinates to strategy meetings instead of attending herself. What exactly did you say to her that day?”

“Hm.” Lail sat back and looked in Yuris’s direction.

‘Though the late Emperor may not have been a flawless man, he was never capable of such filth. And to think His Majesty would give credence to such base rumors spun by gossips…’

After that biting remark, Yuris had promptly distanced herself. She claimed her subordinates needed attending to, gathered her things, and moved to the far end of the formation. Since then, she remained at the rear, avoiding any chance encounter with Lail.

She even sent a subordinate to every meeting, clearly unwilling to confront Lail herself.

Yet, that didn’t bother Lail. The short exchange had been enough to solidify his suspicions.

Yuris’s reaction confirmed everything: the tales spun around Yernan were false, and Lail’s perception of Yernan had been wrong all along.

If all the rumors surrounding Yernan were lies, and the real Yernan was vastly different from the man Lail thought he knew, then there was one suspicious figure left. The man who had so cunningly incited Lail’s doubts, who seemed eager to sow discord: Ethan Petra.

‘Looking back, it’s a wonder I didn’t see it. He’s suspicious to the core.’

When he returned to the capital, Lail planned to confront him. There was something undeniably foul about that man.

“For now, it doesn’t matter,” Lail murmured. Sure, getting a direct confession from Yuris would make things easier and avoid the need for a detour back to the capital. It would also shed light on what truly happened to Yernan.

But if she refused to cooperate, he wouldn’t force it.
He was already close to the truth. Finding out the complete story was only a matter of time, whether in the capital or elsewhere.

‘Leaving was a mistake.’

Lail’s brow furrowed. Coming to lead this campaign was necessary, but there had to have been alternatives. There had to have been a way to stay in the capital and manage things from there.

At the time, with tensions running high between him and Yernan, he’d acted too hastily. It was a mistake born of impatience.
Assassins lurked in the shadows, and men like Ethan Petra moved openly even in broad daylight. Leaving Yernan alone in the palace was reckless.

He needed to return, and soon.

Steffin’s voice held an unusual urgency as he approached, still covered in dust from battle. Lyle turned to face him, his expression questioning. The serious look on Steffin’s face suggested that whatever he was about to say was of great importance.

“Your Majesty,” Steffin said, slightly out of breath. “You need to come with me. Immediately.”

Lyle’s brows knitted in concern. The triumphant liberation of the Eastern stronghold had just been completed, and now this abrupt disruption hinted at something unforeseen.

“What is it?” Lyle asked, his voice steady but lined with impatience.

“It’s… better if you see it for yourself.”

Lyle glanced once more at the scene around him: the relieved, joyous faces of the liberated people and the weary soldiers basking in their victory. He nodded sharply and motioned for Steffin to lead the way.

They navigated through the bustling crowds, weaving through narrow stone corridors and descending deeper into the stronghold’s labyrinthine underbelly. The air grew colder, heavy with the dampness of stone and the echo of their footsteps.

Finally, Steffin halted before a large iron door guarded by two stern-faced soldiers. One stepped aside, lifting the heavy latch with effort. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room.

Lyle’s eyes swept across the chamber and immediately locked onto the source of Steffin’s distress: a table piled with documents, scattered maps, and a worn, crumpled piece of parchment bearing an image he knew all too well. It was Eernen, depicted with an expression that seemed almost haunted.

A chill ran down Lyle’s spine. The sight was as puzzling as it was unsettling.

“What does this mean?” he asked, voice low but commanding.
Steffin exchanged a glance with the guards, then back to Lyle.

“It seems, Your Majesty, that the rebellion we thought we understood was not just a mere insurrection. There’s something deeper, tied to Eernen… and his legacy.”

Lyle’s jaw clenched as he stepped closer to the table, eyes narrowing as he examined the papers. The quest for the truth behind Eernen’s enigmatic life—and death—was far from over.

Steffin’s face fell as he understood the implications of Lyle’s words. This hidden passage, secreted away in the heart of the mountains, connected the Imperial Eastern Territory directly with the Petra Marquessate. If true, this suggested more than a mere act of rebellion—it implicated the Petra family at the heart of a conspiracy.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Steffin stammered, glancing uneasily at the elegantly carved runes and the faintly glowing mana stones embedded in the walls. The realization settled over him like a cold shroud. “If what we suspect is true… it means the Petra Marquessate has committed an act of high treason.”

Lyle’s lips tightened into a thin, calculating line. “It means they didn’t just watch this rebellion unfold; they orchestrated it.”

The light from the mana stones cast sharp shadows across his features, making him appear almost predatory. The discovery was unexpected, but it was exactly the leverage he needed.

“In a mountain range like that, unless someone has the audacity to split the mountain itself, who else but the Petra Marquessate could create a hidden passage?”

Steffin rubbed his forehead. The truth was, he, too, had his doubts about the Petra family. But it was only suspicion. After all, the Petra Marquessate was a devout lineage that had produced generations of Popes.

In an empire where the Emperor held absolute power, they were a family that couldn’t be trifled with lightly.

Lyle’s statement was… risky.

“But all we have are suspicions. As you can see, the only things here are these mana stones and the magic circle. There’s no concrete evidence linking them to the family.”

“No, there is evidence.”

Lyle spoke with a determined voice, giving Steffin a look that conveyed disappointment as he added,
“Steffin Mariajou, you should try using your head for more than just casting spells. Look around.”

Lyle scanned his surroundings with his eyes, prompting Steffin to do the same.

“It was a perfect sealed room, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Then how could a person breathe in here?”

“…!”

“If you’re thinking there were cracks between the stones allowing air in, abandon that theory. Outside these stones is just earth; air wouldn’t pass through. There must be another passage somewhere. The fact that this room is sealed is… to deceive us.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

Steffin looked at Lyle, stunned. He quickly ordered the knights who had accompanied them to search the area.

While observing the commotion, Lyle himself began to carefully examine the walls and floor with keen eyes. Yet, even after repeated inspections, there were no signs of a hidden door, family crests, or any evidence of human presence.

Still, Lyle did not give up.
There had to be a hidden entrance somewhere in this space. His instincts, which had proven right countless times, were telling him so again.

Ignoring the displeased glances of his brash adjutant directed at the Emperor, Lyle kept his attention focused as he moved around.

After meticulously examining the space once more, he found himself back at square one. Another dead end, as if such a place never existed and his search had been in vain.

‘Is it really not here?’

It didn’t seem possible.

As he pondered, Lyle narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the teleportation circle again. There was… something slightly different about one part of the floor.

“Wait.”

Lyle muttered quietly as he crouched down, narrowing his eyes at the floor.

“Tapestry…”

“Pardon?”

Steffin, who had been watching Lyle’s actions absentmindedly, echoed the word.

“When I visited the Pope’s office before, there was a tapestry hanging there.”

“A tapestry?”

Ignoring Steffin’s question, Lyle strode forward.

He recalled the one time he had entered the Pope’s chambers and seen a peculiar tapestry. It featured geometric patterns and four embedded swords.

Initially, he hadn’t noticed it. The floor, unlike the solid stone walls and ceiling, was covered with dirt and sand, a subtle detail easily overlooked unless viewed up close.