The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 9.1

Waking up was like surfacing through a sea of agony. Or rather, it wasn’t a sudden surge of pain, but a slow, dawning awareness of aches that engulfed his body as his senses returned. Every hurt suddenly felt sharp and relentless, drawing him back to full consciousness.

Yernene opened his eyes, lying on a cold, unyielding stone floor, his stomach throbbing with such intensity that he couldn’t curl up, couldn’t stretch out; he could only lie there, drenched in cold sweat.

“Urgh…”

A raspy, fractured sound slipped from his parched lips. Someone was gently lifting his head, carefully pressing a cup to his mouth. Gratefully, Yernene took a few small sips of the cool water before breaking away as another wave of pain knotted his stomach, forcing him to clutch his belly.

“Where… am I?”

This wasn’t the cabin. The hard stone floor, the sounds of numerous footsteps echoing nearby—nothing felt familiar. And most significantly, there was no one in that cabin who would have offered him water so kindly.

He attempted to open his eyes again, to understand his surroundings, but his eyelids felt heavy and hot, resisting his efforts. Just then, a voice spoke gently.

“Are you all right?”

It was Tenes’ voice. At the sound, Yernene’s hazy awareness solidified, bringing reality into sharp focus.

He had slain Illian. And after that… His memory blurred. He could almost recall a vision, a vague memory of Tenes beheading Harriet, though it might have been an illusion.

“What… happened?” he asked Tenes, anxiety lacing his voice.
“The state funeral is underway.”

“…!”

“For both royals.”

That meant their mission had succeeded. The final image he’d seen before blacking out hadn’t been a dream.

“We are outside the capital, Your Highness.”

“Outside the capital…?”

“Yes.”

Yernene’s mouth dropped open, but he soon closed it, his face contorting as tears began slipping down his cheeks from beneath his hot, heavy eyelids. After several moments of intense effort, he finally managed to open his eyes just a sliver.

Through the iron bars, he saw a crowded square where people bustled to and fro.

“Ah…”

It was the outside world. His first glimpse in eight years.
Only now did Yernene begin to grasp that he had truly left the island behind.

“Are you feeling better, Your Highness?”

“…Yes.”

Yernene replied hesitantly after a long silence.

“…”

It was all so utterly frustrating.

At times, his tormentors had mocked him, threatening to throw him into the center of the capital square in a wretched state or abandon him in some filthy brothel frequented by the lowest rungs of society.

He couldn’t deny that such threats had frightened him.

During his long captivity, when his isolation began erasing fragments of his previous life, Yernene sometimes dreaded a future where he would be cast out and left to wander aimlessly.

But those moments were brief. For most of his time on the island, he had only one desire: to escape the deep, dark lake of despair that seemed to swallow him whole. He longed to leave behind the eerie silence where only the wind, trees, and occasional water sounds broke the endless quiet.

Yet, he only carried this hope because he’d never actually left the island.

His initial awareness of being outside gave him a profound sense of liberation—but it lasted only a fleeting moment.

Having been isolated for so long, Yernene now found himself overwhelmed by the crowded square. Each glance at the milling crowd made him dizzy, his skin clammy with sweat, and he felt sick every time he imagined people’s eyes on him.

Desperate for privacy, Yernene forced his exhausted body to sit up, using Tenes as a shield and retreating to a corner to hide.
Looking down, he saw his bruised, battered body covered in scrapes, his right arm wrapped in a splint. Over his bare torso, he wore Tenes’ coat, and beneath it, his pale legs poked out, bare and exposed.

To cover himself fully, he pulled Tenes’ large cloak around him, making sure he was entirely hidden from view, especially the hateful words carved into his back. Feeling the security of the cloak around him, his nausea and anxiety finally started to subside, and he took a deep breath.

Now that his heart was calming, he could focus on his surroundings.

Moss-covered stone walls hinted at years of neglect, while a sticky, grimy floor littered with straw made the space look filthy.

Thick, rusted iron bars lined the wall facing the bustling square.

There was no mistaking it—this was a prison.

As Yernene took in his surroundings, old memories surfaced, stories he’d heard once upon a time. This was a prison situated in the center of a slum, used to publicly shame high-ranking nobles who committed serious crimes.

He couldn’t say he hadn’t anticipated this outcome. As the emperor’s son, he’d killed not only the emperor but also one of his brothers. Normally, even noble bl00d wouldn’t shield one from an immediate execution. But Yernene’s royal lineage, believed to carry divine bl00d, had spared him—confined here instead.

This much, he could accept. But still, something seemed… odd.

“Tenes.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Why aren’t they looking this way?”

People in the square walked with heads lowered, avoiding any glance in their direction.

“I heard that prisoners here were normally subject to ridicule from passersby.”

It was peculiar.

“That’s why people dreaded being thrown into this prison. Isn’t that true?”

“It used to be, but things have changed recently.”

“Why?”

From a bleak, overcast sky, the first snowflakes began to fall. Yernene remembered that this was the first snow of the year.
“Snow is falling, Your Highness,” Tenes murmured, extending his hand through the bars to catch a snowflake.

“Seeing it fall now, I feel reassured in my choices.”

Yernene observed the faint smile on his weary knight’s face.

“People no longer ridicule those thrown in here because they know that not all are disgraced.”

A trace of bitterness shaded Tenes’ expression.

“Much has happened since you disappeared, Your Highness,” he began, his voice quiet, and Yernene listened intently.

“After your disappearance, Lady Harriet restructured power among the eastern nobility. She dismantled numerous families in the west and north, seizing their lands and wealth.”

“…”

“In the last decade, countless nobles passed through this prison. There were criminals among them, but many were innocent. That’s why people have stopped throwing stones. They understand that the more nobles imprisoned here, the harsher their own lives become.”

Tenes didn’t continue, but Yernene understood the rest.

Among those noble families Harriet destroyed would have been his maternal family, Ryle’s family, and countless others from the western and northern regions.

The people of the square had gradually learned that the nobles who genuinely cared for them were the first to be imprisoned here. And knowing this, they could no longer bring themselves to throw stones.

Yernene’s gaze fell on the people in the square, the gathering of the capital’s poorest and weakest.

Though the square was filthy and disorganized, foreign to him, someone in the crowd caught his attention.

He couldn’t explain why, but Yernene found himself unable to look away.

One of the many vagrants lying on the edge of the square—a man clutching a woman’s garment—captured his gaze.

Driven by a strange impulse, Yernene struggled toward the bars for a closer look.

When the man shifted and lifted his head, Yernene knew exactly who he was.

It brought back the memory of a distant day, the first time he had gone out with Ryle in disguise, exploring the lively square near the central market.

Amid merchants who flocked to him, there was one with a knack for charm who quickly caught his attention. It was at his stall that Yernene had tasted commoner food for the first time—a bowl of corn stew, simple and plain compared to palace dishes, but comforting in its own humble way.

The sandwich they had shared, stuffed with marinated tomatoes, basil, and smoked ham, was also to Yernene’s taste.

“Not bad at all,” he thought, savoring it.

Despite it being common fare, Yernene found the flavor surprisingly enjoyable. As he complimented the owner, Ryle, watching him with a slight smirk and his chin resting on his hand, spoke with a warm smile in his eyes.

“You like anything sweet.”

Yernene shot Ryle a glare, retaliating by kicking him in the shin under the table.

That day, the meal had been a pleasant one, filled with light-hearted energy. The food was satisfying, and the playful banter from the owner kept Yernene in a bright mood.

When Yernen attempted to pay, the owner firmly declined, saying, with a shy smile, that he wouldn’t take any payment. He then shared that his wife was about to have a baby and, instead of payment, he asked Yernene to offer a blessing for the child. It was almost as though he knew who Yernene truly was.