How the Villainous Consort Avoids His Death Ending

His affection level had probably already hit rock bottom, and my life was hanging by a thread. The attempt at acting cute that I tried only made Tristan angrier. No matter how I thought about it, there seemed to be no way out of this underground cell.

“Ugh, it’s cold… Why is it like an icebox down here?”

To make matters worse, the prison was horribly cold. Maybe because of the stone floor, the chill seeped up from below, freezing my bones. At this rate, I was going to freeze to death before my execution.

Being suddenly dragged into another world was already ridiculous, but to die of hypothermia after a few days? It was so unfair and miserable that tears welled up.

Normally, I would have sprawled out, saying the cold felt refreshing. Maybe it was because I was a “recessive omega” with poor physical strength, but my current body was clearly weaker than the healthy one I used to have. So this was why Tristan had called me a “half-blooded omega.”

That is incorrect. The term “half-blooded omega” is a derogatory term referring to omegas who have difficulty conceiving children.
Chronicles of the Sword follows an omegaverse setting. The user’s designation is “omega,” specifically a “recessive omega,” which is said to be close to infertile. That insult was directed at that trait. >_-♡

The System, which had been silent for a while, finally spoke as if it could not stand my foolish behavior anymore. It was not a particularly pleasant explanation. I replied dryly.

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the info.”

You’re welcome 😉

Infertile, huh… So that was why Tristan had basically growled at me as if I should never dream of producing an heir.

Even before that, I had been anxious about suddenly being married to a man after living my whole life as one. The idea of pregnancy and childbirth terrified me. Finding out I could not conceive almost felt like a relief.

“No, wait. That’s not a good thing.”

I came to my senses mid-thought. This was not something to celebrate. In a society like this, being unable to bear an heir as the Grand Consort only increased my chance of meeting a gruesome death. Before that happened, I needed to secure a safe divorce.

Of course, that was a worry for after I got out of here alive. I could not get a safe divorce if I was dead. If my affection level had already dropped to -100, then I was about to be erased from the story altogether.

“System, that bastard Tristan—no, I mean, what’s the Grand Duke’s affection level right now?”

I asked, thinking I should at least check.

……Checking……

Normally, the System would have eagerly reported back just to taunt me, but this time it stuttered strangely. A little hourglass icon spun endlessly before my eyes, as if it was buffering.

“What the? You always update in real time, so why’s it taking so long now?”

Tristan’s response deviates from the original narrative of Chronicles of the Sword.

The System is currently analyzing the issue.
The System has temporarily stopped functioning.
(No response)
 

“Why’d you freeze up? Hey, did you crash? Should I reboot you?”

I did not even know how to do that. Frustrated, I just stared blankly at the air and finally slumped my shoulders. It would probably restart on its own eventually.

“Damn, it’s so cold. I’m seriously going to freeze to death…”

I gave up on the System and buried my face in my knees. My whole body was shaking uncontrollably. The freezing temperature made my eyes water.

Then, from beyond the prison bars, a solemn voice spoke.

“I wonder if you’ve had time to cool your head.”

It was the source of all my misfortune, that bastard Tristan.

❖ ❖ ❖

Tristan had married Ruellin two years ago.

At the time, no one in the Grand Duke had welcomed the marriage. It was no surprise, since the future Grand Consort was rumored to be the lover of Everett, the Second Prince, and a political enemy of the young Crown Prince Constantine.

Even so, Tristan accepted the match. The reason was simple.

He needed the enormous dowry Ruellin would bring.

A few years earlier, Tristan’s sister, the Crown Princess, had died in a carriage accident with the Crown Prince. After that, his young nephew had been sent to Hezekia under the pretext of convalescence. In truth, it was because they had been pushed aside by the Second Prince’s faction.

To sustain his barren territory, Tristan had been earning income through mercenary work. But he could not go to war while caring for an infant. He needed at least a few years, until the child learned to speak.

So he took in the scandal-ridden bride and his dowry in exchange for a few years of breathing room. Two years passed that way.

There had never been any real conversation between them. They had not even consummated the marriage. As expected, the Grand Consort was arrogant and venomous, behaving cruelly and hurling abuse. His eyes were filled with disgust, as if looking at something filthy.

Yet Tristan had always left Ruellin alone. Not because he was patient, but because he simply had no interest in him.

At least, that had been true until this morning.