The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 6.3

Yernen looked down at his tombstone.

It bore only the name “Yernen Helio” and his birth year. Unlike the other emperors, there were no inscriptions of accomplishments or poetic tributes. No one mourned his passing with kind words.

Yet, Lyle had placed a flower at his grave, perhaps out of lingering attachment.

“There were other emperors to honor, weren’t there? The first emperor, or perhaps the Conqueror who seized the southern lands. So why honor a failed emperor? Or… do you aspire to be a tyrant?” Yernen’s voice carried a hint of mockery.

“…Who knows.”

But Lyle brushed aside the sharp remark.

Once, Yernen had been able to understand Lyle’s thoughts just by looking at his eyes; they had always been close. But too much time had passed. Yernen had changed enough that he was confident his true identity wouldn’t be discovered. And it seemed Lyle had changed, too.

Yernen looked up at Lyle, who returned his gaze with an expression he couldn’t decipher. His eyes seemed both calm and slightly pained.

“I’m not sure,” Lyle murmured.

Yernen could vaguely sense the complex emotions behind Lyle’s words.

Yernen sat on a shaded bench, looking bored. Beside him, Noah stood nervously, hands shaking as he poured tea, looking as if he’d spent hours outside in the dead of winter.
Clatter, clatter!

The trembling was so severe that the lid of the teapot rattled as if it were boiling, and Yernen’s expression grew gradually darker. Yet, Noah, oblivious to the hostile gaze, focused entirely on not spilling the tea.

When Noah finally sloshed tea onto the table, Yernen shot him a look, and Noah hiccuped, startled as if he might have a fit. Yernen couldn’t understand why Noah seemed so terrified—after all, they hadn’t even known each other for a week, and Yernen had never laid a hand on him.

“…Go fetch Russell to serve me instead.”

“R-Russell? Y-yes, Your Majesty… I’ll bring him right away!” Noah’s face lit up like a spring flower, and he hurried out, disappearing through the garden gate.

Yernen watched him go, shaking his head in exasperation. He doubted Noah even knew where Russell was.

Yernen could bet on Chloe Ronefeld’s Vision of Mourning that Noah had no understanding that a servant was not supposed to leave his master alone for so long.

In any case, it was more restful without Noah around, and Yernen decided not to dwell on his shortcomings. It was better for his mental well-being to let it go.

Unfortunately, despite the ceremony for the late emperor being over, Yernen couldn’t yet return to the palace. An urgent matter had arisen in the eastern provinces, and Lyle and several others were meeting to discuss it.

What was supposed to be a brief meeting dragged on, indicating that the situation was more serious than expected. In the meantime, nobles eager to form alliances with Yernen swarmed around him, but he had no energy left to entertain them.

This frail body—thin and without any real strength—grew weary easily. He’d spent the morning dressing and leading the ceremony, so despite the sun still being high, Yernen was already exhausted.

An area in the greenhouse, nestled deep within the Grand Cathedral, had been prepared for him to rest while Lyle attended to matters. Yernen wrapped himself in a soft blanket and looked down at his hands.

These hands were delicate, smooth, and free of scars or calluses—far different from the hands of his past life. Outwardly, this body seemed ideal, yet he knew it was weak.

What a frail body.

In his previous life, his health hadn’t been the best toward the end, but this body was truly weak. If he ever had to leave the palace and fend for himself, he would need to rebuild his strength—but it was doubtful this body could even manage that.
Not that it matters. I might die again before then.

After all, ending up in this body was nothing but a twist of fate. He could die tomorrow, or right after giving birth.
The thought made his head spin, and another unsettling presence added to his unease.

Lyle Beltimore—what was he thinking?

How am I going to deal with him?

Yernen already sensed the situation was risky enough, but he knew getting further entangled with Lyle was dangerous. Yet no matter how many times he wished Lyle would leave, Lyle showed no signs of returning to his quarters. It was frustrating.

Just as Yernen began thinking of ways to rid himself of this “leech,” he was startled by the sound of footsteps on the grass beside him.

“…!”

There, standing near him, was a familiar face.

“Your Majesty.”

“…”

Damn.

Yernen realized immediately that he’d been found out.

The term “Your Majesty” was not being used to address an empress—it was the title for an emperor.

The man knew. He was certain that Yernen, within this body, was the soul of the former Emperor.

“Tennes Trizia.”

Yernen sighed, looking up at the knight. Tennes seemed too confident in his assumption to pretend otherwise.

Though he hadn’t hidden his mannerisms, he hadn’t expected to be discovered so quickly. After all, very few people would believe such a fantastical notion—a dead man returning to life.

In fact, today was the first time Yernen had encountered Tennes in this life, and only briefly. Tennes had been stationed in the eastern provinces for months, only returning to the capital today.

“How did you know?”

Tennes smiled gently. “You were unmistakably… Your Majesty.”

Yernen supposed it was understandable, given that Tennes was the one who had rescued him from the island and had loyally remained by his side after he became emperor.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d returned?” Tennes asked softly.
Yernen took a sip of the tea Noah had left for him, though it only made him feel worse. It had cooled and was now bitter.

“Who would believe a dead man had returned?”

“We would have,” Tennes replied without hesitation.

Yernen looked at him silently.

“We’ve all missed you, Your Majesty. I… have missed you as well.”

With a quiet murmur, Tennes knelt and took Yernen’s hand.

“I told you to serve Lyle. I commanded you to be loyal to him once your duties were complete. Why are you still following a dead man’s shadow?”

Yernen’s tone was curt.

“I would have obeyed any command from you… but I could not follow that one,” Tennes said, clutching Yernen’s hand.
“You were the emperor I chose.”

Yernen looked down at Tennes.

In life, he had often called Tennes a fool. He’d said there couldn’t be anyone more stubborn and unyielding. And now, that same knight had proven he couldn’t serve two masters, continuing to serve Yernen’s memory even after his death, and now standing by his side again.

With a sigh, Yernen looked at Tennes. His amber-brown eyes, warmed by the afternoon light, held a familiar loyalty that had seen him through difficult times.

At that moment, Yernen realized that his plans had been completely derailed.

Now that Tennes knew, it wouldn’t be long before others found out Yernen’s soul had returned to the world. His plan to slip away unnoticed was now impossible.

He knew all too well what they would do—follow him to the ends of the earth if need be.

This complicates things.

But as Yernen sighed, Tennes’s face gradually brightened.
As loyal as he was, Tennes had a keen sense for his master’s intentions. He knew better than anyone that behind Yernen’s sharp exterior lay a profound kindness for those he considered his own. And Tennes could see that Yernen would not abandon them.

Seeing his master’s silent approval, Tennes smiled faintly, recalling the long years of hardship he had endured.

On a white marble windowsill, a figure stood, looking down with a cold gaze. Below, there was a pale figure dressed in a dark blue embroidered robe, speaking with a brown-haired knight covered in dust.

The figure watched them intently for a long time before turning away at the sound of someone calling. Rough hands brushed across the windowsill before dropping away.

The footsteps echoed through the pristine corridor.

“So, who’s arrived?” Yernen asked, setting down a glass of amber-colored fruit wine that Lyle had given him but that he had barely touched.

“Justin and Yurise,” Tennes answered.

Yernen was glad. He didn’t want to drink anyway, especially given the feverish heat rising in his body. He could now excuse himself from the garden without bringing a drink.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

With Tennes escorting him, Yernen began walking slowly.
Throughout the Helio Empire’s thousand-year history, the emperors had always been accompanied by the Imperial Knights.
Yernen could only vaguely grasp the complex emotions simmering in Lyle’s words.

Yernen sat bored on a bench shaded by an awning, while nearby, Noah’s hands shook as he tried to pour tea, as if he’d been wandering outside in the dead of winter for hours. His trembling made the lid of the teapot rattle, a sound that caused Yernen’s expression to grow increasingly tense.

Eventually, when Noah clumsily spilled tea onto the table, Yernen shot him a glare. Noah, meeting Yernen’s eyes, startled and began hiccupping as if he might faint. They hadn’t even known each other for a week, and Yernen had never been violent toward him, yet the boy trembled uncontrollably.

“…Fetch Russell to serve me instead.”

“R-Russell? Yes, right away, Your Majesty! I’ll go get him!” Noah’s face brightened as he darted out, vanishing beyond the garden gate.