How the Villainous Consort Avoids His Death Ending

Startled, I looked up to see the barn door completely blown away, shattered into pieces across the floor.

Everett slowly turned his body toward it. The composed smile had already vanished.

“……You are in a hurry, Grand Duke.”

Tristan did not respond. Yet in his blue eyes, a mixture of cold fury, fear, and resolute determination swirled. His gaze soon shifted to me. His tightly closed lips finally parted, and a low voice rang out.

“Ruellin, are you unharmed?”

“Tristan!”

Everett clicked his tongue and gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist. But Tristan moved before him.

He closed the distance to Everett in a single stride. The blade sliced through the air with a tearing sound. Everett gritted his teeth and attempted to strike back. The swords clashed, metal scraping loudly as they collided.

Tristan did not retreat. He lowered his body again, thrusting the tip of his sword toward Everett’s waist, forcing him back. Everett, gritting his teeth, staggered backward and barely parried the strike.

“Ugh……!”

Tristan seized the moment Everett’s balance faltered. With a sudden rise of his torso, he struck Everett repeatedly. Overwhelmed by the ferocity, Everett stumbled several steps back.

At that moment, the sound of hurried footsteps came from outside. The door burst open, and a dozen fully armed assassins, led by Viscount Elsworth, poured into the barn.

“Late, Viscount.”

“……Apologies. Step back, Your Highness.”

Clicking his tongue and frowning, Everett ignored the Viscount as he bent hurriedly. The assassins immediately rushed toward Tristan. My breath caught.

Yet Tristan’s stance did not waver. His eyes grew colder, and his sword moved decisively without hesitation. One assassin’s shoulder was sliced in a single stroke. He twisted his body, dodged a flying sword, and kicked the opponent’s ankle, sending him crashing to the ground.

In the chaos, Everett slowly retreated. It seemed he hoped to use the confusion to escape.

I watched in a daze and instinctively moved. My legs still lacked strength, and my arms felt unbearably heavy. Yet half-crawling, dragging my legs across the barn floor, I inched forward. My palms scraped against rough gravel and straw, my breathing ragged. Eventually, I managed to hook one of his ankles.

“……What are you doing, Ruel? Can you not let go?”

Everett turned, startled, his face contorting. I clutched one of his legs with all my strength. His boot mercilessly kicked my abdomen. Lightning flashed before my eyes. I collapsed helplessly to the floor. Then, I sensed a cold presence behind me. I barely turned my body and saw an assassin raising a sword to strike me. I had no strength left to dodge.

My body stiffened. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to curl up, drawing in a shaky breath.

Yet a moment passed, and when I cautiously opened my eyes, I felt no impact or pain. Instead, something collapsed into my arms as if embracing me.

It was warm and damp. Only then did I see Tristan pressing his forehead against my shoulder, holding me tightly.

The assassin’s sword was embedded deep in the center of his back.

“Tristan……Tr, Tristan?”

I called his name with a trembling voice. No response came. Tristan’s head slumped forward. I clutched his head with shaking hands. Only then did I realize my palms were soaked in his blood.

From outside the barn, shouts and cheers rang out.

“The Hezekia Knights! Drop your weapons!”

Bloodied and sweaty, Gehardt and several knights, including Sir Mildred, rushed in. Everett muttered a curse under his breath, clearly irritated. The Viscount looked around nervously and issued commands.