The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 2.7

“Yernen,” Lyle said quietly.

“Wh-what?”

“Back up. Slowly.”

“Back…?”

“I’ll keep watching them. You move backward and look behind us. But don’t take your eyes off the wolves until you reach the edge.”

Though Yernen didn’t fully understand, he trusted Lyle and followed his instructions, inching backward while keeping his eyes locked on the advancing wolves.

“Huh!” Yernen gasped.

The ground behind them ended in a sharp cliff. But something was off—it wasn’t a normal drop.
The sound of rushing water filled the air.
“I hear something,” Yernen said.

“What is it?” Lyle asked.

“Not sure… Come closer.”

Yernen clung to Lyle’s back as they carefully edged toward the cliff. One misstep could send them tumbling into the darkness below. Finally, Yernen squinted into the night and looked down.
“There’s water. A big river, Lyle.”

Far below, a vast river roared, its dark waters swelling and churning as if ready to swallow everything in its path.

“Do you think we can survive if we jump?” Yernen asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I don’t know… but it’s our only option,” Lyle replied.

“So, this is the grand plan from our ruler to save everyone, huh?” Lyle said with a teasing tone, even in the face of danger.

“Is this really the time to joke?” Yernen snapped, but Lyle still chuckled softly, tension evident in his laugh.

“No, probably not. Yernen, check my sword sheath.”

Yernen blinked, confused, and glanced down at Lyle’s sword. He noticed a long leather strap hanging from the sheath.

“…What’s this for?”

“Tie your hand to it, quickly. We can’t afford to get separated.”

Yernen didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the strap and tied his wrist to Lyle’s sword.

“They’re coming!” Lyle warned.

“I’m not done tying it yet!” Yernen yelped, fumbling with the knot.

“Hurry!”

“Okay, okay, it’s done!”

“Jump!”

Without a second thought, Lyle grabbed Yernen by the waist and leaped off the cliff into the abyss below.

“Ahhhh!” Yernen screamed as the world vanished beneath them. They plummeted through the darkness, the churning waters below rushing up to meet them. It felt like they were falling forever, the cold, crushing night swallowing them whole.

Splash!

The impact was deafening, as if they’d slammed into solid ground. The sheer force knocked the wind out of Yernen, and a massive burst of air bubbles escaped his mouth as he gasped in pain. The water was icy, the kind of cold that sank deep into your bones. Every nerve in his body screamed in agony as the frigid water consumed him, pulling him down into its depths.

Cold air slapped against Yernen’s face, pulling him back to consciousness. His pale eyelashes fluttered as he forced his eyes open.

“Ugh…” Groaning, Yernen clutched his pounding head and slowly pushed himself upright. His whole body throbbed with pain—there wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t hurt. The biting cold gnawed at his skin, making him shiver uncontrollably.

With blurry vision, Yernen glanced around, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
“Thank goodness…” he muttered under his breath, seeing Lyle lying nearby. The strap between them hadn’t broken, and Lyle was still breathing. He placed his fingers near Lyle’s nose and felt the faint warmth of his breath—Lyle was alive.
Weakly, Yernen reached out and shook Lyle’s shoulder. “Lyle… Lyle Baltimore.”

“Ugh…”

“Wake up.”

Lyle stirred, groaning in pain. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at Yernen.
“Yernen…?”

“There don’t seem to be any wolves nearby. No other animals either,” Yernen said, his voice trembling from both pain and cold.

Lyle forced himself to sit up, glancing at Yernen’s pale face. Aside from bruises scattered across his body, Yernen didn’t seem to have any major injuries.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Lyle asked, his voice hoarse.

“My head… it hurts,” Yernen replied, rubbing his temple.

“You must have hit it when we fell. Anything else?”

“I’m… freezing.” Yernen shivered violently, his blue-tinted hands clutching his sides as the chill seeped deeper into his bones.

Yernen’s face was far too pale, even though there weren’t any obvious injuries. He didn’t look well.

“I think we need to start a fire,” Lyle said, concerned.

Yernen wasn’t like Lyle, who had grown up enduring harsh conditions, tagging along on hunting trips and survival outings. He remembered the words of the retainers back home, saying that delicate noble children would crumble under hardship, like plants withering without care. They had said it with a sense of superiority, claiming it was why kids like Lyle needed to toughen up.

Back then, Lyle had agreed that bookish nobles might not survive rough conditions, but he never imagined Yernen being one of them.
Now, he knew he had to act fast. Yernen needed warmth, and staying by the water wasn’t safe. Lyle checked himself over. He was sore but otherwise unhurt.

“Can you move?” Lyle asked.

Yernen shook his head slightly. Even his voice was weak, as if speaking took too much effort.
“I’ll… just stay here.”

Lyle frowned and ran his hand through his hair, thinking. Finding a cave to take shelter in probably isn’t an option in this terrain, he reasoned. Even if he found one, it could be too dangerous, with no telling what might be lurking inside.

Maybe lighting a fire right here is our best bet, he thought. It wasn’t the safest option, but they’d survived so many dangers already—escaping the carriage, outrunning the wolves, even surviving the fall. They had been lucky so far.
Lyle wasn’t much of a believer in fate, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe something, or someone, was watching over Yernen.

After all, Yernen wasn’t just anyone—he was the cherished child of the imperial family, with the divine bl00d of the gods. Maybe, just maybe, some of that divine protection was on their side tonight.

If there really is some divine force watching over him, it wouldn’t hurt to hope it scares off any predators, Lyle thought wryly.

“Wait here for a moment,” Lyle said, then quickly ran into the woods. He gathered dry branches and leaves, grateful that the season had left plenty of kindling.

After piling the kindling together, Lyle rubbed two sticks together, picturing how his father’s men had done it before. He had never done it himself, but the urgency of the situation spurred him on. Every second mattered—this fire could be the only thing keeping Yernen alive.

His hands ached, and small splinters dug into his skin, but eventually, a spark flickered to life. Normally, Yernen would have made a sarcastic remark about how slow Lyle was, but this time, Yernen simply leaned weakly against a rock, barely moving.

“…My head…” Yernen mumbled.

“Your head hurts? Since when?” Lyle asked, worried. He had checked Yernen earlier, and nothing seemed seriously wrong, but now, hearing about the headache, Lyle grew more concerned.

“…Cold…”

“Your body temperature must’ve dropped. Let’s get these wet clothes off you,” Lyle said, gently removing Yernen’s soaked garments.

As he worked, Lyle noticed the large bruises covering Yernen’s neck and shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve got some serious bruising,” Lyle said, inspecting the dark marks with increasing concern.

Yernen, even in his weakened state, muttered, “Two… it’s just two, you idiot.”

Lyle sighed in relief, realizing that if Yernen could still be sarcastic, his mind was sharp enough. “Well, at least your brain’s still working,” he replied with a small smile.

He removed Yernen’s clothes and pulled him close, wrapping them both in his own cloak to share warmth.

“Let’s stay like this until our clothes dry out a bit,” Lyle said, holding Yernen close to keep him warm.

Despite Lyle’s growing concern, the only sound around them was the crackling of the fire. There were no signs of beasts or monsters, just an eerie, unnatural silence—so quiet that it was as if no one else was there at all.

“Yernen?” Lyle called, his voice tinged with worry.

There was no response.

“Yernen!” Lyle called again, more urgently this time, while checking his pulse. His heart sank.

‘Damn it.’

Yernen’s pulse was dangerously slow—so slow it was a wonder he was still alive. Something was clearly very wrong.

But what could Lyle do? He wasn’t a healer, and he had no idea what kind of injury or illness was affecting Yernen. Even if he knew, he wouldn’t be able to find or identify the right herbs. And most importantly, he couldn’t leave Yernen alone in this state, especially with his pulse so faint.

“Yernen…!” Lyle called out again desperately.

“…What,” Yernen finally responded, his voice weak.

“Aren’t you thirsty?” Lyle asked, trying to keep him conscious.

Yernen didn’t reply, instead closing his eyes as if to indicate he didn’t have the strength to keep talking.

Lyle’s anxiety grew. A feeling gnawed at him that if Yernen fell asleep now, he might never wake up again. He could feel the life slipping away from the small, cold body in his arms.

Time passed in tense silence, with Lyle speaking to Yernen just to keep him awake, though he wasn’t sure how long he had been doing it. But eventually, Yernen’s breathing stopped. His pulse disappeared.

Panic surged through Lyle as he laid Yernen down and began pressing on his chest, trying to revive him. Sweat or tears—he couldn’t tell which—dripped down his face as he worked tirelessly.
“Please… please…!” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

Lyle’s mind was flooded with memories of Yernen—the defiant looks he gave, the mischievous acts he’d pull, and the way his gaze would soften when they were together. He couldn’t lose him. He wouldn’t survive without Yernen, his irreplaceable fiancée.

“Yernen…!” Lyle cried out, unable to bear the thought of losing him.

He didn’t know how long he performed chest compressions, but Yernen remained unresponsive. Still, Lyle couldn’t stop. His arms ached, and he was close to exhaustion, but he kept going because stopping meant losing Yernen forever.
Just then, there was movement. Lyle’s head snapped up.

“…!”

He heard footsteps—steady, purposeful ones, like soldiers marching in boots. And then, the voice of Count Aynis reached him.

“Your Highness! Over here!”

Lyle shouted as loudly as he could, “We need a healer—no, a priest!”

At his words, the faces of the approaching knights turned pale. If Lyle was relatively unharmed despite being stranded in the mountains, it was obvious who was in need of a priest.
No one was unaware of how deeply the Emperor cherished Yernen. The Emperor treated him like a delicate feather, handling him with such care that any danger seemed unthinkable.

The priest hurried over and immediately poured healing magic into Yernen, working frantically until, at last, a faint heartbeat returned. But Yernen remained unconscious, and the treatment continued as he was loaded into a carriage bound for the Villelois duchy.

Yernen slowly opened his eyes, feeling like he had been asleep for a very long time.

“Yernen!”

“Your Highness!”

The voices around him were familiar. He tried to speak, but his throat was dry and his voice wouldn’t come out properly.

“Tell the Emperor that Yernen has woken up immediately,” Lyle instructed one of the attendants.

Lyle then helped Yernen sit up, offering him water to drink, which Yernen weakly accepted.
“Lyle,” Yernen managed to say, his voice finally returning.

Lyle, usually so calm and nonchalant, had tears brimming in his eyes as he looked at Yernen.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Did I almost die or something?” Yernen asked, pouting as he gave Lyle a playful glare.

“You’ve been unconscious for a week,” Lyle replied, his voice heavy with emotion.

“A week?!” Yernen exclaimed, his eyes wide as he glanced around. He realized with surprise that he was back in his room in the capital.

“We got back here after a week?” Yernen asked, shocked. They hadn’t even reached the Portnum duchy where his sister was. Besides, the Villelois duchy was supposed to be a month’s journey away.

“Don’t tell me…” Yernen narrowed his eyes at Lyle suspiciously.

“Did you use some kind of teleportation magic?”
“Fleur Marquess helped us,” Lyle explained.

Yernen weakly raised his arm to cover his eyes, frustrated by the situation. Mages were already rare, but those who could manipulate space were especially precious.

“Why did Father have to go that far just because I passed out for a little while?” Yernen muttered, though before he could complain further, Lyle pulled him into a tight hug.
“L-Lyle…!”

Yernen wanted to slap Lyle on the back and say, “Are you trying to crush me?” but he didn’t even have the strength for that. Besides, feeling how deeply worried Lyle had been, Yernen let out a small laugh and patted his back instead.

“Yernen!”

“Mother…”

Soon, Roxie and Bainen arrived, their faces pale with worry after hearing Yernen had woken up. This was followed by a flood of concerned voices from his family.

“Yernen!”

But that was just the beginning. After receiving visits from concerned nobles, Harriet arrived late, crying his eyes out as he fussed over Yernen’s condition, staying by his side for days. Though Yernen had been upset with Harriet before, seeing him visit regularly softened his heart, and he forgave his brother. However, his feelings toward Harriet’s fiancée, Lizzie, remained unchanged, as she was still not allowed in Yernen’s palace.

Even before the accident, Yernen had been treated like a fragile treasure, but after it, the imperial family’s protectiveness intensified. The servants assigned to him were constantly on edge, worried that Yernen might trip or fall, and the Emperor’s overprotectiveness continued until Yernen, fed up with being treated like a delicate feather, finally caused a stir in the palace. Thankfully, despite his severe injuries, Yernen’s recovery went smoothly, and everyone attributed it to his youth.

Time passed, winter melted into spring, and good news came to the imperial family: Cecil, now Duchess of Portnum, was expecting a child.

“My sister… having a baby?” Yernen was shocked, unable to believe that Cecil could have someone more precious than him.

While everyone else celebrated, Yernen felt a pang of jealousy. He confided his frustration to Roxie, especially since Lyle was away in the north and there was no one else to listen to his complaints.

“Yernen, Cecil will just have one more person to love. It doesn’t mean you’re less important,” Roxie reassured him gently.

“But… she didn’t come to the capital this spring, and she said it’ll be hard to visit in the summer too…” Yernen pouted.

“That’s because she’s expecting a child, dear. She can’t travel in her condition.”

Despite Roxie’s comforting words, Yernen’s mood didn’t improve. In a quiet voice, he said, “I miss her.”

Roxie smiled and said, “When winter comes, we’ll visit the Duchy of Portnum with the help of Fleur Marquess. You’ll see for yourself that you’re still important to your sister. She even sent you a long letter this month.”

Though Roxie did her best to comfort him, holding Cecil’s letter in her hands, Yernen’s spirits remained low. Roxie wished that Yernen’s life would continue without further misfortunes and that happiness would fill his days. But like the fleeting spring blossoms, that wish was not to be.

Cecil’s child was born but never took its first breath. The baby did not open its eyes, and this tragedy marked the beginning of a series of misfortunes for the imperial family.

Desperate to save the baby, Cecil brought the child to the capital, where the high priests tried everything they could, but all they managed was to prolong the baby’s life. By the time Yernen turned ten, another blow struck—the Emperor, Bainen, suddenly passed away.

It began with mild discomfort, escalating quickly into severe pain, and within a week, the Emperor was gone. His death was so shocking that many palace physicians and priests were dismissed, blamed for his untimely demise.

With Bainen’s death, the throne passed to Yernen’s eldest brother, Harriet.

Before officially passing the crown, Roxie asked Yernen one final time if he wanted to become Emperor. As always, Yernen brushed off the question, uninterested. What mattered most to Yernen at the time was learning swordsmanship from Lyle, spending time with his peers, and being admired by them.

And there was one other thing on Yernen’s mind: shortly after the Emperor’s death, Lyle awakened as an Alpha. From that point, Lyle grew rapidly, both in height and strength, while Yernen still felt like a child. Frustrated, Yernen would often take out his annoyance on Lyle during their sparring sessions, hitting him with a wooden sword. Lyle, always the good sport, took the beatings with a smile, which only made Yernen feel better.

After Lyle’s awakening, they could no longer share a room, but when Lyle was in the capital, they were inseparable. Yernen spent every day by Lyle’s side, and it seemed inevitable to him that once they became adults and had their grand wedding, they would leave to rule the Duchy of Beltemore together.

Bainen had always told Yernen that he needed to rule the north to centralize power in the empire, but Yernen’s desire to be with Lyle had nothing to do with power—it was simply because he liked Lyle and admired his leadership qualities.

Yernen eagerly awaited the day when he and Lyle would leave for Beltemore, focusing on growing stronger and studying diligently. However, despite the passing years, Yernen still had not awakened as an Omega, even though everyone else had by the age of fourteen, with no known cases of anyone awakening after that age. Yet, Yernen’s awakening had not come.

Yernen couldn’t quite put the unsettling feeling to rest.

Then, in October of the year Yernen turned thirteen, his mother, the former Empress Roxie Mariage Helio, passed away unexpectedly.