《Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop》


 0 - Nethermere Conquest

    Three years ago, Nethermere¡¯s skyline decided it was time for a change¡ªa crack opened up in the sky, not for fresh air, but to introduce the local populace to their new neighbors: a legion of spaceships.


    Yes, you read that right.


    Not dragons, not flying chariots, but spaceships. Thousands of them, because well, quantity has a quality all its own.


    These interstellar tourists came from what they deemed a ¡°higher¡± civilization, with intentions to add Nethermere to their cosmic collection of conquered lands.


    With technology so advanced it made quantum physics seem like toddler''s babble, they traversed realms, searching for resource-rich mines as naturally as a river flows to the sea.


    Their arsenal? Oh, just your everyday laser cannons, force fields capable of shrugging off nuclear explosions, and AI so smart it could outwit centuries of strategic military thinking.


    They faced realms of all sorts, winning some over with the cunning of intergalactic salesmen and bulldozing others with the subtlety of a star going supernova.


    For them, Nethermere, with its quaint medieval charm and technology so archaic it might belong in an ancient history museum (they say), felt like a stroll through a cosmic park.


    "Crush and occupy," they declared. Straightforward strategy commenced¡ªno need for underhanded methods when facing off against sword-swinging, horseback-riding folks, right?


    But suddenly, their invasion ground to an abrupt halt, all thanks to a single man.


    King Burn of Soulnaught Kingdom decided he wasn''t in the mood for visitors.


    Okay now, picture this: spaceships, engines humming with visions of new territories, suddenly blasted into cosmic fireworks. And the culprit?


    A man with nothing but his bare fists, a bit of "cruel¡± magic, and also, well, probably a disdain for unwelcome house guests.


    King Burn wasn¡¯t just a man; he was a one-man army, a force of nature.


    As these futuristic vessels crumbled under his might, you could almost hear the invaders'' confidence shattering into a billion pieces.


    Here was a guy who didn''t need lasers or AI; he had his fists and spells that made their advanced weaponry look like toys. It was as if an ancient hero, usually seen brandishing a sword in myths, decided to show the universe what real power looked like.


    So there they were, a civilization that had conquered realms, brought to their knees not by another advanced civilization, but by a single man from a world they deemed "primitive."


    No.


    Just maybe, if that man hadn''t been born, they would have


    That was, however, three years ago. It was a different story today.


    Thus, following Burn''s cosmic reprimand, our gallant invaders experienced a lightbulb moment. Considering that using force was ineffective, it was necessary to implement "Plan B: Make Friends and Influence People... to Destroy Themselves."


    Clever, huh? Instead of employing laser guns, they exchanged grins and handshakes and concentrated on trading strategies. "We apologize for damaging your sky, but let''s trade!"


    "We''ll give you shiny tech gadgets in exchange for... well, the very fabric of your society."


    Their products were indeed too excellent to resist.


    Imagine having a hoverbike instead of a horse, a perpetual lightbulb in place of a candle, a fusion reactor installed in your ancient royal chariot, and armor with a built-in temperature control system.


    Is there anyone who could refuse? Not the aristocrats and nobility, who jumped at the chance to associate with these new, incredibly giving merchants.


    The invaders whispered sweet nothings into the ears of the powerful, sowing seeds of distrust and ambition. "Did you see Lord So-and-So''s new anti-gravity cloak? Bet you wish you had one. Maybe if you weren''t such good friends with Duke What''s-His-Name..."


    And just like that, the powerful people of the land started eyeing each other like the last slice of cake at a birthday party. The once unified front against the invaders crumbled faster than a cookie in zero gravity.


    In three short years, the land was rife with chaos, all because of a few well-placed bargains and baubles.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Let''s give a round of applause to our space-faring friends, shall we?


    They turned interstellar invasion into a masterclass in manipulation. Well, it wasn¡¯t like they never did so before. It was just classic for experienced space invaders like them.


    Who needs an all-out war when you can just get the locals to tear each other apart over the latest intergalactic knick-knacks?


    Bravo, invaders, bravo. You''ve successfully turned advanced conquest into the galaxy''s longest and most absurd episode of "Pawn Stars."


    Until¡­


    "Do you think King Burn is... you know, a bit harsh?"


    "What? He wasn''t just harsh; I heard he killed his own brother in the civil war because the man dared to suggest a different wine for dinner! Well, maybe not just that, but I heard it was just over petty things!"


    "Really? That''s nothing. My cousin''s friend told me Burn''s cruelty knows no bounds. He banished his aide for buttoning his shirt wrong. Imagine, his aide!"


    "Banished his aide? Come on, that''s child''s play. I heard from a reliable source that he threw a jester into the dungeon for being not funny. Said it was ''high treason against humor.''"


    "No way! Well, did you know he outlawed sneezing within a hundred paces of him because he believes it steals his thoughts? That''s why nobody dares to even sniffle at court!"


    "That''s utterly bizarre. But it makes sense. I heard he sleeps on a bed of swords to prove he''s the toughest around. Claims it gives him ''dreams of steel.''"


    "Do you think any of it''s true?"


    "Who knows? But it sure makes for a good tale. Just don''t whisper too loud; the walls have ears, and they might just report back to our dear ''merciful'' King Burn."


    Oh, you would hope it was just these kinds of silly rumors. In truth, it wasn¡¯t. Or to be certain, it started silly, and it became an image.


    The reason for the civil war five years ago started to be questioned.


    Everyone thought it was treason against the kingdom, but slowly, they started to think that it was rooted in how horrible of a king Burn was, and his brother wanted to take over the throne from him.


    ¡°Y¡­ Your Majesty¡­¡±


    ¡°They even used my history with my brother, huh?¡± Burn, sitting on his throne, muttered.


    Ranks of ministers, nobles, knights and aides kneeling in front of him in that opulent hall, drenched in sweat.


    The man sitting on the throne sneered, ¡°Reports have been quite interesting these days.¡±


    King Burn lounged on his throne, eyeing the sea of kneelers before him.


    No one had asked them to kneel, but there they were, sweat pooling, as if the floor had suddenly become the most fascinating aspect of the room.


    ¡®Aaaah, today, the hall¡¯s floor is so cold and refreshing, polished so meticulously that it was squeaky clean¡­ kudos to the palace servants¡­ fuck, I hope I can keep my head¡­¡¯


    Shift.


    All bodies stiffened as they heard their King shifted on his seat.


    ¡°Heh¡­¡±


    They heard their king chuckling! A goosebumps ran down their spine, simultaneously.


    ?"Gather round, folks, for the tale of how I, the ''Burn the villain,'' apparently won the civil war by being mean to my brother. ??Because, you know, no one''s ever won a war being nice." ?


    ?There was silence in the room as everyone''s ears were tuned to the sarcasm that was dripping from his words like honey.


    ?"And then there are the space invaders. ??Me? ??I used a broom to simply chase them away. ??I mean, that''s how interplanetary wars get resolved, right? ??A classic dust-up." ?


    ?He took a moment to process the ridiculousness. ??"But oh, no, let''s not talk about saving the world. ??Let''s gossip about how I supposedly throw people into dungeons for looking at me funny. ??Because, clearly, that''s the kind of thing that keeps me all giddy." ?


    ?The audience shuffled with nervousness. ??No one dared to get up, their loyalty?or maybe fear?anchoring them to the spot. ?


    ?"Now, I hear these delightful rumors are courtesy of our extraterrestrial friends. ??Divide et impera, am I right? ??Ohh, so classic." ?


    ?Burn''s gaze swept over them, as cold and sharp as ever. ??"So, here we are, playing into their hands, turning against each other over whispers and shadows. ??Honestly, I expected better. ??But hey, what do I know? ??I''m just the tyrant on the throne." ?


    ?As he leaned back, a calm smirk played on his lips. ??The message was clear: trust the rumors at your peril. ??Not just his own nasty rumor, but any rumor. ?


    ?The hall was silent as they tread the line between rumor and reality, and the razor-thin ice upon which they all skated. ?


    ?THUD! ?


    ?As Burn''s metal heel descended to the floor after he straightened his crossed legs, the court started to expect something. ?


    ?With a motion as methodical as the breaking of dawn, King Burn got up from his seat. ?


    ?Every heart stopped in mid-beat, every eye was fixated on him, and the quiet grew. ??He spoke, his voice like a razor slicing through the tension, his sigh seeming to carry the weight of the entire universe. ?


    ?"Enough," he exhaled, his voice resonating against the gold and marble. ??It was a straightforward statement that seemed to come straight from the gods. ?


    ?"It would be embarrassing to let these outsiders be. ??No, it would be my shame," he said again, his tone nonchalant yet loaded with the kind of authority that overthrow murmurs and whispers. ?


    He moved with a certainty that made it clear¡ªthis was not a mere shift in strategy; it was a declaration of war, but on his terms.


    "Their game is clear," Burn announced, every syllable heavy with resolve, "and I intend to play. Not as a pawn, but as the sole player. Conquer? Yes, but it will be I who conquers."


    The air in the hall turned electric, his advisors, ministers, and knights hanging on every word, witnessing the moment that would redefine the fate of their world.


    "Soulnaught shall no longer be a mere kingdom," he proclaimed, his stance unwavering, the power of his presence undiminished. "From this day forth, it is an empire, and I, its emperor."


    ¡°And I declare war to take over the world before they can.¡±

 1 - Personal Red Carpet

    Hissing fire.


    Small explosions.


    Wind carrying the scent of death.


    Once a gorgeous site, the battleground was now a masterclass in colors of crimson and burned flair.


    Not to be outdone, the sky decided red was actually its color, matching the destructive fireworks display below to perfection.


    The battleships and mechas that stole the show have turned into giant lawn ornaments. Did they actually bring the room together? One might suggest?


    Once shining in their technologically advanced armor, soldiers now lay trying to make out the not-so-ancient ruins.


    And magicians, magicians, magicians! With wands of rare space ore in hand, they lay there definitively demonstrating that magic was not a panacea.


    Especially not for war.


    Especially not for him.


    What? You''re asking what odor was that? Ah, indeed, everything was blazing, and the delicious scent of victory permeated the air. Thus, there had been time to enjoy the silence as the last flame had burned out and the last drone had buzzed away.


    There was a man standing in the middle of what seemed like the remnants of a cosmic clearance sale.


    Not just any man, but one who appeared to have made a false turn while traveling to a post-apocalyptic, high-end photo session.


    His white hair, which seemed to be radiating an ethereal light, provided a striking, almost beautiful contrast to the devastation all around it. Those golden eyes, too? Totally unfazed by the mayhem all around him, he shone with the cool assurance of someone who has just discovered the last slice of cake in a conflict zone.


    There he was, standing like he owned the place, probably contemplating the eternal question: "To brunch or not to brunch?" amidst the carnage.


    As fires raged and remnants of what once were fluttered in the acrid breeze, he remained as nonchalant as someone deciding on a latte or tea.


    It was all as expected, of course. After all, he was him.


    There stood Emperor Burn. His nonchalance let him seem as if he thought the blood soaked ground was his personal red carpet.


    Not one to miss a beat in the political drama of Nethermere, he had turned his battlefield into a statement piece.


    He said, clearly amused by the chaos around him, "You allow those outsiders to entice you with flashy technology and create wedges between us."


    "You could have sworn loyalty to me, but you prioritized technology over people. What a disappointment, Wintersin Empire."


    His sword, reduced to a glorified stick, was lying mounted on the blood-soaked ground.


    "Ah, my faithful companion," he groaned, his shoulders bearing the weight of the world, or at least the weight of the destruction of his weapon.


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    This was a guy who had seen entire civilizations collapse and innumerable enemies perish, yet he grieved over a chunk of metal like a little child grieves over a broken toy.


    "It''s been quite the party, hasn''t it?" He smirked as he made a joke, directed at nobody in particular.


    But alas, it was the end of the road for his sword, a loss that seemed to sting more than the countless assets and lives he had laid to waste.


    "More than any siege or skirmish, it''s you, my trusty blade, that I''ll pine for. What''s an emperor without his sword? Just a man with a very expensive piece of metal, I suppose."


    His sword started to crumble to dust.


    It reminded him of the civil war some years ago. He killed his brother with his own two hands.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the king¡¯s son! I, Clarent, am his only son!¡±


    It was before those invaders came.


    Despite not being the real son of the king, he still killed his brother, the one with the real royal bloodline. Well, it wasn¡¯t like he knew before that he wasn¡¯t of the bloodline. He was raised as one nevertheless.


    Burn recalled how it was similar to today. The red sky, the body scattered about¡­ except the space junks and fancy tech he destroyed.


    ¡°It has been an eventful decade¡­¡±


    Yes, since he was crowned the King, killed his brother for his rebellion in the civil war, stopped the invaders, and declared himself the emperor of the Soulnaught Empire.


    Even if time turned back to a decade ago, he would still do the same.


    He would change nothing.


    With the collapse of the Wintersin Empire, the entire continent now lay within his grasp. And soon the world too¡­


    Just as Burn was about to call it a day on the battlefield, hoping to catch up with his troops who were off having their own little skirmish elsewhere, a shadow flickered.


    A woman.


    Burn¡¯s first reaction to it¡ªno, his first thought when he saw what it was was¡­ ¡®beautiful¡¯.


    Blocking his path, she drew her blade with a flourish. Then, in a move that would leave even the most avant-garde playwright scratching their head, she screamed his full name¡ª"Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!"


    SLICE!


    Burn widened his eyes.


    As she stood there, blocking his way, her face twisted in a visage of pure hatred, eyes ablaze with a fury that could ignite the very air. Then, with a sudden, eerie calm, she drew her blade across her own throat.


    SPLAT!


    Blood spilled on the already blood soaked ground. Red on top of the red, yet it looked redder than the charred ground.


    Her face changed at that very instant, from hatred to a frantic, disturbing smile, as if, in her dying breath, she had accepted some sinister, twisted triumph.


    It had a lasting influence, carving a raw, emotional anguish into her features before giving way to a terrifying peace.


    And Burn¡ª


    ***


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    BLINK!


    Burn suddenly opened his eyes, finding himself in the familiar surroundings of his room, on his bed.


    ¡°A dream?¡±


    It was as if time had folded upon itself; one moment he was on the battlefield, and the next, he was here, the transition as seamless as a blink.


    Remarkably composed, he stood up, his brain reeling with confusion. Drawing the boundaries of his reality with the brushstrokes of a dream, his thoughts kept going back to the vivid picture of the woman he had seen.


    She was ethereal, an almost unearthly embodiment of beauty. Her beautiful blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in a graceful manner, framing her face like liquid sunshine.


    Her lofty stature and sharp, curvaceous figure conveyed a contradiction that combined strength and tenderness in equal measure. She moved with grace and fluidity in every motion, giving the impression that she was untouched by agitation or hurry.


    Her eyes were the most noticeable feature; they were a deep blue that, on the clearest of days, matched the sky. They radiated a radiance, a brilliance that appeared to overwhelm her surroundings and overwhelm everything else in their shadow.


    Burn observed a range of emotions reflected in those eyes, including fierceness, despair, resolve, and an eerie depth that suggested she held secrets as enormous as the oceans.


    Burn sat on his bed, her appearance imprinted in detail in his memory with unexpected precision. Even though it might have been a dream, she felt as real to him as the air he breathed.


    He felt confused, but also as though something precious had been taken from him by waking. He couldn''t quite put his finger on it.


    No.


    She cut her own throat in front of him.


    She robbed herself from him. Even in a dream¡ª


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    The door to his room was opened, and a man he knew as his closest aide entered.


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    Burn raised his eyebrows. ¡°Huh?¡±


    Wasn¡¯t the war¡­ already over?

 2 - Guess the Date

    It was complete silence in the hall that day.


    There sat Burn, on his throne, a picture of regal calm with a side of simmering rage. Before him knelt a sea of ministers, nobles, aides, and knights, each one trying not to look like they were desperately wondering how to escape this latest episode of "Guess the Date with Emperor Burn."


    "Again," Burn said, his voice smooth and somewhat menacing. "What''s the date?"


    One of his closest aides, a man who had obviously been dealt a bad hand in life, stood up. He replied with the forbearance of a saint and the resignation of someone who''s tried to explain daylight savings time to a two-year-old. Once more.


    Burn hummed in response, a sound that somehow managed to convey both acknowledgement and the threat of a dragon deciding whether now was a good time for a barbecue.


    The hall, collectively holding its breath, heard not a hum but a growl, a not-so-gentle reminder of the thin line between royal curiosity and "off with his head."


    But of course, none of them could comprehend what was on their Emperor¡¯s mind right now. And the truth was, none of them could ever.


    ¡°What do you mean today is three years ago?!¡±


    That thought ran through Burn''s mind like a runaway carriage, but heaven forbid he voice it out loud. Being labeled the Emperor with a Loose Screw wasn''t exactly on his to-do list.


    This was the time before he started the war!


    Imagine all the blood, sweat, and, let''s not forget, theatrical monologues that went into conquering the realm, only to have it all be for nothing. Poof! disappeared with the grace of a person tripping over a banana peel.


    Before he had even begun the conflict that would turn him into a legend, here he was, right back where he had started. He saw the irony; it was almost as if the universe had chosen to pull the biggest practical joke ever.


    He wanted to curse, to yell, to give the sky the finger. All his hard work was erased by some cosmic backspace key.


    His empire, painstakingly built, reaching the far ends of the continent, seizing the last nation like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle¡ªgone.


    The frustration of having his imperial tapestry unraveled before it was even woven was enough to make him want to flip not just a table, but the entire heavenly table the skies rested upon. But alas, there he sat, in his pre-conquest glory, silently seething, a tempest contained within the calm before the actual storm.


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    It was all to make sure everything didn''t fall to the hands of the outsiders¡­ So why, heavens?!


    ¡°Show me my sword.¡±


    Burn demanded, clinging to the hope that this was all an elaborate prank by his court. Because, of course, staging an elaborate prank involving time travel was entirely within the realm of possibility for them, right?


    The entire room hustled, a flurry of movement, as his aides scrambled to fetch the sword. And there it was, presented to him with the reverence due to a sacred relic.


    ¡°This¡­ little shit¡­!¡±


    Burn was flabbergasted.


    His sword.


    His trusty blade, looking as robust and sturdy as the day it was forged. No signs of wear, no hint of the crumbling to dust it had supposedly succumbed to after that final battle against the Wintersin Empire.


    The sword before him was a masterpiece crafted by that illustrious dwarf blacksmith, known far and wide for his refusal to repeat a design or share his trade secrets.


    The materials alone were as rare as a humble politician, impossible to find and even more impossible to replicate!


    So, this was it¡ªthe undeniable proof. He wasn''t losing his mind; he had actually been hurled back in time. Not a prank orchestrated by his court, but by the universe itself.


    "Great, just great," he thought. "Of all the cosmic jokes to pull, the universe chose time fucking travel¡­!"


    As the realization sank in, Burn couldn''t help but marvel at the absurdity of his situation. There he was, the fearsome Emperor, brought to a moment of sheer disbelief not by an enemy''s blade or a traitor''s deceit, but by the very existence of his undamaged, defiantly intact sword.


    Okay, let¡¯s calm down.


    It could be that the memory of the future was a dream, right?


    No, that would be even more absurd. His brain retained all those memories, down to the smallest detail. All the decisions, the intricacy of human reactions, fate dominoing, risks, and achievements¡ªeverything was too real to be called a mere dream.


    Dream?


    A flash of blonde immediately bothered his mind.


    Blue eyes¡­


    Deranged smile!


    That woman¡­ Who was she?


    The moment she appeared, Burn felt something indescribable. Fascination, admiration, and then¡­ black.


    He blinked and suddenly, he was awakened this morning.


    But how?


    Well, there was no point in questioning something now unanswered. He must do it all over again, but this time, let¡¯s do it even better. Let¡¯s do it faster, more effectively, more decisively.


    ¡°Fine. Then, let¡¯s restart the war.¡±


    Burn declared to himself, probably making history as the only person to ever sound as casual about restarting a war as one might be about rebooting a stubborn computer.


    Rising from his throne, he seized his sword¡ªthe one that was supposed to be as dead as his enemies'' chances but was now inexplicably alive and kicking.


    With the air of a man who¡¯s just remembered he¡¯s got a future to rewrite, Burn started to refine his plan. It wasn¡¯t every day you got to take a mulligan on your own life¡¯s work, after all.


    ¡°This kingdom, that kingdom¡­ this noble, that noble too!¡±


    He summoned his strategist and commanded his intelligence bureau to confirm the information he knew from three years in the future. Because, of course, who wouldn¡¯t want a sneak peek at the exam papers before the test?


    Orders flew left and right, even before the war drums had started beating. It was like watching someone prepare for a party that hadn¡¯t been announced yet¡ªsetting up the decorations, chilling the drinks, and laying out the welcome mat for guests who had no idea they were even invited.


    ¡°Crush them all before they even realize it!¡±


    ***


    ¡°Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!¡±


    SLASH!


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ***


    BLINK!


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    ¡°What the fuck¡­?¡±


    He was back¡­ once again.

 3 - AI Painting Generator

    This was no longer a deja vu. This was an actual time loop.


    Burn''s eyes snapped open, and he was back¡ªback in his room, lying on his bed, as if the war, the victories, the endless battles were just figments of a fevered dream.


    Just a second ago, the mysterious woman with eyes like twin beacons of fate was before him, killing herself, and then, with the mere act of blinking, he found himself in the silence of his chambers, not a battlefield in sight.


    The confusion that gripped him was palpable, a thick, suffocating mist. Anger followed, a roaring fire in the pit of his stomach, burning with questions and the frustration of understanding just out of reach.


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    The door to his room was opened, and a man he knew as his closest aide entered.


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    Burn felt his veins pop.


    ¡°WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!¡±


    His aide flinched and squirmed at the sight of his explosive anger.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t I conquered the continent?! Twice! Another three, no, two and a half years had passed and everything had knelt down in front of me! Every single being!¡±


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty¡­?¡±


    How? Why? The words echoed in his mind, unanswered. His heart raced, pounding against his chest like a war drum, calling him to a battle he could no longer find.


    Bewilderment settled in, heavy and oppressive. He stood there, on the edge of his bed, a conqueror displaced from his conquests, a warrior stripped of his war.


    The memory of the woman lingered, haunting and elusive. Had she been the key, the harbinger of his inexplicable journey through time?


    In this quiet room, far removed from the clamor of war, Burn was caught in a storm of emotions, each wave crashing against him with the force of the realities he''d lived and the one he found himself in now.


    The line between past and future blurred, leaving him in a limbo of his own making, a prisoner of time''s whims.


    No.


    That woman.


    It was that woman!


    ***


    This time, let¡¯s avoid her.


    The first time Burn thought of after finding the key was to not meet that woman at all in this loop. But of course, he also tried to find out who that woman was.


    How did she do that? Was it a technology from the outsiders? Was she someone sent to play a trick on him? Who was she?


    ¡°Ahem, ahem. An ethereally beautiful woman. As if the sun had decided to take a day off and let her do the shining instead. Her hair, a cascade of golden rebellion against the mundane, flowed with the secrets of the dawn.¡±


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    Galahad, Soulnaught¡¯s strongest knight and Burn¡¯s closest aide, read the description of the woman Burn wrote out loud.


    ¡°Tall and statuesque, she moved with a grace that made gravity seem like an overly clingy companion, rather than an immutable law. Blue eyes, deep enough to rival the stories of old mariners, sparkled with the kind of light that suggested she knew exactly how absurd the world was and found it amusing.¡±


    ¡°Ahem, ahem.¡±


    Now, even Galahad''s face was red.


    ¡°Her smile? It was the sort that promised mischief and whispered tales of adventures yet to be had. In her presence, the line between reality and the stuff of dreams blurred, not because she was ethereal, but because she carried an air of someone who could laugh at a storm and win.¡±


    ¡°Cough, cough¡­¡±


    Burn was actually very serious when writing those descriptions. Now that it was read out loud in front of his court, he realized that it was more like a love letter.


    ¡°Your Majesty¡­ you want us to find you¡­ our Empress¡­?¡± one of the lead ministers asked.


    ¡°What fuck?¡± Burn coldly dismissed their imagination, but their face was unconvinced, seemingly happy that finally their emperor had a crush.


    Burn thought that if he didn¡¯t describe her in such detail, she might be mistaken for a random maid on a random street. However, it seemed his courtiers had misinterpreted his intentions.


    ¡°Your Majesty, we will certainly find her. We are going to war worldwide anyway, so we will reunite you with her,¡± one confidently declared.


    Burn massaged his temples, frustrated. But, it wasn¡¯t as if he had a choice. He couldn¡¯t paint, so creating a portrait of her was out of the question.


    Yet now, knowing she would inevitably appear, he felt more prepared. He was Emperor Burn, the strongest of the strong. What were another two to three all-out wars to him? They would be a piece of cake. This time, before she could do anything, he would¡ª


    ***


    ¡°Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!¡±


    SLASH!


    ¡°Eh?¡±


    ***


    BLINK!


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    ¡°WHY?!¡±


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    The door to his room was opened, and a man he knew as his closest aide entered.


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    ¡°GET OUT!¡±


    For the third time, Burn awoke to the same morning before the war, in his room, on his bed, stuck in a loop that even the most avant-garde director would envy.


    He sat there, a picture of contemplation, his hands joined in a pose that screamed "Eureka!" if only he actually had an idea. His golden eyes were bloodshot, a testament to the shock of d¨¦j¨¤ vu on repeat. His white hair, a rebellious mess, suggested he¡¯d fought battles with his pillow and lost.


    In a moment that might have been mistaken for divine inspiration (or perhaps just sheer desperation), Burn bellowed, "Bring me papers! Something to draw!"


    It was a command that echoed through the halls with the urgency of a king facing his doom¡ªor an artist struck by a fleeting muse.


    One couldn''t help but picture the scene: the mighty Emperor Burn, conqueror of lands, now poised to conquer the realm of art. What was his option?!


    The image of the woman was indelibly etched in Burn¡¯s mind, her features as clear as the noonday sun, even though he never once drew in his life, he would make it LOOK like her!


    Armed with nothing but sheer will and a newfound determination to capture her likeness, Burn set out to do the impossible: translate his vivid memory onto paper. After all, how hard could it be?


    Yeah, no.


    After several attempts that ranged from earnest sketches to desperate doodles, Burn had to face the stark reality: his artistic skills were, to put it mildly, underdeveloped.


    Each stroke brought him no closer to her likeness; each "masterpiece" was a testament to his unwavering spirit, if not his grasp of anatomy or proportion.


    How could he draw a woman that beautiful with his skill?!


    What lay before him was a collection that, in a more charitable light, could be described as "abstract interpretations."


    In truth, they looked slightly better than what a particularly ambitious five-year-old might produce in a fervor of scribbling. His depiction of her, intended to be a homage to her ethereal beauty, instead resembled a vague, humanoid shape, where features drifted on the face like lost ships at sea.


    ¡°Fuck this! Galahad! Call those outsiders merchants! I want to buy their AI painting generator!¡±

 4 - Not Pretty Enough

    Burn waged a war in a transitional world.


    Every authority had integrated the outsiders'' technology into both their daily lives and military strategies. Weapons¡ªranging from technological and mechanical to those enhanced by advanced magical knowledge¡ªwere now standard in the arsenal of the modern warrior.


    In a world where even the morning cup of tea could be brewed by the same tech that powered war mechs, Emperor Burn found himself at a crossroads.


    Gone were the days when a sturdy sword and a mean glare could conquer kingdoms. Now, if your warhorse couldn''t sync with the battleships, you were living in the dark ages.


    Burn, with all the enthusiasm of a cat taking a bath, realized it was time to upgrade his arsenal.


    Not because he fancied playing with shiny new toys¡ªoh no. Burn was more the type to admire a good ol¡¯ sharpened stick. But apparently, when you bring an army to a tech fight, showing up with enchanted swords and spell-casting wands is considered "vintage chic" rather than practical.


    The transition to tech-enhanced warfare wasn''t entirely new to Burn. He''d dabbled in the outsiders'' gadgets before, under the same principle that if you can''t beat ''em, you might as well join ''em¡ªor at least steal their stuff.


    Protection of his people was the official line, after all. And if that meant his soldiers needed laser guns that also made espresso, so be it.


    If Burn were to go to war alone, he might not need such advancements, but he was responsible for an army and a nation. Protecting his land and his people necessitated keeping pace with technological progress, making it not the first occasion Burn had acquired technology from the outsiders.


    But this time was different. This time, Burn wasn''t just shopping for the latest in armor-piercing rounds or cloaks that doubled as Wi-Fi hotspots.


    No, he was after something far more elusive: AI. Not just any AI, though. Burn was in the market for an AI painting generator.


    ¡°Make her eyes sharper. And the color is off,¡± Burn sat on his throne, dictating how the AI should paint the figure in his mind.


    His voice was dripping with the impatience of a man accustomed to battling more than just artistic inaccuracies. "I said that color¡ªit''s as if you''ve plucked it from a dreary day, not her vibrant gaze."


    Around him, the hall buzzed with ministers and aides, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and curiosity. There they were, the cr¨¨me de la cr¨¨me of the empire, gathered not for matters of state or war, but for an art critique session led by none other than their Emperor.


    "Why are we here?" whispered one aide to another, watching their leader fuss over an AI painting as if the fate of the realm depended on the perfect shade of azure.


    "Perhaps it''s a new strategy," mused another, "distract the enemy with beauty before the battle."


    The ministers shrug their shoulders. They were on the brink of war, and their emperor was busy doing unexplainable things. But Burn was never wrong. They knew it was for something.


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    Burn, oblivious to the murmurs, continued his meticulous instructions to the AI, demanding precision in capturing the ethereal beauty of the mysterious woman who haunted his thoughts.


    The court looked on, puzzled, wondering if their mighty ruler had traded his sword for a brush, all while the AI, the pinnacle of outsider technology, found itself at the mercy of an Emperor''s artistic vision.


    "Her hair, to the right¡ªmakes it flow that way!" Burn directed, his tone brooking no argument. "The nose, taller and slimmer."


    "Extend the eyelashes; they should be longer. And the jawline, make it softer," he continued, his commands echoing off the ornate walls.


    "The eyebrows should float, like clouds at dawn," he declared, a note of inspiration in his voice. "And the lips, make them red. No, wait¡ªgradient! The inside must be a deeper red."


    Amidst these demands, one could almost imagine the AI, hesitating under the weight of artistic command, a virtual bead of sweat forming in its circuitry.


    Generate! Generate! Generate!


    Yet, after two painstaking hours, the most advanced and powerful AI painting generator at last succeeded...!


    SLAM!


    Emperor Burn abruptly slammed the handrest of his throne and growled, "Not pretty enough!"


    However, the truth was that Burn had meticulously captured every feature of the mysterious woman with utmost precision¡ªthe pores of her skin, the subtlest beauty marks. Yet, it remained...


    Incomparable to the vivid image he held in his mind.


    The woman who had ensnared him in this time loop... that fucking woman...


    "Why was she so beautiful?"


    After two long hours of anticipation, Burn''s quiet musing made the courtiers'' ears perk up.


    Could this finally be their empress...? Were they witnessing his search for the lady...?


    "It''s her face, but she barely looks alive. That woman''s vibrancy is too immense to be captured by this cheap AI. Tch!" Burn clicked his tongue upon realizing the AI had reached its limit, unable to surpass its maximum capability.


    Well, that was enough, still.


    "Transfer this painting to paper and begin the search for the woman who resembles this. But remember, the real her is far more beautiful than this crude depiction," Burn commanded.


    "Yes, Your Majesty! We will search for Her Majesty the Empress¡ª"


    "If you find her, cut off all her limbs and throw her into the dungeon," Burn coldly declared.


    The man stood from his throne, continued, ¡°Now, let us restart the war.¡±


    This would be Burn''s latest game plan. The moment she¡ªthe architect of his temporal prison¡ªdared show her face, the order was clear: off with her limbs, but let''s keep the grim reaper at bay.


    Because, of course, Burn wanted to know. Why did she do it? Why him? These questions haunted him more than the prospect of redecorating his empire for the umpteenth time in three years.


    Three more years? Please, that was just a blip in the grand scheme of things for Burn. A mere extended vacation in his tumultuous reign. After all, what''s a bit of temporal turmoil to a man who''s faced down armies?


    Sure, this detour from conquering Nethermere to playing cat and mouse with a time-manipulating witch might seem like a slight... misallocation of imperial resources.


    But, priorities, right?


    How dare she, indeed! How dare a woman with the audacity to wield such power think she could just put Burn, the tyrant emperor, in a time-out corner?


    However, given the potential for a butterfly effect, he needed to anticipate where and when this woman would emerge in the current loop. Preparation was key.


    Before she could take her own life¡ªno, even before she screamed his full name!


    This time¡ª


    ¡°Caliburn Soul¡ª¡±


    SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!


    SPLATT! SPLATTER!


    Burn was a man of his words.

 5 - Floating Like Clouds at Dawn

    Ahhh, we¡¯ve finally come to this!


    In a scene that could only be described as a tech enthusiast''s worst nightmare, once again, the battlefield lay in ruins under a sky so red it seemed like the sun was having a sale on the atmosphere.


    Among the wreckage, the latest in mech and tech warfare were now nothing more than oversized paperweights, scattered across the land like the world''s most depressing yard sale.


    Here and there, warriors and mages alike shared the ground, their final resting places marked not by heroic stances but by poses that suggested they were all part of a very lethargic flash mob.


    And there, amidst the chaos, stood Emperor Burn, his sword crumbling in his grip as if to say, "I''ve had enough of this, thank you very much." for the FOURTH time.


    But lo and behold, before this solitary figure¡ªBurn, the man who believed a good sword swing could solve all life''s problems¡ªlay a woman.


    Not just any woman, but the architect of his time-travel woes, now rendered limbless in a bid to keep her from her usual party trick: killing herself and sending him back to square one.


    ¡°Huhuhu¡­¡±


    Burn''s laughter began as a low rumble, akin to a dormant volcano waking from a long slumber. His deep voice, usually reserved for commands and threats, found a new expression in the form of a chuckle that echoed off the desolate battlefield.


    ¡°Huhuh heh, hahaha¡­¡±


    As the chuckles grew, they cascaded into a laugh so rich and unrestrained it bordered on the unhinged.


    ¡°Hahaha!¡±


    Burn threw his head back, the remnants of his once mighty sword forgotten at his side, as his laughter spiraled into hysteria. His shoulders shook with each bellow of mirth, a physical testament to the absurdity of his triumph.


    ¡°HAHAHAHA!¡±


    There he was, the mighty emperor, reduced to a figure of manic joy. In this moment, Burn wasn''t just laughing at his capture of the woman; he was laughing at the cosmic joke that had become his life.


    Ah, what a sight they made¡ªlike a twisted rendition of ''Beauty and the Beast,'' if the Beast''s curse involved a sisyphean situation of time loop and the Beauty couldn''t run away because, well, someone took the liberty of ensuring she couldn''t make a ¡®quick exit¡¯.


    Or any exit, for that matter.


    But, it wasn¡¯t like she wouldn¡¯t die.


    The only difference was, it would be Burn who would dictate her life or death now.


    Before him, the woman lay on the ground, a stark figure against the charred battlefield. Her condition was a grim testament to Burn''s resolve to halt the cycle that had tormented him.


    Breathing heavily, shock painted on her features, she was a vivid embodiment of the conflict''s brutal reality. Around her, the air hung heavy with the aftermath of battle, the scent of metal and magic intertwining with the earthy aroma of the disturbed land.


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    Burn approached, his expression a complex tapestry of triumph and solemnity. The grim set of his mouth belied the victory he felt; this was not a triumph born of glory, but of necessity.


    "You failed to call my full name and kill yourself," he remarked, his voice carrying a weight that echoed the gravity of their endless dance through time. In his hand, he held not the sword that had seen countless battles but a spare, its blade catching the light of the dying day.


    ¡°Why?¡± Burn asked. ¡°Why did you do this to me?¡±


    The woman, despite her dire state, looked up at Burn with a gaze that held an unfathomable depth. As he declared the end of their shared torment, a subtle smile graced her features¡ª


    She had no intention of answering, no. Burn saw the sign that she was going to bite off her own tongue to commit suicide!


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you!¡±


    STAB!


    Burn wedged his blade between her jaws, staring deep into her eyes.


    ¡°Now, die.¡±


    ***


    BLINK!


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    The door to his room was opened, and a man he knew as his closest aide entered.


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t even feel like getting out of his bed.


    Ahh, what a peaceful start to the day. Beautiful morning sky, birds chirping, singing a song he knew all too well. Yet, this calm was not just the morning''s gift; it was the quiet after the storm of enlightenment.


    He had been thrust back into the past once again.


    Confusion clouded his mind. Wasn¡¯t the ritual supposed to be incomplete? The woman, the architect of his cyclical torment, hadn¡¯t managed to utter his full name, hadn¡¯t managed to kill herself. So, what twisted strand of fate had flung him back to this point in time?


    Questions spiraled in his mind as he lay there. The loop persisted, an enigma wrapped in the mundane beauty of a new day.


    Why did the cycle decide to continue to ensnare him? What piece of the puzzle was he missing? The morning¡¯s tranquility now mocked him with its normalcy, and he cursed.


    ¡°Fu¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty¡­? Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Galahad.¡±


    This would be the fourth loop. Huh? Was it? If the original timeline was counted, then, this would be his fifth time having to redo the war.


    "Hand me a sketchbook and some charcoal. Inform someone to ready a canvas and a set of oil paints for tomorrow. Summon our strategist and the intelligence bureau. We will commence the war in three days."


    Burn¡¯s order was fast, effective and meticulous. His deep voice didn¡¯t lose its freezing point.


    Galahad, initially baffled by Burn¡¯s list of requests, was quick on his feet. ¡°Yes, Your Majesty.¡±


    In the end, Burn didn¡¯t completely waste two to three years of his last loop. The moment he got his hands on the sketchbook and charcoal, he started drawing her face.


    Three years of relentless, realistic drawing training had transformed him. Who would have thought? Burn, the man famed for his martial prowess, not only possessed hand-eye coordination on the battlefield, but also emerged as the century''s unsung genius in the arts.


    As he sketched the woman''s face, it was as if every stroke of charcoal was a stroke of master. The lines flowed under his command, meticulously capturing the essence of her beauty.


    Shading her eyes with the precision of a man who had seen too much, yet suddenly found himself playing in the realms of shadow and light. He only drew her face from memory for all those years, after all.


    Her lips, oh, how he labored over them, ensuring the curve was just right, a cruel mimicry of her smile that haunted him.


    But let''s not forget the eyebrows, sketched with an arch that suggested surprise or perhaps perpetual bemusement at the turn of events.


    "Floating like clouds at dawn," he''d insist, though anyone with a sense of aesthetics might question his metaphorical accuracy.


    In the end, as Burn leaned back to admire his work, one could almost detect a hint of pride. A sarcastic but cold chuckle escaped him.


    ¡°This time, witch, let¡¯s talk. I really won¡¯t let you die before you talk,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°But how would I get you to speak?¡±

 6 - Truth Serum

    In this loop, Burn had a plan.


    Here, the grand strategy session of Emperor Burn, where ambition, wit, and strength led to an underwhelming lack of success.


    He, the emperor, armed with the foreknowledge of three years and the determination of a man who¡¯s been through too many d¨¦j¨¤ vus, decides it¡¯s high time to put his imperial resources to good use.


    Burn mobilized his intelligence bureau and the information-selling guilds, organizations that thrived on secrets like plants do on sunlight, except these plants were growing in the shade of his impatience.


    His instructions were as clear as the perplexed looks on his aides¡¯ faces: ¡°Secretly find the woman who has the gall to loop my life like a bad remix of my greatest hits.¡±


    He had her painting he made with his own two hands, after all.


    Days turned into weeks, and weeks into a montage of fruitless efforts, Burn¡¯s confidence waning like a poorly-attended bonfire.


    The information network, with all its spies, contacts, and dubious allies, could have found a needle in a haystack but apparently not a mysterious woman in a realm they knew like the back of their hand.


    ¡°Perhaps she¡¯s a ghost,¡± suggested one informant.


    ¡°Or maybe she exists in dimensions our feeble minds can¡¯t comprehend,¡± mused another, pointing to the sky and likely talking about the invaders. ¡°In this age, anything is possible, right?¡±


    Disappointment was an understatement for what Burn felt; it was more like ordering a banquet and receiving a single, stale cracker. It was also like this in his previous life.


    Fine, if finding her was akin to grasping smoke, he¡¯dl just make sure to catch her when she appear and... creatively discourage any self-destructive tendencies.


    Off with another three years!


    Here we go, in the tragic aftermath of the Wintersin Empire''s spectacular fall¡ªnow less an empire and more a cautionary tale about challenging Emperor Burn¡ªhe found himself amidst the ruins, not to mourn, but to lay a peculiar kind of ambush.


    As the dust settled, literally and metaphorically speaking, Burn had chosen this apocalyptic backdrop, not for its aesthetic appeal (though, admittedly, there''s a certain charm in post-battle desolation that can''t be matched), but for a rendezvous with destiny.


    Or, more accurately, a rendezvous with the architect of his temporal torture chamber.


    TAP!


    There! True to the script, she appeared, like a star making a stage entrance, albeit one significantly less glittery and far more morbid.


    Her timing was impeccable, her resolve unmistakable, and her intention to plunge into the grand finale of self-destruction clear. However, Burn wasn''t in the audience for another rerun of this tragedy.


    With the flair of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, except significantly less adorable and more "I''ve had enough of this nonsense," Burn unleashed his surprise¡ª


    A flurry of magic scrolls that would make even the most seasoned magic librarian weep. These weren''t just any scrolls; oh no, these were the magical equivalent of industrial-strength zip ties.


    ¡°BIND!¡±


    As the scrolls tore through the air, unfurling like the world''s most aggressive party streamers, they bound the woman with magical chains that not even a master escapist could wiggle out of.


    ¡°AH!¡±


    There, the ethereal beauty, her presence a stark contrast to the desolation that surrounded her. With hair as golden as the first light of dawn, cascading down her shoulders in a tumultuous waterfall of sunbeams, she seemed like a creature born from the very essence of light.


    Her eyes, pools of the clearest blue, held the depth of oceans and the serenity of the sky on a summer day, sparkling with a mixture of defiance and amusement.


    Bound by magic, she appeared more an unwilling goddess than a prisoner, her elegance undiminished, her posture regal, even in chains.


    But, oh, the performance had only just begun. With a twist of irony sharp enough to cut the tension, she smiled¡ªa curve that promised the unraveling of carefully laid plans.


    It was as if she found the whole situation not just absurd but amusing.


    Burn blinked, provoked by it. They only had met five times including today, but she could stir him this far. He, Burn!


    Then, with a flicker of her gaze, sharper than the edge of Burn''s sword and more potent than any spell inscribed on those now-quivering scrolls, she shattered the magical chains.


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    It was not with brute force, no¡ªthat would have been too mundane for such a spectacle. Instead, she unraveled them with the elegance of a maestro conducting a symphony, each gesture a note, each spell a melody of liberation.


    The scrolls, those paper tigers that had dared to confine her, crumbled into dust.


    ¡°Ahh, those were expensive¡­¡± Burn muttered, recalling how they were at least five circled spell scrolls. ¡°But I¡¯m not a stupid man who thinks that those spells could bind someone who can regress time.¡±


    SLASH!


    Unsheathe his spare sword, he did, with the flair of a chef unveiling his knife before an unsuspecting fish.


    There was artistry in his method, a sort of precision as he went about the task of ensuring the woman before him would no longer be participating in any form of running¡ªor, frankly, any activity that required limbs, but also ensuring her not to lose too much blood.


    ¡°Apologies for the inconvenience,¡± he quipped, though his tone suggested he was anything but apologetic. ¡°But to stop you from running, or killing yourself, this must be done.¡±


    With her rendered as mobile as a particularly decorative rock, Burn proceeded to the pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance of his plan¡­


    A truth serum.


    ¡°Bought this from an outsider merchant. Swore it was the finest in all the realms. Let¡¯s hope it¡¯s more effective than my d¨¦cor spell scrolls, shall we?¡±


    ¡°AH! GKGH!¡±


    The serum, a concoction so potent it could make a mime spill his deepest secrets, was force-fed to the woman with all the gentleness of a parent administering cough syrup to a stubborn child.


    ¡°Down the hatch,¡± Burn threathened, with the enthusiasm of someone reading the terms and conditions out loud.


    Glug!


    Glug¡­glugh!


    Kgh!


    The man sighed as he grabbed the woman¡¯s tongue with his fingers, preventing her from biting into it to kill herself with shock.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s chat,¡± he continued, settling down before her like a therapist ready to unpack years of bottled-up issues, except in this session, the patient couldn¡¯t bolt for the door.


    ¡°My fair lady, don¡¯t be scared,¡± even though Burn didn¡¯t see any fear reflecting in her azure eyes, he still worded it out. ¡°I am mad, but I am not crazy. Yet.¡±


    ¡°Tell me, what did you do to me? What kind of spell is this?¡±


    Burn calmly asked, seeing how the truth serum began to weave its invisible threads around her. He let go of her tongue and¡­


    She chuckled.


    ¡°How many times have you returned?¡± she began, her words floating to Burn''s ears, as if carried by the gentle breeze of dawn.


    Burn¡¯s eyes faltered.


    What?


    ¡°Looking at your reaction, it must¡¯ve been a lot,¡± she smiled so sweetly, Burn was unable to even tell if it was dream or reality.


    This woman¡­


    ¡°You made this spell, yet you didn¡¯t know¡ª¡±


    ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t a perfect spell,¡± the woman quipped. ¡°A time loop, intricately woven from the fabric of destiny and my own deep-seated convictions. Each time I die before you, the loop resets, pulling you back to the start, before you can take everything away from me.¡±


    Her confession, devoid of any defiance, was imbued with a strange tranquility¡ªa resignation to her fate yet underscored by a subtle strength.


    Her voice, though soft, carried the weight of her actions and the burden of the spell she had crafted. It was as if the very essence of her being was entwined with the spell, a testament to her power and her pain.


    In that moment, her voice painted a portrait of her soul¡ªhaunted, yet hauntingly beautiful.


    "Why? You''re wondering if I''ve trapped you in a time loop? Without an escape¡­?" she inquired, as if discussing the weather rather than confessing to temporal manipulation. "It''s not just a spell but a curse! Dear Villain, you are now Witchbound!"


    GASP!


    KGH!


    AH!


    The witch began to react to the truth serum in a manner most unanticipated.


    HAHAHAHA!


    Laughter erupted from her, a sound that danced between hysteria and mania, as if she''d just heard the cosmos''s greatest punchline.


    "Silly me! Silly, silly me!" she cackled, words laced with an insanity that suggested the serum might have been overzealous in its effects.


    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ die!¡±


    With only her voice, as though pronouncing the world''s most tragic magic word, she cast a spell of the sort that really brings down the house¡ªor, in this case, her head.


    BLAAAAAAST!


    Burn hadn¡¯t even registered what happened when he saw her head emulating a particularly gruesome firework. He didn¡¯t know a head could explode in that manner¡ª


    ***


    BLINK!


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    As Galahad stepped into the room, he found Emperor Burn perched on the edge of his bed, embodying the picture of a man who looked as if he just realized his favorite novel series had been cancelled right before the finale.


    Blue balled.


    It was indeed a splendid morning outside, but here, within these four magnificent walls, the atmosphere was thick with the kind of calm usually reserved for the eye of a storm¡ªor in Burn''s case, the aftermath of realizing that time travel was a fucking scam.


    The problem was himself.


    Exhaustion clung to him like a poorly chosen disguise, making Galahad wonder, "What epic tale of woe could he be brooding over now?"


    ¡°Galahad, introduce me to an assassin organization. The best one.¡±


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty? There¡¯s someone you want to kill?!¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Burn thought about it already.


    The woman¡¯s identity¡­ as he remembered what she said about the spell, ¡°Each time I die before you, the loop resets, pulling you back to the start, before you can take everything away from me.¡±


    She was someone who wanted something to change¡ªbefore the war. Before ¡°he can take everything away from her.¡±


    A woman who was able to create a time spell, albeit not perfect. A woman who was able to hide herself from the public eye with her face not easily recognizable despite how strikingly beautiful she was.


    Morgan of the Fairy. The Infinite Witch.

 7 - Infinite Loop

    In the Kingdom of Edensor, known to the envious and the admirers alike as Heaven''s Sun, prosperity wasn''t just a state of affairs; it was a relentless bragging right.


    Blessed with bountiful seas and lands that practically begged to be farmed, Edensor thrived like a socialite in the spotlight.


    At the helm were the kingdom''s celebrity power couple: a king whose political acumen could outmaneuver chess grandmasters, and a queen whose intellect and courtly innovations were the stuff of legend.


    Their reign was like a masterclass in making neighboring kingdoms feel inadequately managed.


    The king, with his Midas touch in politics, navigated the treacherous waters of diplomacy like he was born in a diplomatic pouch rather than a royal crib. The queen, on the other hand, was the brains behind initiatives so forward-thinking, historians would later suspect she had a crystal ball.


    Tragically, this golden era was bookmarked not by a period but by an ellipsis, signaling an abrupt pause rather than a graceful end.


    The king, in a twist that not even he could have politically outmaneuvered, succumbed to an illness just outside the palace gates¡ªso close to home yet as unreachable as a commoner''s dream of the throne. He died with the abruptness of a cliffhanger in a season finale, leaving subjects and narratives hanging.


    The queen, upon hearing the news, was so engulfed in shock that her body betrayed her in the cruelest manner conceivable.


    The miscarriages she suffered thereafter were like nature''s insensitive way of adding insult to injury, leading to her demise through blood loss¡ªa loss as metaphorical as it was literal.


    It was as if fate, having penned a tale of prosperity, decided to dabble in tragedy, thinking perhaps the genre shift might add depth to Edensor''s history.


    They left behind a legacy, not in the form of scrolls or gold, but a five-year-old prince.


    A boy now tasked with the crown, a symbol that suddenly seemed too heavy, the throne too large, and the royal shoes too vast to fill.


    The kingdom, which had basked in the warmth of Heaven''s Sun, now found itself under a gathering storm, its beacon lights extinguished too soon.


    But then, a footstool emerged.


    Climbing the throne, a task Herculean in its impossibility for our pint-sized crown prince, suddenly became achievable, all thanks to this lowly assistant. Imagine the scene: a child king, his royal bottom hoisted atop the throne by the medieval equivalent of a step ladder.


    And this footstool had a name.


    Morgan Le Fay, the Infinity Witch, known in some circles as the au pair of arcane arts, decided that playing guardian to a boy king was just the kind of side gig to break the monotony of immortality.


    With her support, our little crown prince was not just metaphorically lifted but also literally elevated to kingship at the tender age of seven.


    Fast forward five years, and the plot thickens¡ªor rather, the plotter vanishes.


    Morgan Le Fay was nowhere to be found.


    No. Ever since the great invasion three years ago, where the crack appeared on the sky of Nethermere, she was gone.


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    ¡°I don¡¯t care how, find her, and kill her,¡± Burn declared, his voice as cold as the glance he tossed to the guild leader kneeling before him. "You have three years¡ªno, scratch that, make it before three years¡¯ time."


    The assassin guild leader, a person more accustomed to the shadows than the spotlight of royal attention, blinked slowly, absorbing the weight of this decree. A smirk, as sharp as the blades he wielded, curled his lips.


    "Your wish is as good as done," he replied, his voice laced with a confidence that bordered on audacity. But internally, a thought flickered¡ª''Easier said than done, Your Majesty.''


    This was not just another contract; it was THAT Morgan Le Fay!


    "Whatever you require¡ªresources, magic scrolls, or even the latest, most exorbitant technology the outsiders have¡ªI''ll ensure it''s at your disposal. Kill her."


    The guild leader''s eyes glimmered with hope.


    Of course, now he would succeed, right?


    ***


    As it had always been, the journey from the Soulnaught Empire was less a march and more a parade of power, as if Burn was collecting kingdoms like they were limited-edition stamps.


    Edensor Kingdom was first, and next, the Elysian Kingdom, where the locals'' penchant for peace was rudely interrupted by Burn''s "diplomacy by sword" approach.


    The Inkia Kingdom tried to squeeze a quick surrender, hoping to write themselves out of history''s harsh judgment. Burn just added their royal seal to his collection, smudging their hopes with a grin.


    Luminus Kingdom, with its shining ideals and luminous hopes, dimmed considerably under Burn''s shadow. "Let there be light. MY light," he quipped, ironically, as their hopes extinguished.


    Finally, the grand finale at the Wintersin Empire, where the cold reception was met with Burn''s fiery ambition. It was less an epic battle and more a confirmation that, yes, all empires eventually check out of the grand hotel of sovereignty.


    By the end, Burn stood atop the continent, not just a king or an emperor, but a collector of crowns, a curator of conquered lands.


    His march had been less a journey through territories and more a leisurely stroll through a garden, plucking flowers that caught his eye. And like that, the continent was united, not by shared ideals or mutual respect, but by the undeniable logic of "Might Makes Right, Especially When It''s This Might."


    And now, to see if it was for nothing again¡­


    ¡°She didn¡¯t come¡­ huh?¡±


    The assassin Burn had sent for her might have her in a tight spot now. Burn had not only commissioned them, but also sponsored them. It was a literal death sentence.


    Burn was returning to his empire after cleaning and warping up the war when he saw his palace, towering in the distance. The wind blew and a wisp of dust caught in his eyes, forcing him to blink¡ª


    ***


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    The seventh loop started, and Burn returned back, awakened before the apocalyptic war started, cursing¡ª¡°This stupid bi¡ªwitch!¡±


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty¡­?¡±


    ¡°Bring me my sword, Galahad!¡±


    ¡°Y-yes¡­ here, Your Majesty.¡±


    STAB!


    Before Galahad could even gasp, Burn had stabbed his own throat. Not deep enough, he pushed even stronger to himself that he almost severed his own head¡ªbefore he actually did.


    TWIST!


    ¡°YOUR MAJESTY!¡±


    As Burn decapitated himself, the horror that unfolded before Galahad''s eyes transcended the bounds of loyalty and duty, plunging into the depths of sheer terror and disbelief.


    Burn saw the world spun in a surreal dance of confusion and dread; his own head, once a seat of power and command, now tragically divorced from its body, offered a final, grotesque panorama.


    The sight of his own body succumbing to gravity, collapsing to the ground in a haunting echo of finality, after his own head plunging to the ground was a vision that would be etched into Burn''s memory.


    Out of spite.


    ***


    Chirp¡­! Chirp chirp¡­


    Rustle¡­


    KNOCK-KNOCK!


    ¡°Your Majesty, the preparation for the war is complete.¡±


    Burn opened his eyes.


    So¡­ he also couldn¡¯t die.

 8 - Yvain Edensworn

    In the last half of a decade, the Kingdom of Edensor had always stood as the unfortunate pawn facing down a queen¡¯s gambit.


    At the heart of this kingdom was a boy king, Yvain Edensworn, whose crown sat upon his head with the precariousness of a cat in a hammock. Steady, but slippery.


    Critics, armchair generals, and the occasional gossiping courtier decried him as "too green for the throne," mistaking youth for ineptitude.


    Yet, under the tutelage of the illustrious Morgan Le Fay, Yvain was brewing up a storm, promising a reign not just of power but of magic. They whispered his name with a mix of reverence and disbelief, dubbing him Little Merlin.


    In the three years post-apocalypse¡ªbecause calling it a mere great invasion by the intergalaxian seemed to undersell the dramatic overhaul of their world¡ªYvain wasn''t just playing king.


    He was on a quest, a mission that had him scouring the lands, delving into mysteries best left unspoken, all in search of his master, Morgan Le Fay, who had pulled a vanishing act rivaling that of any court jester facing the gallows.


    Where was she?


    She wasn¡¯t the type of person who would leave him in such a dangerous time.


    But of course, there were some clues after all. She disappeared just before the apocalypse happened. Then, even though the invaders almost destroyed their realm, King Burn stopped it in such a glorious manner it almost seemed unreal.


    His victory was the stuff of legends, a tale so grand it bordered on the mythical. Doubts and whispers spread not just through Yvain''s mind but echoed throughout the corners of the world.


    Was there really that strong of a man in this world? More than awe, there was skepticism.


    The narrative of King Burn, the singular hero who thwarted an invasion with nothing but his bare hands (and maybe his sword) and a reservoir of internal magic, began to unravel under scrutiny.


    It seemed less a testament to heroism and more a carefully crafted illusion, a mirage in the desert of their despair.


    A lie!


    The invaders, rather than being vanquished, morphed into dormant schemers, their presence a silent wedge driving apart the unity of people, nobility, and royalty alike. While King Burn¡­ declared war.


    The timing was too impeccable, the strategy too convenient.


    It seemed as if Burn was on their side from the beginning!


    Suspicion took root in the fertile soil of doubt: was Burn an ally masquerading as a savior, orchestrating a grand deception?


    The narrative painted him as the valiant hero, a bulwark against the tide of invaders, yet beneath the veneer of valor, a more sinister plot seemed to unfold¡ªa collaborative effort towards complete colonial dominance, disguised as a battle for salvation.


    He didn¡¯t save Nethermere, no. It was all an act to conquer the land, depicting the invaders as the bad guy who turned good and Burn as the hero who tried to establish control.


    In the end, they were working together to achieve complete colonialism with this elaborate plan.


    Except¡­ Burn was actually that strong, and he was truly fed up with the invaders¡ªwhile still buying their stuff and being the most stable kingdom and loyal courtiers compared to the others in the continent?


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Yeah, right. Who could destroy that many spaceships and apocalyptic mass killing weapons that strong with only his bare hand? Yvain had spent time researching about those mass killing machine that it should be impossible¡ª


    Yvain was too wary. Without his master, he couldn¡¯t think straight.


    When Burn sent him his emissary, Yvain was so dismissive of him that he rejected his offer of protection. Burn ordered his surrender and joined him in his empire in turn of safety while he marched further in the continent.


    Yes. Burn¡¯s emissary came knocking with an olive branch in one hand and a leash in the other. Burn¡¯s "generous" offer of protection in exchange for surrender was seen by Yvain for what it was: a gilded cage with an empire-sized lock.


    He didn¡¯t trust Burn, and even suspected him of having a hand in the disappearance of his master.


    Not to mention, how his court warned him against this tyrant. The rumors surrounding him, his tyranny fluttered around Yvain¡¯s court like moths to a flame, each whisper stoking the fires of suspicion further.


    ¡°Your Majesty, Master Le Fay is strong. But they¡¯re also strong. They might be the only ones who could¡­ possibly¡­¡±


    ¡°My Master is still alive!¡± Yvain snapped at his own court. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare imply any other scenario. She is just¡­ unable to go home. I¡¯m sure.¡±


    The old ministers and nobles were tired of this little boy playing ruler. Without Morgan Le Fay, he was just a little boy after all.


    They wanted to get rid of him.


    Therefore, by the time Burn''s forces advanced towards Edensor, Yvain had already been betrayed by his own court. Driven by personal ambitions, his people chose to abandon him, effectively betraying not only their young king but also the absent Infinite Witch, Morgan Le Fay.


    This mass defection was catalyzed by Burn''s aggressive strategy. Had he not confronted the invaders and the shifting global dynamics in such a manner, the betrayal might never have occurred.


    After all, he was the undisputed sovereign of Edensor, a fact his court conveniently overlooked in the shadow of impending conquest.


    And here he was, in front of the mighty and powerful King¡ªno, Emperor Burn, standing his ground.


    He was left alone, a twelve year old boy against the world.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you surrender?¡±


    Burn remembered he once asked the boy. He had forgotten the reason the boy told him.


    But now, he remembered¡ª


    ¡°RETURN MY MASTER!¡±


    ***


    Burn realized he also couldn¡¯t die. After killing himself, decapitating his own head from his neck, he was awakened right on that morning, in the exact same situation as before.


    ¡°I thought you cursed me because you wanted me to kill myself. But even my death wasn¡¯t able to appease your grudge, Morgan Le Fay¡­¡±


    Burn sighed.


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡±


    Burn embarked on a march to Edensor with all the subtlety of a thunderclap in a library.


    This time, eschewing the formality of emissaries¡ªa decision likely inspired by Yvain''s previous cold shoulder¡ªhe led his army personally.


    It was an impressive sight: the Soulnaught Empire¡¯s forces, a veritable tide of steel and determination, rolling across the land like a well-oiled machine that had traded in oil for the blood of its enemies.


    The soldiers, more numerous than the most hyperbolic of bardic tales, marched with a precision that suggested they could do so blindfolded, backwards, and in high heels, should the situation call for it.


    The mages, with their cloaks billowing as though permanently caught in a dramatic gust of wind, lent an air of mystique and barely restrained power to the procession.


    The siege engines, behemoths of war that whispered promises of destruction in their very creaks and groans, moved with a grace that belied their purpose. And at the helm, Burn rode, the embodiment of imperial ambition, on a steed that seemed to snort disdain at the very ground it trod upon.


    Yet, for all the might and majesty of this martial display, Burn''s purpose was not solely to intimidate.


    Because of Morgan Le Fay, the woman who had cursed him with her death¡ª


    This was not just a march of conquest but a mission of persuasion, an attempt to bridge the chasm of distrust with words rather than weapons.


    Well, if something¡¯s wrong happened, he could just use violence, as long as he didn¡¯t kill the boy.


    This curse¡­ as long as the boy was alright, she would break the curse, right? Why would one want to be tied in this kind of soul binding curse together with someone else?


    But¡­


    ¡°Tch!¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t like this soft approach.

 9 - Actually Shit

    Nestled in the heart of the western part of the continent, the Soulnaught Empire spread its dominion like a grand tapestry.


    Its neighbor, the Edensor Kingdom, shared more than just a border; together, they kissed the shores of the Sirensong Ocean, a body of water as enchanting as it was treacherous, where the lullabies of the deep beckoned the hearts of even the most seasoned sailors.


    For Burn and his formidable army, the journey to Edensor''s doorstep was a mere three days'' march.


    It was less a test of endurance and more a leisurely stroll through the countryside, albeit in heavy armor and with the thunderous cadence of a thousand boots drumming against the earth.


    Upon their arrival at the borders of Edensor, Burn''s army displayed a confidence so profound, it bordered on audacity.


    Their occupation of the area was executed with such a leisurely ease it was enviable. It was as if they were tourists rather than conquerors, setting up camp with the casual efficiency of seasoned travelers who knew the lay of the land better than their own backyards.


    There was no hurried fortification, no scouts dispatched in hasty reconnaissance¡ªjust a calm, almost indolent spreading out of the Soulnaught forces, as though they were laying out a picnic rather than preparing for a siege.


    This nonchalance spoke volumes of their assurance in their military might and their leader''s strategic acumen.


    "Send word that I wish to meet King Edensworn in person," Burn commanded Galahad, who promptly departed to carry out his orders.


    Demonstrating his sincerity further, Burn positioned himself in clear view of the border, directly in front of the Great Fortress of Dusk, the westernmost boundary of Edensor.


    Apparently, he didn¡¯t have to wait for too long.


    The night he dispatched his message to meet the king, Burn observed an entourage accompanied by four cavalry generals, accompanying a nuclear-powered royal carriage.


    The procession was illuminated by a floating lantern, and alongside them, an 8 ''5 mech armor suit provided escort to the carriage.


    Directly before him, the carriage door swung open, and a young boy stepped out. His black hair was neatly brushed, and his eyes, a deep black, were sharp and shrouded in mystery.


    He bore a striking resemblance to the protagonists in tales of old, his dark features echoing the mythical visage of the ancient black dragon.


    It was the polar opposite of him, Burn the tyrant, standing alone in the middle of the border between two nations, not even wearing his armor because it wouldn¡¯t protect him properly anyway, with his nonchalant demeanor.


    ¡°Your Majesty, King Caliburn Pendragon¡ª¡±


    ¡°Emperor,¡± Burn interjected. ¡°I declared my kingdom an empire not too long ago, boy.¡±


    Yvain flinched but didn¡¯t fluster. He lifted his gaze to meet Burn''s directly. ¡°The declaration that also included your announcement of war¡­¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± Burn responded, his smile lingering as he noted the boy¡¯s bravery and wit. This piqued his interest.


    ¡°And the reason you¡¯re here today¡­ is it to make me beg for your protection?¡± the boy asked.


    Burn hummed, contemplating the answer, since, ¡°Yes, that¡¯s part of it,¡± he paused, ¡°But more so, about your master, the Infinite Witch.¡±


    Yvain widened his eyes.


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ***


    In the original timeline, Burn took a hands-on approach to dealing with Yvain¡ªquite literally. He killed the young king with the personal touch only a pair of his mighty hands can offer.


    However, as time loops spiraled like a greatest hits album on repeat, Burn opted for more... sophisticated methods. Why get his own hands dirty when he could outsource the dirty work?


    Enter the assassins, the shadowy figures who could make a person disappear quicker than a coin in a street magician''s act.


    Then there were the betrayals Burn orchestrated like a conductor leading a symphony, each note a dagger in the dark, played by Yvain''s very own subordinates.


    And if all else failed, there was always the reliable Galahad or one of the other generals, ever so eager to please their emperor by dispatching this troublesome young boy.


    Meanwhile, Burn reserved himself for the apocalyptic battles, the kind where the stakes were as high as the casualty figures.


    Here, he would always be the star at the frontline, basking in the glory of combat, proving that while he might delegate the task of regicide, when it came to grand wars, he was still the leading man.


    Well, he must be there to protect his people anyways.


    So, after the initial timeline, Burn hadn''t encountered the boy again. That is, until today.


    ¡°My master¡­ What happened to her? Where is she?¡± the boy asked, his voice stiff and tense, in the confines of Burn¡¯s main tent¡ªa structure erected overnight for strategic deliberations.


    ¡°I¡¯d wager you know more about her than I do,¡± Burn retorted. ¡°If you thought I came all this way to enlighten you about her whereabouts, you¡¯re mistaken. I¡¯m here to inquire about her from you.¡±


    ¡°You mean you don¡¯t know? But everyone¡­¡±


    ¡°Everyone what? Assume that just because I¡¯m universally disliked, I must have your master in chains?¡± Burn sighed, his tone laced with sarcasm. ¡°Actually, the reality is quite the opposite.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The boy¡¯s discomfort was evident; he didn¡¯t appreciate Burn steering the conversation, yet he found himself at a loss for control. Burn¡¯s revelation only deepened his confusion.


    ¡°She bound me with her spell¡ªno, curse. I currently have an unpaid debt to settle with her,¡± Burn stated flatly, his voice tinged with irony. "A good beating, that is."


    ¡°What do you mean?! Are you my master¡¯s enemy?!¡± was what was written on the boy¡¯s face. The confusion was clear on the boy¡¯s face, his questions nearly spilling out.


    But Yvain, showcasing the self-control and intelligence Burn had correctly surmised he possessed, remained silent. Instead, after observing Burn for a few tense seconds, his confusion morphed into suspicion. ¡°Could it be¡­ you¡¯re actually one of my master¡¯s stalkers?¡±


    Burn¡¯s brow furrowed in response.


    Yvain continued, a hint of mischief in his tone, ¡°You know, my master is very pretty. She is also strong. People who want to learn from her, or challenge her for recognition¡­ or even date her¡­ they all end up as her stalkers.¡±


    The frown on Burn¡¯s face deepened significantly.


    Blinking innocently once more, the boy added, ¡°But I guess you¡¯re much stronger and handsomer than any of them, so I approve of you.¡±


    ¡°This brat¡ª¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Yvain suddenly interjected, cutting off Burn''s train of thought. ¡°You want me to surrender my kingdom, right? But as you can see, I am just a young boy. The decision can¡¯t solely be mine.¡±


    Burn¡¯s frown eased as he observed the boy¡¯s self-awareness; a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Yvain reminded him of his younger self.


    Well, not really. Past Burn was stronger than him today.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re considering surrender, even if the others are not?¡± Burn probed.


    ¡°Who said I¡¯m surrendering?¡± Yvain sharply asked. ¡°Hearing what you said about my master, I assume¡ªno, I¡¯m sure you want to be on her good side, no matter what the reason.¡±


    ¡°You want something from her, that¡¯s why¡ª¡±


    ¡°Huhuhu¡­¡±


    Yvain widened his eyes.


    ¡°Hahaha, I see. As expected of that witch¡¯s disciple, huh? Your audacity knows no bounds,¡± Burn grinned, and Yvain felt pure dread for the first time in his life.


    ¡°I just have to not kill you. Throwing you to the dungeon or making you my slave is still well within my power. Boy, who do you think you are?¡±


    Yvain recoiled slightly but stood his ground. As a mage, he recognized Burn''s formidable strength; his achievements were no fabrication. Now that he faced him, he knew the truth.


    But his personality¡­ was actually shit.


    Grasp!


    Yvain almost yelped when the man suddenly grapsed his head. With his palm, Yvain felt that Burn could crush his head with a little squeeze, like making a lemonade.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get ahead of yourself,¡± Burn coldly warned. ¡°Quietly surrender and I¡¯ll take care of your people. A good beating is always effective for those leeches.¡±


    ¡°But to surrender my title as the king, my parents would¡ª!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to surrender that, though?¡± Burn tilted his head. ¡°Keep your crown. I don¡¯t need such trinkets.¡±


    Yvain blinked, perplexed. He didn¡¯t want that¡­?

 10 - The Rot Needed Pruning

    THUD! THUD-THUD¡ª


    As Burn strolled down the opulent corridors of Edensor''s royal palace, his metal heel echoed on the marble with the somber rhythm of a man on a mission.


    The palace, a labyrinth of luxury and secrets, seemed almost to shrink under his imposing presence. Each step was a calculated move in his grand strategy, not merely traversing space but plotting a course through the murky waters of political intrigue.


    ¡°Well, in the end, correcting Edensor is a chore. That¡¯s not the main goal,¡± he muttered.


    His goal for this loop was crystal clear: locate Morgan, coerce her into lifting the curse, and reset the game board to his advantage.


    And what better pawn in this high-stakes chess game than young King Yvain? Solving Edensor''s woes could earn Burn a bargaining chip shiny enough to catch the eye of the elusive witch.


    But first, the rot needed pruning¡ªa task Burn approached with the enthusiasm of a gardener tasked with uprooting particularly stubborn weeds.


    As he passed under gilded arches and between towering columns, his mind wasn''t on the architectural beauty or the whispers of courtiers peeking from behind heavy drapes. No, he was mentally sharpening his metaphorical shears.


    "Trimming the hedges to clear the view," Burn mused, a wry smile playing on his lips.


    The palace might have been a cage to some, but to him, it was just another garden maze to navigate, one where every turn held a potential ally or an obstacle to his ultimate objective.


    As Burn sauntered towards the throne hall of Edensor''s palace, the cacophony that greeted him could have been mistaken for a market square rather than the dignified confines of a royal court.


    Inside, the scene was less a debate and more a verbal brawl, with the courtiers of Edensor lambasting their young king with the fervor of sports fans at a losing game.


    "How could you do this, Your Majesty, as the king?!" one courtier bellowed, his outrage as inflated as his sense of self-importance.


    "You are a disgrace! Just to keep your title, you sell your nation!" accused another, her finger wagging so vigorously it seemed at risk of taking flight.


    "What would the late King and Queen say...!" chimed in a third, invoking the deceased royals as if they might, at any moment, offer a posthumous thumbs down.


    "In the end, you''re still a child!" concluded another, his tone dripping with the condescension typically reserved for explaining complex issues to toddlers.


    These were the same luminaries who would flip allegiances faster than a pancake at the hint of Burn''s assault, yet here they were, casting stones at Yvain for being a coward who allegedly sold out the kingdom to save his own skin.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The irony was thicker than the palace walls.


    Burn couldn¡¯t help but smirk as he stood against the doorway, unobserved yet observant. The court''s hypocrisy was almost admirable in its transparency.


    They bellowed about honor and duty from behind a veil of imminent betrayal, ready to jump ship at the first sign of trouble, yet vilifying a boy for making a strategic choice in the face of overwhelming force.


    Yvain, for all his youth and inexperience, was making a decision they never had the courage to face¡ªthe choice between a crown and a cage.


    And as the verbal stones flew, Burn pondered the amusing spectacle of loyalty in this royal theater, where every actor knew their lines but none believed them.


    ¡°Silence!¡±


    BLAAST!


    The command thundered through the hall, not from the lips of an elder statesman but from the young king himself, Yvain.


    Accompanying his decree was not merely the weight of royal authority, but a tangible, forceful blast of mana that surged like a tempest unleashed.


    Burn''s eyebrows shot up in a mix of surprise and intrigue as the raw power of the blast swept through the ornate doors. The hall, a crucible of courtly strife just moments before, was momentarily stilled by the display of raw magical prowess.


    This wave of energy was palpable, powerful enough to send his hair and coat fluttering backwards, as if caught in a sudden gale.


    The burst of mana was not just a mere display of temper¡ªit was a testament to Yvain¡¯s potent abilities, honed under the guidance of Morgan Le Fay herself.


    It rippled through the air, dense and charged, a vivid demonstration of why Yvain was not just any king, but a true scion of magic, a disciple of the revered Infinite Witch.


    ¡°How dare you invoke my late parents in this debacle? Who among you presumes to know their will better than their own son?¡±


    His words, laden with scorn, challenged the presumptions of his critics, calling into question their audacity to speculate on royal decisions.


    ¡°And let¡¯s not forget,¡± Yvain continued, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the gathered courtiers, ¡°without my master here to guide us, what would your actions be if Emperor Burn were to attack? Would you not be the first to turn your coats, scrambling to curry favor from him?¡±


    The accusation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of their potential disloyalty.


    Yvain¡¯s challenge laid bare the fickle nature of his court¡¯s allegiance, underscoring the precariousness of his position surrounded by fair-weather followers ready to forsake him at the hint of adversity.


    His words not only defended his decisions but also put the court on notice: he was no puppet king, but a ruler who saw through their veneer of feigned loyalty.


    The young boy sighed. In this case, Burn was right.


    Yvain was young, but if he wanted to be a benevolent leader, he needed strong support¡ªa foundation now eroded away with the disappearance of his master.


    Bereft of this crucial backing, his wish to govern with kindness was compromised. It was time, he realized, to learn the harsher art of rule; he must begin to wield an iron fist.


    Gone was the day he dreamed of being a kind and wise ruler. He wondered if his time with Morgan Le Fay was a privilege, giving him strength to govern benevolently. He also wondered whether his parents had faced similar choices during their reign.


    Well, now with Burn standing behind him¡­


    CLICK! CREAK!


    ¡­Yvain had no choice but to follow his style of rule.


    The door of the hall was opened, and Yvain descended from his throne.


    ¡°Welcome, Your Majesty, Emperor Burn of Soulnaught,¡± Yvain bowed in front of the mighty conqueror. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you.¡±


    Burn smiled. It wasn¡¯t bad gaining a smart boy as his subordinate.


    Approaching the bowing boy, he asked, ¡°Are you ready for a good pruning?¡±


    The young boy raised his face, smiling, ¡°Yes.¡±

 11 - Is It Really That Bad?

    Beheld the latest concoction from the cosmic kitchens of intergalactic commerce¡ªthe new and improved battle mech armor, a veritable titan among tin cans!


    It stood at a towering, why-even-bother-with-ladders height, having ditched the quaint charm of its 8''5" predecessors for a bulkier, brawnier build that promised to make doors everywhere tremble in their frames.


    Where the first version pranced around battlefields with the delicate grace of a ballet dancer, the latest model thundered across the terrain like a four-legged tank on a caffeine binge.


    Its sturdy exoskeleton was forged from a new, unpronounceable alloy, rumored to be sourced from the core of a neutron star¡ªbecause, of course, when it came to military overcompensation, only star guts would do.


    This new suit was not just a pretty face with an intimidating body. No, it was smarter, too!


    Equipped with an AI co-pilot, the mech could make tactical decisions faster than a politician disavowing past statements.


    Its weapon systems had been upgraded from "mildly alarming" to "do we really need a tactical nuke for a sidearm?" levels of firepower, ensuring that whatever it pointed at became a poignant historical footnote.


    Control-wise, the designers apparently decided that the previous interface, which required three doctoral degrees and a sacrificial offering to operate, was perhaps a tad inaccessible.


    The new controls were as easy as playing a video game!


    Powering this marvel of destructive efficiency was not your grandma''s AA battery pack but a miniature fusion reactor, because nothing said "overkill" like harnessing the power of the sun to fuel your morning commute of mayhem.


    In summary, if you ever dreamed of striding into battle encased in several tons of sci-fi superiority, all while casually obliterating obstacles with the nonchalance of swatting a fly¡ªthis latest battle mech armor wasn¡¯t just your ride; it was your throne!


    ¡°Let¡¯s buy them.¡±


    In an office, trimmed with the kind of opulence that suggested ''money is no object'', a man leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under the weight of his decision.


    He faced a group of individuals dressed in transparent blue robes that still reflected the light to hide what¡¯s under.


    "We''ll take 20," he declared with a casual flick of his wrist, as if ordering a round of drinks rather than a fleet of high-tech battle mechs.


    The futuristically dressed sales team barely masked their glee; the commission on this deal would likely fund their next trip to their next conquer.


    "And what will be the cost?" the office-dwelling magnate inquired, his voice dripping with the boredom of a man accustomed to buying rather than being sold to.


    The lead salesman, his smile sharp enough to slice through starship hulls, replied, "A fortune, sir. We require payment in pure, high-grade mana stones straight from the mine. A hundred of them."


    ¡°That¡¯s basically thievery," the buyer mused, swirling his drink. "Very well, consider it done."


    As the sales team departed, visions of mana stones dancing in their heads, the man chuckled to himself.


    "Better be worth their weight in gold," he muttered.


    Just when the man was about to celebrate his purchase, the polished doors of the office swung open again.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    This time, it was not to seal deals on war machines but to usher in the worried visage of the butler, a man as finely groomed as the gardens of the palace and equally as rigid.


    "Your Grace, buying this much modern weapon could be seen as treason to the kingdom..." he ventured cautiously, his voice carrying the tremor of a leaf in a hurricane.


    "And who would dare accuse me of such a thing?" retorted the Duke of Velaryon, his sneer turning the room a few degrees colder.


    Velaryon, a duchy known less for its beauty and more for its machinations and power plays within the Edensor Kingdom.


    "The king of this kingdom is my nephew¡ªand only a twelve-year-old boy," he scoffed, the words dripping with a mix of familial disdain and aristocratic arrogance.


    "Yvain is smart enough not to intervene in his maternal uncle¡¯s business. If he¡¯s being a good boy, wouldn¡¯t he get one or two good things from us too?"


    The duke''s voice was slick with the oil of political manipulation, suggesting gifts as mere tokens of benign nepotism rather than pieces in a much larger game of thrones.


    The butler, ever the picture of loyalty but internally questioning the wisdom of arming a man who viewed royal blood as a mere footnote to his ambitions, merely nodded.


    As he exited, the duke leaned back, a smile creeping across his features¡ªa smile that was all teeth and no warmth.


    Barely had the door clicked shut behind the butler, it flew open again, this time with a gusto that nearly unhinged it. The butler, usually the epitome of composed servitude, burst into the room with the urgency of a man chased by his own shadow.


    "Your Grace!" he gasped, cheeks flushed with the sprint from whatever courier had accosted him with the news.


    The Duke of Velaryon, who had been relishing his recent dealings in high-grade weaponry with the smug satisfaction of a cat in a sunbeam, looked up sharply.


    The butler''s disheveled appearance was a stark contrast to his usual meticulous presentation, suggesting the tidings he bore were of substantial weight.


    "The capital has sent word," the butler panted, his words tumbling out as if he were auctioning them off at record speed. "Young King Yvain has accepted King Burn¡¯s offer to surrender!"


    The news struck the duke like a misfired spell, unexpected and a tad inconvenient. His plans of familial manipulation, so beautifully laid out, now seemed in vain.


    ¡°That¡¯s just how he is. First, he latched on Morgan Le Fay. Now that she¡¯s gone, he hugged another thigh¡ªBurn of Soulnaught. Just like that bitch¡­ How pathetic.¡±


    Duke Velaryon recalled how his younger sister decided to marry the royal family and had a terrible end.


    "Until the very end, they still wouldn''t grovel for our support, huh? Madeline¡­ and her son."


    ***


    SLAM!


    ¡°Are you crazy?!¡±


    Burn leaned back, a sardonic grin playing at the corners of his mouth as Yvain''s indignation filled the air, the young king''s slam on the table sending a reverberating echo through the opulent chamber.


    "Why?" Burn replied with feigned innocence, shrugging as if discussing the weather rather than the fate of kingdoms.


    "With or without you by my side, they''re going to scurry around in the end, anyway. Take the western nobles, for instance, snugly close to my borders. They¡¯ll be the first to ditch your banner the moment things look bleak."


    Yvain¡¯s eyes faltered.


    Burn leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They''ll swear fealty to me faster than you can say ''traitor,'' abandoning Edensor without a backward glance.¡±


    ¡°Then watch as the dominoes fall: the southern duchy¡¯s family will sprint to the sea, hoping to sail away from their troubles, while the northern duchy will scamper inland, probably knocking on Inkia Kingdom''s door for refuge."


    "And then," Burn continued, his smirk widening, "there''s your maternal family, the esteemed Velaryon.¡±


    Yvain frowned. His hand trembled hearing the name.


    ¡°Oh, they''ll put on a good show, brandishing their swords and baring their teeth, but when the dust settles and they see the writing on the wall, they''ll come crawling to me,¡± Burn calmly narrated it a-matter-of-fact-ly.


    "I''m sure that in the scenario where you oppose me or end up dying at my hands, they will beg to manage Edensor under the Soulnaught flag, hoping to salvage some shred of dignity by administering the very chains that bind them."


    Burn chuckled softly, watching Yvain''s reaction, enjoying the display of predictable noble maneuvers as if he were a chess master watching pawns erratically attempt to avoid inevitable capture.


    It was the real future after all.


    "You see, it''s not madness, young Yvain. It''s merely... inevitability."


    Yvain''s eyes wavered. He gazed into Burn''s confident eyes, his own filled with defeat as he asked, "Is it really that bad? This kingdom..."

 12 - A Pact With the Devil

    "Is it really that bad? This kingdom..."


    Burn, observing the young king''s deflated spirit, felt a flicker of interest¡ªan unusual sensation for a man usually moved only by strategies of conquest. Yet, despite this curiosity, Burn wasn¡¯t about to hand out favors freely.


    ¡°Compared to my dominion? Yes. But is it your fault? No,¡± Burn replied with uncharacteristic frankness.


    ¡°Compared to your empire? You mean, this kingdom, in comparison with others, is¡­?¡± Yvain¡¯s eyes widened as he grappled with the implications of Burn¡¯s words.


    ¡°I chose to conquer your kingdom first because, to me, it represents the greatest threat,¡± Burn confessed.


    He then outlined his views on the kingdom¡¯s assets: its robust infrastructure, its hardworking people, and its fertile lands. ¡°Aside from its nobles, letting this kingdom fall into the hands of invaders would have been a greater loss than any other.¡±


    ¡°And much of that is thanks to¡ªyour parents. They really excelled during their tenure. And you, you¡¯ve managed to carry on their legacy admirably,¡± Burn conceded.


    If Yvain were older, with more experience, or even just better support¡ªheck, even without those¡ªif he had simply been older with a more solid reputation, he might have steered this kingdom with greater ease.


    His youth was his only misfortune.


    Burn¡¯s words, while candid, carried a weight that seemed to acknowledge Yvain¡¯s potential under different circumstances¡ªa rare nod to what might have been from a man typically focused on the pragmatic realities of power.


    ¡°But that¡¯s¡­ mainly because of my master,¡± Yvain muttered, almost to himself.


    ¡°I suppose so,¡± Burn shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°Thanks to her, you¡¯ve managed to get this far. But let¡¯s face it, there''s only so much you can achieve with that approach.¡±


    Yvain swallowed hard, lifting his gaze to meet Burn¡¯s.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take control of this land, boy. Even a king must conquer his own kingdom,¡± Burn said with a sly smirk. ¡°I¡¯ll lend you my support.¡±


    To subdue the rebellious noble faction, nothing short of total war would suffice.


    It felt akin to making a pact with the devil when the young king acquiesced to this approach.


    Burn''s proposal, dripping with seductive promise, seemed to sweetly corrupt the innocence of his heart. After all, in the harsh reality of their circumstances, this was a pragmatically ruthless strategy.


    "I will allow your forces to pass through my gates," Yvain declared, a reluctant resolve hardening in his voice.


    "You''re right. I need to assert control over those noble houses," he continued, his expression darkening slightly at the mention of one in particular. "Especially... Velaryon."


    ***


    That night, the capital of Edensor was swathed in a tempest as sullen as the king''s summons. Clouds, as if smeared by a toddler with a gray crayon, blotted out the moon, unleashing a downpour that seemed to critique the very notion of shelter.


    The wind howled through the streets like a chorus of disgruntled spirits, perhaps protesting the late-hour convening of the realm''s nobility.


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    Among the summoned was Duke Velaryon, who navigated the deluge with the enthusiasm of a man walking towards his own surprise audit.


    As lightning cast its accusatory flashes across the sky, it seemed to spotlight the Duke''s carriage, a reluctant beacon in the storm''s spiteful performance.


    The king¡¯s order had been clear: all vassals bearing a title from Viscount upwards were to attend, an edict that gathered the realm''s glitterati under one roof to ponder their collective fate.


    The Duke, cloaked not just in finery but in a palpable aura of dread, couldn¡¯t help but admire the timing.


    ¡°Nothing like a dark and stormy night to discuss potentially dark and stormy politics,¡± he mused to himself, his sarcasm a weak shield against the chill of foreboding that the storm so generously provided.


    At least he had his confidence.


    At least the latest batch of war machines, sleek titans of combat sent from distant intergalactic merchants, had recently been tucked away into the fortified corners of his duchy, a secret that buoyed his spirits and stiffened his spine.


    Duke Velaryon strode into the throne hall of Edensor.


    As one of the highest-ranking nobles in the kingdom, he naturally attracted the gaze of his peers, their eyes alight with a mix of curiosity and caution.


    They circled around him, their whispers painting the air with intrigue and speculation.


    The Duke¡¯s plan for the evening was precisely: to probe the depths of the relationship between Emperor Burn and King Yvain.


    What kind of agreement did they have?


    With each step towards the throne hall, the Duke rehearsed his approach.


    As the heavy doors to the hall swung open, issuing a slow, resonant creak that seemed to echo the weight of the impending discussions, Duke Velaryon entered, his confidence a mask worn as much for himself as for the court awaiting him.


    Huh?


    King Yvain sat alone on the grand throne of Edensor, his small figure dwarfed by the ornate, looming seat that seemed more a monument to past glories than a fitting perch for such youthful royalty.


    The vast hall, with its towering columns and shadowed alcoves, swallowed his presence, rendering him almost spectral in the dim light.


    But¡­


    Yvain was¡­ alone?


    Alongside Duke Velaryon, among the attendees, the most prominent figures stood out not just by their titles, but by their distinct dispositions and the power they wielded within the realm.


    Marquis Reune, from the western border adjacent to Soulnaught, carried the air of a seasoned diplomat hardened by the proximity to a burgeoning empire¡ªor, simply put, a man who knew how to flip sides at the speed of light.


    His sharp eyes and meticulously groomed beard framed a face used to smiling in diplomacy while calculating odds of survival. His attire, a perfect blend of martial readiness and aristocratic elegance, hinted at his dual role as defender and statesman.


    To his north, the aging Duke Eldric Olfield commanded respect through his venerable presence. His domain, a fertile expanse of agriculture and livestock, supplied the kingdom¡¯s heartlands.


    Duke Olfield, with his silver hair flowing like the rivers that nourished his lands, moved with a slow, deliberate grace that belied his strategic acumen, honed over decades of stewardship.


    From the south, Duke Marlon Merweather represented the kingdom¡¯s maritime strength. Middle-aged, robust, with a commanding aura sharpened by the sea winds, his territory''s fleets were crucial for trade and defense.


    His deep, resonant voice carried the roar of the ocean, and his eyes, blue as the deep waters, scanned the hall with an admiral¡¯s vigilance.


    Flanking these titans of the realm were their vassals and the kingdom¡¯s direct vassals¡ªeach distinguished by their regalia but unified in the air of urgency that the king¡¯s summons had sparked.


    Yet none were as powerful as Duke Velaryon, the king''s maternal uncle, who owned hundreds of precious stone mines and was the proprietor of the largest business and company in the entire kingdom. He also had significant stakes in both maritime and agricultural riches.


    THUD.


    Yvain¡¯s scepter struck the floor, its¡¯ sound resonating through the throne hall with a tone sharper than any sword.


    "Welcome, my esteemed lords and ladies of Edensor," he began, his gaze sweeping over the assembly of nobles who had gathered.


    "I must express my gratitude that you''ve all made the journey here in person. It seems that only by accepting Emperor Burn''s offer could I ensure such a full attendance.¡±


    Yvain sighed. The sight of their king waiting for them did not inspire these nobles to greet him first; instead, he had to initiate the pleasantries.


    ¡°Had it been merely my summons, I suspect I would have received a litany of creative excuses instead of your august presence. It''s heartening to see where your loyalties truly lie when push comes to shove."


    His smile was as thin as the veiled sarcasm in his words, highlighting the irony of their newfound respect for their young king.


    "Aren¡¯t you curious why your king is greeting you all alone in this hall?"

 13 - Storm

    "Aren¡¯t you curious why your king is greeting you all alone in this hall?"


    Yvain sat resolutely before his gathered nobles, his youthful visage belying the weight of his words.


    Duke Eldric raised his voice, not even answering to Yvain¡¯s greetings. "My, it seems Your Majesty''s court is too indolent to grace us with their presence today. Your Majesty, you should¡ª"


    ¡°Fire them?¡± Yvain cut off his words.


    "Well, I did. I find myself alone today, not by accident but by choice," he began, his voice steady and imbued with a calm authority.


    "I''ve dismissed those who dared to insult me and my decision. It seems I needed to make room for those truly loyal to Edensor¡ªor at least curious enough to witness its fate firsthand."


    Duke Eldric Olfield frowned.


    Alongside him, the faces of the other high nobles soured as well¡ªDuke Merweather, Marquis Reune, and even Duke Velaryon shared in the collective displeasure.


    Yvain paused, surveying the room with a satisfied eye. "Let me share a little prophecy with you, a glimpse of what would have transpired had I not made the difficult decision to accept Emperor Burn¡¯s offer."


    Yvain''s tone took on a biting sarcasm as he painted the hypothetical scenario.


    "Our esteemed lord of the west," he nodded slightly towards Marquis Reune, "would not have hesitated for a second. They would¡¯ve sprinted to join Emperor Burn, tripping over themselves in their eagerness to switch allegiances."


    The room tensed, nobles shifting uncomfortably as Yvain¡¯s gaze swept to Olfield and Merweather.


    "Our friends in the north would have fled inland, seeking refuge in the heart of the continent, while our southern brethren would have taken to the seas, hoping to escape the reach of Emperor Burn¡¯s iron grasp."


    A wry smile played on Yvain''s lips as he turned his attention to Duke Velaryon, who stood rigid and alert.


    "And then, there¡¯s Duke Velaryon. A valiant stand would be made, no doubt, swords drawn and banners flying high. But alas, when the dust settled, and the reality of defeat became apparent, your plea to manage Edensor under the flag of Soulnaught would surely follow."


    The hall was filled with a charged silence, each noble absorbing the young king''s words, their implications clear and cutting.


    "Imagine that¡ªeach of you, playing your part in this grand drama as though you were mere characters in a play scripted by fate¡ªor rather, by Burn."


    The young king was just spoiling the written fate word for word, right from Burn¡¯s own mouth.


    Yvain¡¯s tone softened slightly, but the underlying steel remained. "I chose to surrender not out of fear, but out of strategy. By aligning with Burn, I¡¯ve secured a measure of control over our destiny, rather than leaving our fate to the chaos of war he is going to declare forward and the whims of turncoats."


    He clasped his hands on his scepter. "So, yes, I sit here alone, because I will not surround myself with those who doubt or deride. From this moment forward, our course is one of cautious cooperation with Soulnaught, not blind submission."


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    ¡°But.¡±


    With a casual flick of his wrist, King Yvain summoned the ethereal equivalent of a high-tech surveillance system.


    Magical images flickered into existence, hovering like ghostly screens. Each one offered a live feed of Soulnaught''s army, ominously assembled near the domains of Edensor''s elite families.


    "There, as you can see," Yvain began, his voice dripping with a mixture of sarcasm and regal composure, "our friends from Soulnaught are enjoying a little camping trip just outside your estates."


    The images shimmered with the precision of a well-directed documentary, showcasing rows of Soulnaught soldiers who seemed more equipped for a parade of power than a quiet picnic.


    The troops were arrayed in perfect formations, a display of military might that was less ''welcome committee'' and more ''invasion parade.''


    "Marquis Reune," Yvain continued, nodding towards the western border''s representative, "your neighbors have polished their armor just for you. How thoughtful, right?"


    The scene shifted to the north, where Duke Eldric''s lands lay. "And Duke Olfield, it seems the northern winds bring more than just cold air this season¡ªperhaps a hint of steel and gunpowder as well."


    Next, the southern coasts under Duke Merweather''s stewardship came into view. "Duke Merweather, your shores are about to host more than just seagulls and ships. I hope your docks are ready for a different kind of tide."


    Finally, the focus landed on Duke Velaryon¡¯s territory. "And dear Duke Velaryon, it appears a siege might be part of your upcoming social calendar. I''d advise against planning any large banquets."


    Yvain''s tone held a sharp edge as he manipulated the magical displays, each swipe and tap punctuating his points. The nobles around him shifted uncomfortably, their expressions ranging from alarmed to downright terrified.


    The nobles, accustomed to the comfort of their high stations, now found themselves grappling with the immediate reality of a military threat at their doorsteps. Worse, they were helplessly distant from their lands, wealth, and families, unable to defend them.


    Their faces, a canvas of disbelief and fear, mirrored the sudden upheaval of their assumptions about their own security and power.


    "Your Majesty! This is preposterous! Are you waging war against your own people?!" Duke Olfield bellowed, his voice echoing through the throne hall with a mix of outrage and disbelief.


    "Are you truly allowing Soulnaught to parade their forces through our lands unchallenged? This is a disgrace!" Duke Merweather added, his tone sharp and accusatory, his gaze piercing Yvain with every word.


    "And what of our sovereignty? Are we to bow and scrape while they march on our soil?" Marquis Reune chimed in, his words fuelled by a fiery indignation, filling the room with a crescendo of protest that rattled the ancient windows.


    Together, their voices melded into a tumultuous uproar, a symphony of dissent that challenged Yvain''s authority and questioned his strategy, resonating off the stone walls with the force of a brewing storm.


    Yvain, seizing the moment of vulnerability, fixed his gaze on his vassals, his voice cutting through the tension with the precision of a well-honed blade.


    "Let me be clear," he began, his tone laced with icy reminder, "a single command from ME could send Soulnaught''s forces to dismantle everything you hold dear. Your lands, your titles, your very lives hang by the thread of MY goodwill."


    The threat hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the young king''s newfound resolve and the lethal edge of his authority. Sensing their wavering spirits, Yvain pressed on, his next words framing the ultimatum that would redefine their fealty.


    "This kingdom," he declared, "will no longer be a playground for your personal ambitions or corrupted interpretations of ''good.'' From this moment forward, your allegiance will be secured not just by oath but by magic¡ªbound to the very essence of Edensor''s stability, glory, and lawful order."


    He raised his hand, and ethereal strands of light began weaving around the assembly, materializing into tangible symbols of the pact they were about to enter.


    This magic was no mere theatrical flourish; it was a binding agreement, a pact that would enforce their loyalty not through fear alone but through the inescapable grip of enchanted compulsion.


    "As your king, I demand your absolute submission," Yvain continued, his words resonating with the force of his magical and royal authority. "Refuse, and you face not just political ruin but the literal disintegration of all you command under this pact."


    The nobles, faced with the dual threats of military annihilation and magical enforcement, found their options narrowing to one: compliance.


    But in the middle of it all, Duke Velaryon suddenly grinned.


    CRAAAAAAASH!

 14 - A Force Not to Be Forgotten

    CRAAAAAAASH!


    Duke Velaryon''s grin could have frozen hell over.


    The guard mechs and battle mech armors made their grand, uninvited entrance into the throne hall.


    These weren''t your average party crashers but rather several tons of metal indifference, bulldozing through the walls as if they were mere suggestions rather than solid barriers.


    The crumbling masonry accompanied their every step, a dramatic soundtrack to their destructive debut. As dust settled like the aftermath of a particularly aggressive confetti cannon, these behemoths of steel planted themselves amidst the aristocracy with the grace of elephants doing ballet.


    CRASH! CRACKLE! CRACKLE!


    ¡°AAAH!¡±


    ¡°WHAT?! WHO?!¡±


    ¡°WHAT IS THIS?!¡±


    Velaryon spread his arms.


    ¡°There you are!¡±


    Beep! Crackle!


    ¡°Lord Velaryon! On your command!¡±


    As the mechanical minions clanked and clattered into the hall, the nobles gasped, clutching their pearls and medals as the scene unfolded. They started to scramble for cover, faces white as sheets, as the walls crumbled around them.


    Yvain, caught in the midst of weaving a magical pact spell to ensure their submission, now found himself ensnared in a more tangible form of coercion.


    Shock reflected in his eyes, panic causing his hands to tremble.


    Over the past three years, since Morgan Le Fay''s mysterious vanishing, the Duke had been quietly weaving his web of influence throughout Edensor''s palace and military.


    The palace guards might as well have worn Velaryon crests on their uniforms, so thoroughly had he bought their loyalties. It seemed Edensor had been waltzing to his tune, especially after young King Yvain lost his support.


    Now, with the mechanical might of guard mechs and battle armor from the kingdom¡¯s military¡ªoperated by those whose pockets jingled with Velaryon gold¡ªcrashing through the throne room doors, Benjamin Velaryon decided the time was ripe for a bold move.


    Treason? More like a strategic realignment of royal assets, as he would put it at the next high society dinner.


    ¡°Oh, oh dear.¡±


    Velaryon¡¯s voice cut through the chaos, his tone dripping with condescension as he addressed the young king.


    "Oh, dear Yvain, playing a king was a charming endeavor, wasn¡¯t it? But let¡¯s not kid ourselves¡ªabsolute submission? To you? Don¡¯t you realize that this kingdom was mine already?"


    Around them, the room erupted in a tumult of outrage and confusion. Nobles stood, their faces blanched with shock, voices raised in a cacophony of protest and disbelief.


    "Benjamin, this is madness! You¡¯re committing treason!" Marquis Reune shouted, his voice hoarse with betrayal.


    "Duke Velaryon, have you no honor?" Duke Merweather demanded, his stern visage now creased with worry.


    Even Duke Eldric Olfield, often a pillar of composed strength, struggled to maintain his composure.


    "This is rebellion, plain and simple," he stated flatly, hoping reason could prevail over the coup unfolding before them.


    Unperturbed, Velaryon''s laughter echoed off the grand walls, rich with derision.


    "Rebellion? Honor? Oh, please. Save your breath and your feigned loyalty,¡± the man mocked.


    ¡°We all know this kingdom''s strings are pulled from my fingertips. The people of your palace, the people of the nobles¡¯ palaces, all of them had their absolute submission for me!¡± Benjamin Velaryon chuckled.


    ¡°It¡¯s time Edensor recognized its true ruler. Now, Yvain, let''s expedite your abdication, shall we? Or must we do this the hard way? After all, you¡¯re just a boy!¡±


    The army of Soulnaught had entered the walls of Edensor anyways. Velaryon might have been caught off guard by Emperor Burn, and it might be too late to defend against him, but against this child?


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    That, he could manage with the ease of a routine Tuesday chore.


    As long as he secured control over Edensor, anything was possible! Even Emperor Burn would have to contend with him to gain dominion over this rich and prosperous land.


    Not to mention his new and upgraded battle mech armor he just purchased. Even Burn wouldn¡¯t be able to go against all twenty of them!


    ¡°He was right.¡±


    Velaryon raised his eyebrows. He turned his gaze to Yvain, who now stood before his throne. The earlier panic and shock had vanished from his demeanor, replaced by a calm, steady gaze.


    It was as if¡­ he had never been shocked¡ªas if the entire display had been nothing but an act.


    ¡°Oh, how predictable you are,¡± Yvain raised his hand forward.


    ***


    ¡°Your Majesty, is this alright?¡± Galahad inquired as they stood before the walls surrounding Velaryon''s territory.


    ¡°What? Leaving the boy alone in the palace?¡± Burn asked back.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Galahad bowed low, ready to hear his emperor¡¯s sarcasm.


    He fully expected Burn to express indifference about Yvain''s survival, commenting that it didn''t matter who won between Yvain or Benjamin Velaryon, since Edensor was effectively theirs regardless.


    ¡°He can handle it,¡± Burn said, shocking Galahad.


    ¡°...Your Majesty?¡± Galahad asked.


    ¡°That boy is going to be one of our vassals in the empire. Under Soulnaught, he''ll become one of our swords. Why? Because I decreed it¡ªand frankly,¡± Burn shrugged nonchalantly, ¡°the kid¡¯s got the chops for it.¡±


    Burn truly had nothing to lose. He saw this as an opportunity to test Yvain''s mettle: if Yvain failed to defend himself against Velaryon, Burn would swoop in to save him at the last moment, securing the boy''s indebted loyalty.


    If Yvain succeeded, on the other hand, Burn would gain a formidable new ally. Either way, Burn stood to benefit by giving this stage for him to prove himself.


    If it wasn¡¯t against him or Soulnaught force, Yvain wouldn¡¯t die that easily. In all previous loops, Burn noticed a pattern in the boy¡¯s destiny.


    That Yvain Edensworn was a force not to be forgotten.


    ***


    Yvain Edensworn, the young monarch of Edensor, ascended into the air, his royal robes billowing as if caught in a tempest of his own making.


    His scepter, an ancient artifact of regal authority, crackled with raw electrical energy, drawing arcs of lightning from the charged atmosphere of the throne room.


    "I am Yvain Edensworn, King of Edensor and the heaven''s eighth sun. In the names of my late parents, Belezak and Madeline Edensworn, and guided by the Infinite Witch, I pass judgment upon you¡ª"


    Before he could finish, Duke Velaryon''s command cut through the tension, "Capture him!" His voice boomed, urgent and commanding, as he directed the mech pilots to spring into action.


    The hall erupted into chaos. From behind the ornate tapestries and the once-impenetrable stone walls, guard mechs and battle-armored suits burst forth.


    Their metal bodies, engineered for war, glinted under the flickering chandeliers as they advanced towards Yvain with mechanical precision.


    Yvain, suspended in mid-air, gestured with his scepter. The first mech that reached him was met with a surge of electric fury.


    Lightning leaped from the scepter¡¯s tip, enveloping the mech in a cage of blinding energy. The smell of scorched metal filled the air as the mech staggered back, its circuits fried by the overwhelming power.


    Undeterred, another mech charged, its arms equipped with energy blades aiming to disarm the young king. Yvain spun in the air, a dancer in a deadly ballet.


    With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a gust of wind that knocked the mech off its trajectory, sending it crashing into its companion with a thunderous clatter.


    The third mech adjusted its strategy, launching a barrage of micro-missiles designed to overwhelm magical defenses. Yvain¡¯s eyes narrowed; with a swift incantation, he created a shimmering shield of magical force around himself.


    The missiles exploded on impact, their fiery wrath contained by his spell, illuminating the hall with their short-lived fury.


    ¡°YOUR MAJESTY!¡±


    ¡°AAAAAAAAH!¡±


    ¡°NO!¡±


    ¡°Yvain¡­¡±


    Faintly, Yvain heard the soft voice of his master.


    ¡°Why did you call me that? I¡¯m scared when you call me by my full name¡­¡±


    ¡°Haha¡­ fine, my dearest pupil, Ain¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master?¡±


    ¡°...when I¡¯m not by your side¡­¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± Yvain yelled.


    As debris settled, Yvain countered swiftly. He chanted in a forgotten tongue, and from the ground, ethereal chains of light shot up, binding the mechs'' legs.


    The mechanical behemoths struggled against these arcane restraints, their efforts futile as the magic sapped their systems of power.


    ¡°You¡¯re not leaving me, Master!¡±


    In a desperate attempt to turn the tide, a mech pilot overrode his damaged controls, manually steering the hulking suit towards Yvain with a ramming maneuver.


    Anticipating this, Yvain directed a concentrated pulse of kinetic energy from his scepter. The impact resonated through the hall, sending the mech tumbling backward into a pillar with a crash that echoed like the ringing of a cathedral bell.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAH! TAKE COVER!¡±


    ¡°RUN!¡±


    "I can barely remember my parents'' faces now, Master. When I feel scared, it''s your face I see whenever I close my eyes."


    Breathing heavily, Yvain hovered, his scepter still crackling with residual magic. His young face, lit by the ethereal glow of his powers, bore a look of resolute determination.


    Below him, the incapacitated mechs lay scattered like fallen giants, their threat nullified by the display of royal magic.


    ¡°I don¡¯t regret my life, Master, even if I perish with this kingdom. It''s just shameful that in your absence, not only can I not find you, but I can¡¯t even protect everything you''ve entrusted to me.¡±


    ¡°I want to make you proud. So please, come back and see for yourself¡ªI¡¯ve grown much stronger.¡±

 15 - Burn’s Coronation

    [7 years ago]


    FLASH! BLAAAST! Rumble¡ªrumble, rumble¡­


    Dark clouds amassed like aggrieved protestors, brooding and ominous. Lightning streaked across the heavens in bold, rebellious slashes, while thunder rumbled deep belly-laughs, mocking the earth beneath.


    The palace of Soulnaught, usually a beacon of opulence and power, stood under siege by the weather.


    Its towering spires and expansive courtyards, designed to awe and intimidate, were instead beleaguered by gusts that swept through archways and corridors with unruly disdain.


    Rain lashed at the stone fa?ades, as if trying to cleanse the palace of its impending new ruler''s influence.


    The coronation day of King Burn.


    Inside, the grand hall was a fortress against the storm¡¯s ire, filled with the rich and the powerful, their garments a tapestry of the kingdom¡¯s wealth.


    Yet, the air was thick not just with anticipation, but with a palpable tension, as eyes turned not only towards the throne but also sideways, measuring allies and adversaries alike.


    King Belezak of Edensor, a seasoned ruler with a keen sense for theatrics of power, watched the proceedings with a wry, knowing look.


    As Burn stepped forward to receive the crown, Belezak couldn''t help but note the irony: here was a man who sought to control a kingdom, yet couldn¡¯t command the sky.


    Look outside. The storm clashed with the ceremonial grandeur, serving as a crude reminder of nature¡¯s indifference to human affairs.


    Burn¡¯s crowning moment was bathed not in sunlight but in the erratic glow of lightning, casting long, sinister shadows that flickered like doubts about his future reign.


    As the crown settled on Burn¡¯s head, the thunderclap that followed seemed less an applause and more a warning shot.


    Belezak mused silently, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. The pageantry was impeccable, the alliances and betrayals hidden beneath layers of silk and smiles, all while the storm raged unabated outside.


    It was, he thought, would be a perfect metaphor for Burn¡¯s rule: tempestuous, unpredictable, and as divided as the heavens above.


    The strong will be the winner. The winner takes all.


    Despite being a younger son not born to the queen and a child of an extramarital affair, he still ascended to the throne. The bastard of Pendragon, Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon.


    Belezak glanced at the older brother standing not far from the coronation stage. Despite seeing his younger brother rise to the throne, he looked unperturbed.


    Clarent Soulcrest Pendragon¡­ maybe his fate was much worse than his younger brother.


    As the coronation ceremony gave way to the evening''s festivities, the grand banquet hall of the Soulnaught palace unfolded as a spectacle of opulence.


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    Tables laden with sumptuous feasts stretched across the marbled floor, each dish more lavish than the last, reflecting the new king''s ambitions as clearly as the polished silverware.


    Candelabras cast a warm glow over the faces of attending nobles, their flickering lights mirroring the cautiously optimistic chatter that filled the air.


    From Belezak''s perspective, the banquet was less a celebration and more a strategic stage for alliances and displays of loyalty.


    He noted the undercurrents of power at play, the subtle jockeying for favor beneath the veneer of cordial toasts. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and rich sauces, mingling with the sharper tang of political intrigue.


    Encouraged to indulge in both food and conversation, Belezak navigated the event with a seasoned eye, engaging in dialogues that were as much about probing intentions as they were about pleasantries.


    Here, amid the clinking of glasses and the soft strains of court musicians, the game of thrones continued unabated, each smile and handshake a measured move in the grand chessboard of royal politics.


    But suddenly¡­


    ¡°King Belezak Edensworn.¡±


    It was a voice, deep and chilling, slicing through the festive din like a blade through silk.


    Belezak turned, an eyebrow arching in surprise as he found himself facing Burn, the freshly crowned king of Soulnaught.


    The setting was odd for such an encounter, draped in the opulence of the post-coronation banquet, yet here stood Burn, choosing to engage with Belezak over any other monarch present.


    The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with an undercurrent of tension that contrasted sharply with the mirthful clatter of the hall.


    Burn¡¯s approach was unexpected¡ªstrategically puzzling, even. The Wintersin Empire''s Crown Prince was here, along with the king of Inkia and other luminaries of equal or greater political weight.


    Each would have been a more predictable target for a nascent king¡¯s charm offensive. Yet, Burn¡¯s icy gaze was fixed on Belezak, a king of a prosperous but strategically less crucial realm.


    Belezak, ever the observer of royal theatrics, couldn''t help but marvel at the audacity¡ªor perhaps the calculated disregard¡ªfor courtly protocol.


    His response was measured, the tone seasoned with a blend of irony and regal composure.


    "King Burn," Belezak replied, his voice smooth but edged with a hint of frost to match Burn¡¯s. "To what do I owe the honor of this... uniquely prioritized greeting?"


    Burn''s smile was thin, unreadable, the sort that could precede a toast or a duel. "King Belezak, I find the geography of our kingdoms... intriguing. Neighbors across the Sirensong Ocean, yet worlds apart in our methods, wouldn''t you say?"


    Belezak¡¯s mind raced, piecing together the potential implications behind Burn¡¯s cryptic words.


    The mention of geography was a veiled nod to more than just physical borders¡ªit hinted at political landscapes, at the undercurrents that defined the delicate balance of power between their nations.


    "Indeed," Belezak conceded, his reply tinged with the caution of a chess player contemplating a risky but potentially game-changing move. "The waters between us do seem to reflect more than just the light of the moon tonight."


    ¡°But seriously, though, why me? You could have greeted anyone else here. Is it some sort of safety measure because anyone else would be too difficult?¡± Belezak curiously¡ªwittily asked.


    ¡°I''ve already mentioned our geographical proximity and our differing methods, yet you still wonder why I approached you first?¡± Burn responded, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement.


    Belezak was now thoroughly puzzled.


    ¡°Well, disregard all that I said, because, in truth, it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Burn declared, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. ¡°In this hall, you are the only one I deem worthy of a greeting.¡±


    Burn turned slightly, his gaze drifting towards the door. ¡°Too much for an icebreaker, Your Majesty?¡±


    Belezak blinked in confusion when Burn left the hall without turning back. He didn¡¯t even look at anyone else, as if they truly had no value.


    Belezak couldn¡¯t help but to grin.


    ¡°Crazy bastard.¡±


    ***


    Belezak Edensworn died on his trip back to Edensor after attending Burn¡¯s coronation.

 16 - Underestimated

    The dust settled, an eerie calm pervaded.


    The guard mechs and battle mech armors, those heralds of Velaryon''s coup, lay scattered and smoldering, defeated not just by magic but by sheer tactical foresight.


    Yvain Edensworn, the young king whose regal poise had once seemed more ceremonial than consequential, now hovered above the wreckage with the air of a maestro who had just conducted a symphony of destruction.


    His gaze swept over the room, imperial and unyielding, and it was then that a dreadful realization dawned upon the gathered nobility.


    Benjamin Velaryon, his face a mask of thwarted ambition, watched with a growing sense of unease. He had anticipated a legion of mechanized soldiers to swarm the hall at his behest, yet only a paltry few dozen had answered his call.


    The discrepancy was glaring¡ªa tactical blunder, or so it seemed.


    Whispers began to circulate among the nobles, their shock giving way to a begrudging admiration. Yvain had not only repelled a formidable assault but had orchestrated a demonstration of power so precise, it bordered on prescient.


    The absence of further reinforcements for the rebellion spoke volumes; the young king had anticipated the treachery and had neutralized it with minimal fanfare and maximal efficiency.


    "Could it be that he planned this all along?" Marquis Reune muttered under his breath, his previous indignation melting into a mix of fear and respect.


    Duke Merweather, whose loyalty had always been as fluid as the tides of his southern shores, couldn''t help but cluck his tongue in appreciation.


    "The boy baited a trap with himself as the lure," he observed, a smirk playing on his lips. "And we, like fools, worried about the puppet¡¯s strings when the puppeteer was always in control."


    ¡°No. The moment he decided to fight back for the throne, he¡­¡±


    Even Duke Olfield, often stoic and unflappable, found himself reluctantly impressed. "To think, the young pup had us dancing to his tune, and we were none the wiser," he conceded, his voice tinged with a rare note of humor.


    As for Velaryon, the mastermind behind the failed coup, the realization that he had been outmaneuvered so completely by his youthful nephew was a bitter pill to swallow.


    His plans, grandiose and meticulously laid, had crumbled not because of external forces but because of an underestimation of Yvain¡¯s cunning and capability.


    In the echoes of Yvain''s magic and the smoldering remnants of mech armor, the nobles of Edensor saw not just a king who had survived an assault but one who had turned it into a declaration of his sovereignty.


    Yvain¡¯s calm demeanor, looking down upon them all, was not just a show of strength¡ªit was a masterclass in royal strategy.


    Even though he was alone¡­!


    ¡°No further reinforcements will heed your call, Velaryon. Not the armies from your house, nor from those of the other nobles. Not even the royal guards you thought you¡¯d bought. Each one has been, or soon will be, neutralized,¡± Yvain declared.


    He floated slightly higher, his gaze sweeping over the room with regal disdain.


    ¡°Here you stand, entirely alone, before a Mage, your king, and the disciple of the Infinite Witch. Did you really believe that mere nobles like yourself could ever hope to defeat me?¡±


    As Yvain''s words echoed through the grand throne room, a tangible wave of shock and fear washed over the assembly of nobles.


    Their expressions froze, eyes wide with a blend of terror and disbelief.


    Some leaned back as if the very air around the young king had become electric, their hands reflexively clutching at the rich fabrics of their garb, seeking comfort where there was none.


    Murmurs swirled, hushed whispers of realization that the boy they had so vastly underestimated was not merely a token figurehead, but a formidable mage in his own right.


    It was almost laughable, the drastic underestimation they had all committed. Here was a young king, who at the age of five had lost his parents and showed no extraordinary signs of magical talent. Who could have guessed?


    By the age of seven, he was king, with just four years under the tutelage of the famed Infinite Witch before her mysterious demise.


    Yet, now he stood, a mere teenager, effortlessly dismantling an arsenal of advanced mechs with the poise of a seasoned warlock.


    Their bodies stiffened, a physical manifestation of the internal recalibration of their opinions regarding their king. Eyebrows arched high, lips parted slightly in astonishment, as they silently acknowledged the miracle before them.


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    Not only had Yvain predicted this coup, but he had single-handedly neutralized the threat with a display of power that bordered on the divine.


    "Was he always this powerful, or did we merely nap through his ascent?" one might wonder cynically, the sarcasm a thin veil over the unease that gripped them.


    ¡°Then maybe¡­ his parents hid his real talent early on¡­ when he was only five¡­!¡±


    Each noble, previously so assured in their own power and influence, now found themselves grappling with a new reality: underestimating Yvain was not just a mistake; it was akin to ignoring a dragon slumbering beneath one''s own floorboards.


    COUGH! COUGH!


    Duke Velaryon cleared his throat, a forced chuckle escaping him more as a nervous titter than the composed laughter he intended.


    He smoothed the front of his richly embroidered doublet, a vain attempt to regain some semblance of control over the unfolding chaos.


    "Oh, dear nephew... look at you! You''ve certainly grown," he began, his voice dripping with feigned affection.


    "Uncle thought you were just a young boy, wrestling with the trials of youth while striving to be the king this land deserves. Such pressure for one so young, isn''t it overwhelming?"


    His smile twitched as he continued, "When I heard that you had so suddenly accepted Burn''s proposal to surrender, I was utterly shocked! Surely, it must be your inexperience talking, and not a well-considered decision. To hand over control of your parents''¡ªour¡ªland to an outsider!"


    Velaryon''s laugh, meant to sound hearty, cracked under the strain. "I am merely trying to bring some sense into you, my beloved, silly nephew. This is all out of love, you must understand."


    Around him, the room¡¯s atmosphere tensed, nobles exchanging looks of disbelief at the duke¡¯s brazen words. Velaryon¡¯s hands spread wide, as if to embrace the young king, who stood resolutely unimpressed.


    "I grieve every time I see you strain under the mantle of rulership. You''re but a child. As an adult, it is my duty to lift this burden from your shoulders. You should be playing, enjoying your youth, not ensnared by the cares of the kingdom!"


    "This, too, is what your parents would have wanted for their son, isn¡¯t it? To not be burdened with the kingdom until it¡¯s truly your time."


    His words floated over the assembled nobles, who stood aghast at his audacity. The air was thick with unspoken accusations of betrayal and manipulation.


    Yvain, for one, remained icily detached, his gaze cold as he measured the man before him.


    Velaryon¡¯s performance was a masterclass in emotional manipulation, his every gesture tailored to paint himself as a benevolent protector rather than the usurper he was.


    Yet, his efforts seemed to unravel before Yvain''s composure.


    As Yvain''s hand rose towards Velaryon, his voice was as cold as the swirling mists of mana that gathered around him. "Is that all? Then, I shall consider it your final words."


    Velaryon''s facade crumbled into raw panic as he blurted out, "Child, you naive little fool! How could you ally with the killer of your father?! Burn¡ªit was he who murdered him!"


    The accusation detonated in the throne room like a spell gone awry. A collective gasp rippled through the gathered nobles; the air thickened with shock and the sudden tension of a revelation too monstrous to comprehend.


    Yvain flinched, the shadows cast by his swirling mana momentarily darkening his expression, which twisted into a mask of pain and disbelief.


    The murmurs began almost immediately, the room abuzz with the horror of Velaryon''s claim.


    "I am, despite everything, still your family! Your uncle, the older brother of your dear mother! And yet, you choose him¡ªa stranger, a villain who orchestrated the demise of your parents?!" Velaryon''s voice broke, pitching higher in his desperation.


    "Don''t you see? Your father died on his return from Burn''s coronation seven years ago! It was no coincidence¡ªit was orchestrated!"


    The shockwaves of Velaryon''s accusation seemed to physically stagger the room. Noble after noble recoiled as if struck, their faces a canvas of betrayal and fear.


    Marquis Reune, stepping forward, his voice trembled with outrage, "Can this be true? An act so vile¡ªand now he¡¯s trying to take our land¡­!"


    Duke Merweather, his hands clenched into fists, added fiercely, "Such a conspiracy, if true, demands justice! Not this treachery!"


    "And you," Duke Eldric''s voice thundered, directed at Velaryon but loud enough for all to hear, "you dare use such a claim now, as a shield for your own rebellion? Shame on you if you lie!"


    Yvain, amidst this storm of voices, remained a figure of torment and wrath, his mana fog now a tempest, reflecting the turmoil within.


    Velaryon pressed on, his voice sharpening with urgency. "Think about it, Yvain! During his coronation, Burn singled out your father from all the other global dignitaries present. Why engage exclusively with him? It was a setup, meticulously veiled as diplomatic honor."


    "Consider the possibility," he continued, his tone laced with a mix of accusation and bitterness, "was it sheer arrogance, or a calculated insult that he only truly acknowledged your father that night? And then, what a coincidence¡ªonly your father never made it home alive!"


    The hall was charged with an electric mix of horror and indignation, the nobles'' shock evolving into a frenzy of accusations and conspiracy theories.


    ¡°Fine! Child, you can hate me, you can punish me all you want! But how could you do this to yourself? To your late parents?! How could yo¡ª¡±


    BLAST!


    The word was cut off as sharply as it had begun. A shocking, abrupt silence followed, broken only by a soft, confused utterance from Velaryon himself.


    "Huh?"


    The assembly watched in frozen horror as Velaryon slowly looked down, his eyes widening in disbelief.


    There, right through his torso, was a hole so perfectly circular it seemed almost artistic, a ghastly window clear through his body. The edges were so clean, so precise, that for a moment, reality itself seemed to pause in confusion.


    Then, as the gravity of the situation settled in, Velaryon''s legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, his body hitting the marble with a hollow thud, lifeless eyes staring up at the ornate ceiling.


    The nobles gasped, stepping back instinctively as the reality of what had just occurred dawned on them¡ªVelaryon was dead, struck down by an unseen, unfathomable force, leaving behind nothing but a stunned silence and a room full of shocked faces.


    ¡­before they realized¡­ It was Yvain.

 17 - Force and Vision

    [3 Days Ago]


    CRAAAAAASH! CRACKLE! RUMBLE¡­! CRACKLE¨CCRACKLE!


    ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ do this¡­ why is this so hard¡­? I¡¯m on my limit¡­!¡±


    Three days ago, on the military training grounds near Edensor Palace, the aftermath of a mechanical massacre painted a grim picture.


    Battle mech armors and guard mechs lay scattered like the discarded toys of a giant, dented and scrapped, their metal carcasses smoldering under the indifferent sky.


    Amidst this chaos of twisted steel and black smoke, 12-year-old King Yvain was sprawled on the earth, his chest heaving in ragged breaths. He had single-handedly turned these towering behemoths into an exhibition of modern art titled "Defeat."


    Standing a mere few paces away was Emperor Burn, his face twisted not with concern, but with a distinct, unimpressed sneer.


    "Is this all you''ve got? Pathetic," he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm so thick it could be used to grease the gears of the fallen mechs.


    ¡°Is this the rumored ¡®Little Merlin¡¯? The sole disciple of the great Infinity Witch, Morgan Le Fay?¡±


    His words hung in the air, an added pollution that was somehow more toxic than the plumes rising from the smoldering machines.


    Yvain, with the stubbornness of a weary yet defiant child, tried to push himself up, his arms shaking not just from the exertion but from the raw irritation of being so belittled.


    ¡°Shut up¡­!¡±


    Here he was, having danced a deadly ballet with machines of war, and all Burn could do was offer critique as if he were judging a poorly rehearsed play.


    Burn, ever the tactician, saw this not just as a battle fought but as a lesson in humility¡ªor humiliation, depending on which side of his sarcasm one was standing.


    To him, every dent in the mechs was a missed opportunity, every scrape a tale of inefficiency that Yvain had yet to learn to correct.


    In Burn¡¯s eyes, the battlefield was not just a test of strength but a forge for the spirit; and from the looks of it, Yvain¡¯s spirit was still very much in need of some hammering.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a monster like you! I¡¯ve only been studying magic for... e-eight years!¡± Yvain yelled, his voice cracking under the strain of exhaustion and indignation.


    Burn raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. "Eight years, huh? But wasn¡¯t your tutelage under Morgan Le Fay cut short at four years, at most? Two years before you ascended to kingship, and two years before her disappearance?"


    Yvain bristled, drawing himself up with all the dignity a winded twelve-year-old could muster.


    ¡°My time with the master was brief, true, but learning didn¡¯t stop when she left. She entrusted me with her books, her research, even her margin notes¡ªall the tools to fend for myself,¡± he retorted, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and sorrow.


    The young king''s eyes then took on a faraway look, his sudden loneliness painting a stark contrast to his words of self-sufficiency.


    ¡°Have you not learned your family¡¯s force magic?¡± Burn asked.


    Yvain raised his face, surprised.


    ¡°T-that¡­ ugh¡­ I-I¡­¡± Yvain couldn¡¯t answer that.


    In Nethermere, magic was not just a tool but a profound dichotomy of existential philosophies, neatly divided into Vision and Force.


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    Vision, the darling of the magical elite, was as much an art as it was a power. It was the manifestation of Mana into shapes, elements, and even whimsical concepts¡ªlike trying to sculpt fog into fine art.


    This magic was intimately linked to the mage''s soul that was granted directly by God to each and every creation, but there was a catch. Not everyone would be able to become part of this rare breed.


    Only few could awaken and dive deep into the soul''s murky waters, wrestle with destiny, and align it with personal goals and growth through years and years of research and meditation.


    Vision was not for the faint of heart; its users often yearned for death, not out of a morbid fascination but as a means to escape their mortal shackles.


    They believed that dying would spring them into a state of pure enlightenment, achieving immortality in its pure perfection.


    On the flip side, Force was the manual worker of magical types. Unpretentious and robust, it dealt with the enhancement of the physical or, as the philosophers liked to say, the "mortal, tangible self."


    Force users earned their power through sweat, blood, and the occasional tears. These mages were the gym rats of their world, training their bodies to the brink of impossibility.


    They sought not to ascend to some higher existential plane but to hammer down, building their self-made destinies like a do-it-yourself furniture project without the instructions.


    Their magic came by force¡ªpun gloriously intended¡ªpushing physical limits until they could bend Mana to reinforce their bodies and extend their lifespans.


    Some even achieved immortality through sheer willpower and stubbornness, proving that sometimes, the body could be just as stubborn as the spirit.


    Thus, while Vision users flirted with existential crises and afterlife ambitions, Force users kept their feet¡ªand their hopes¡ªfirmly planted on the ground.


    In this mystical world, where most folks were happy to get either their souls or bodies into magical shape, there were some real overachievers¡ªor as the local taverns whispered over their third round of ale, ¡°the crazy bastards.¡±


    These rare individuals weren¡¯t content with mastering just Vision or Force; no, they had to go for the magical equivalent of a double major in existential powerlifting and metaphysical marathon running.


    Achieving enlightenment in both Vision and Force was like trying to bake a souffl¨¦ during an earthquake. Nearly impossible, and honestly, a bit of a show-off move.


    Yet, history¡ªever the drama queen¡ªhad recorded not one, but two such luminaries.


    First, there was the Dragon from the East, an enigmatic creature who presumably had nothing better to do after a few millennia.


    This dragon managed to combine the introspective soul-searching of Vision with the brute physicality of Force, probably because it got bored of terrorizing locals and hoarding gold.


    Then, there was the Vampire from the West, who had all the time in the night to ponder over existential dilemmas while also hitting the supernatural gym.


    This vampire had mastered both arts, which was a handy party trick and a useful way to one-up any rival at those endless undead banquets.


    Practicing both Vision and Force was common enough¡ªlike dabbling in both painting and sculpture, except with more potential for self-destruction.


    But achieving enlightenment in both simultaneously? That was a different kettle of fish.


    It required balancing the serene, soulful dive into Vision with the grueling, sweat-drenched climb of Force. It was a spiritual biathlon that demanded you meditate like a monk and lift like a blacksmith.


    In the end, those who walked both paths were the ones truly living on the edge¡ªbecause when you play the game of souls and sinews, you win or you... well, you turn into a very enlightened pile of magical dust.


    Moderation was key, though. While practicing for Force, one must try to also practice a little bit of Vision to strengthen the mind soul. That, and vice versa.


    ¡°You chose the path of Vision like Morgan Le Fay, but you know you must also practice your Force to paintain your physical strength and stamina, right?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not it,¡± Yvain sighed. ¡°My father¡­ I was too small¡­ He hadn¡¯t had the chance to train me with Edensor Force Art¡­¡±


    Yvain grimaced. His father had intended to train him, but he had shown a keen interest in Vision from an early age. At just four years old, he was so captivated by Vision that his father decided to postpone his training in Force.


    Unfortunately, his father passed away before he could revisit this decision.


    ¡°Then, should I teach you?¡± Burn offered.


    ¡°Your force? I-is that okay? Isn¡¯t that supposed to be Soulnaught¡¯s Royal Family¡¯s Force Art?¡± Yvain asked.


    ¡°My force art is not compatible with your style. Why not learn your own Edensor Force Art?¡± Burn shrugged, explained.


    Yvain furrowed his brows. A suspicion rose. ¡°How did you know about my family¡¯s Force?¡±


    Burn noticed the uncertainty flicker in the young boy''s eyes and a sly grin spread across his face, detecting the implication behind Yvain''s question.


    "What''s the matter? You think I had a hand in your father''s death?"

 18 - Amuse Me

    "Even if I was the one who killed him, what would you do about it? Can you even do anything, boy?"


    That was what Burn said.


    Yvain, no matter how unusually composed and talented beyond his years he was, was shaken by Burn''s response. Burn didn¡¯t attempt to clear himself of the accusation.


    Instead, he seemed ready to confront any animosity head-on, unafraid of Yvain''s potential wrath.


    He appeared to be a man indifferent to his reputation, unconcerned with being painted as the villain¡­ or was it because he was a villain?


    But¡­


    "Because of his nature, Burn couldn''t have killed my father," Yvain asserted. Though Burn might have had both the motive and the means to kill Belezak, if he had truly wanted him dead, "he would have done it right then and there¡ªat his coronation."


    Waving his hand toward Velaryon¡¯s body, Yvain said, ¡°Get rid of it. And amuse me of the method. The one with the best idea will get my reward.¡±


    Duke Olfield¡¯s face paled, his mouth agape, as if he¡¯d just witnessed a ghost rather than the cold demise of Duke Benjamin Velaryon.


    ¡°W-without¡­ trial¡­¡±


    Beside him, Duke Merweather¡¯s eyes bulged, his usual composure washed away by a tide of disbelief. He looked from the fallen duke to Yvain, as if trying to connect the dots of a very disturbing puzzle.


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty¡­ this is¡­ with your own hands¡­¡±


    Marquis Reune, meanwhile, clutched at his fine doublet, his knuckles whitening¡ªa stark contrast against the rich fabric.


    The air thickened with their shock, an unspoken terror that crept up their spines and set their hearts racing. No one had expected the young king to act so decisively, so ruthlessly. It was as if the ground beneath them had shifted, tilting their world into uncharted darkness.


    Amidst this palpable dismay, Yvain''s expression remained chillingly detached. His voice, devoid of warmth, sliced through the heavy silence, "Then, let''s proceed with the magic pact."


    It was not a suggestion but a command, one that echoed ominously around the opulent hall.


    As he spoke, the air shimmered with the nascent power of the magic pact. Strands of light, ethereal and commanding, wove through the gathered nobles, binding them not just to the throne but to an unyielding commitment to the people and the kingdom''s laws.


    These luminous tendrils demanded their absolute submission, allowing no room for personal interpretations or a twisted sense of justice.


    The magic, solemn and sovereign, formed a visible network¡ªa stark reminder of their new, non-negotiable reality.


    As the light touched each noble, it seemed to sear a promise into their very souls, reshaping their duties and destinies with a spectral hand guided by the young king¡¯s icy will.


    In the fractured splendor of the throne hall, the nobles found themselves compelled by forces beyond their control to kneel amid the ruins.


    Duke Velaryon''s rebellion had left its mark¡ªa chaotic vista of toppled columns, shattered statuary, and the carcasses of palace and military mechs strewn about like the aftermath of a great storm.


    These mechanical giants, once symbols of regal defense, now lay in ignoble heaps, their twisted metal forms casting eerie shadows across the marble floor.


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    The atmosphere was heavy with the dust of destruction and the sharp scent of ozone, a silent testament to the battle''s ferocity.


    As the nobles knelt, the air was thick with the tension of subdued defiance and the weight of inevitable submission. The spectral strands of the magic pact danced in the dim light, illuminating their bowed heads with ghostly glimmers.


    The scene was a stark contrast to the usual regal order, now replaced by the raw, exposed bones of a palace in distress.


    And on that day, Yvain Edensworn ascended as the undisputed sovereign of Edensor.


    ***


    ¡°Your Majesty, it has ended.¡±


    Hearing Galahad¡¯s report, Burn hummed. He looked toward the fortress of Velaryon¡¯s duchy. There, on top of the walls, were twenty of battle mech armors, the new version Velaryon had ordered from the intergalactic merchants.


    "That boy had spent the past week systematically dismantling his own military and guard mechs for training, simultaneously diminishing Velaryon''s influence within the palace. Now, with everything destroyed, he had no mechs left at his disposal..."


    Burn grinned at Galahad, pointing at twenty shiny new battle mech armors, ¡°Let¡¯s gift them for the young king.¡±


    Galahad sweated profusely, ¡°Y-you¡¯re telling us to fight those without destroying them¡­? H-how, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°Gather the knights. This will be our new war training session,¡± Burn said.


    Meanwhile, on the opposite side, perched atop the formidable ramparts of Velaryon''s fortress, the 17-year-old son of the late Duke Velaryon cut a figure that was decidedly average.


    With a countenance as nondescript as a page in an unopened ledger, he was the epitome of mediocrity¡ªsave for the arrogance that clung to him like a well-tailored cloak.


    Beside him, aligned with militant precision, stood twenty of the latest model battle mech armors, their steely exteriors glinting under the cold sun.


    This young Velaryon, known for his hedonistic trifecta of women, alcohol, and woefully misguided adventures with children, had a reputation smeared in corruption yet sharpened by cunning.


    As news of his father¡¯s demise reached his ears, his face contorted into a grotesque mask of twisted grief, only to be swiftly replaced by a smirk of realization. The duchy, with all its military might and opulent resources, was now his to command.


    Grinning with the glee of a fox who¡¯d just inherited the henhouse, he surveyed his metallic minions.


    "Ah, father, you old fool, you''ve inadvertently given me the keys to the kingdom," he mused aloud, his voice dripping with irony.


    The new mech armors, he believed, were the perfect tools to topple Emperor Burn and usurp young King Yvain, thereby installing himself as the uncontested ruler of the land.


    After all, the technology was so exclusive and expensive that not even the royal family would be able to purchase them in bulk like his house.


    As he stood there, the wind catching his cloak in a dramatic flutter, he couldn''t help but revel in the sheer audacity of his plan.


    "With these shiny tin soldiers, Burn¡¯s end is nigh, and as for Yvain... well, the boy king will soon bow to a new crown," he boasted to the empty air, a sneer curling his lips.


    His next steps were clear: marshal the forces, march to the palace, and carve a path to the throne through cunning, force, and perhaps a bit of theatrical flair.


    After all, what was a coup without a touch of drama? The very thought made him chuckle¡ªa sound as chilling as it was infused with wicked delight.


    ¡°We¡¯re on top of the fortress. This is an advantage! So let¡¯s just use the laser beam. ATTACK!¡±


    The young man commanded, his voice echoing off the stoic stones with fervor.


    The twenty battle mech armors, technological behemoths in a land of swords and sorcery, came to life. As they powered up, the space hummed with an energy that would have mystified any medieval bard into composing ballads of bewitched earthquakes.


    The mechs, like knights of old reimagined by a mad alchemist, aimed their formidable laser beams at the horizon.


    With a synchronized grace that belied their brutal purpose, the beams converged into a singular, searing lance of light that pierced the evening gloom.


    The air crackled and shimmered as if the very fabric of reality protested the unholy display of power. Birds, caught mid-flight, reconsidered their life choices and retreated with a haste that would shame the swiftest steed.


    To the medieval onlookers, this spectacle might have seemed like a dragon''s fury had been harnessed by the hands of a vengeful wizard king.


    But no, this was not magic of the old scrolls; this was magic birthed from the forge of ingenuity and audacity¡ªthe kind that flirted dangerously with the limits of known laws and moral codes.


    The barrage from the mech armors did not merely attack; it performed a ballet of destruction, a choreographed devastation that painted the sky with strokes of incandescent agony.


    The beams, unforgiving and precise, left nothing in their path but echoes of their thunderous might.


    But as the dust settled, it became apparent to everyone that the enemy army below¡­ remained unscathed.

 19 - Blessing

    As the laser beams from the battle mech armors seared the twilight sky, the Soulnaught army responded with a display of tactical brilliance.


    Across the battlefield, rows of knights stood shoulder to shoulder, their armor glinting under the waning light. Each knight raised a hand towards the sky, palms outward, channeling their Force.


    A shimmering barrier sprung to life, emanating from the gathered ranks. It was as if the very air thickened, woven by invisible threads of raw energy harnessed from the depths of their collective resolve.


    The barrier spread like a protective canopy across the land, a glowing dome that reflected the menacing red of the lasers overhead.


    This magical shield pulsed with the heartbeat of the army, each wave of energy rippling across its surface absorbing the laser''s fierce assault with a resonant hum.


    The sight was mesmerizing¡ªa dance of light and power where the raw force of technology met the steadfast spirit of an age-old magic.


    As lasers struck the barrier, brilliant sparks showered like a meteor rain, casting a surreal glow over the battlefield. The knights, rooted in their resolve, stood firm, their faces set in grim determination, safeguarding their land against this storm of modern fury.


    Well, it was to be expected for the Soulnaught empire. They were still one of the strongest armies in the entire world after all.


    Although it was eclipsed by the strength of their supreme commander, Emperor Burn, they never slacked in their training, and were occasionally trained by Burn himself¡­


    ¡­like today.


    ¡°STAND STRONG, KNIGHTS!¡± the commander''s voice thundered across the ranks, rallying the troops.


    ¡°WE CAN HOLD THIS LINE!¡± another bellowed in response, reinforcing their resolve.


    ¡°I-I can¡¯t¡­ the lasers are too strong¡­¡± a young knight stammered, overwhelmed by the power he faced.


    ¡°THEY¡¯RE STRONGER THAN ANY WE''VE SEEN BEFORE!¡± confirmed a veteran, his tone edged with urgency.


    ¡°HOLD YOUR GROUND, DO NOT FALTER!¡± came the commanding shout, pushing them to maintain their defense.


    ¡°I¡¯m new¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± muttered a fresh recruit, his voice nearly lost in the chaos.


    ¡°TIGHTEN UP, RECRUITS!¡± a grizzled sergeant snapped back, ¡°STRAIGHTEN YOUR BACKS AND STEEL YOUR WILL!¡±


    ¡°HIS MAJESTY WARNS OF TWO MORE ASSAULTS! PREPARE FOR ANOTHER ROUND!¡± relayed an officer, his words slicing through the air with sharp precision, preparing them for the continuing onslaught.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!¡±


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!¡±


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH¡ª¡±


    ¡­


    ¡°Good work, Galahad. You took care of our army well,¡± Burn praised. ¡°They held up well.¡±


    ¡°T-thank you, Your Majesty¡­¡±


    Galahad''s entire frame shook with the immense burden he bore. Despite the collective might of the knights, each channeling their Force to fortify the group, Galahad stood as the linchpin of their defense.


    His own Force, more potent and expansive than any other, spread out far and wide, creating a vast shield that enveloped his comrades.


    This protective dome was the primary barrier against the relentless barrage, with Galahad at its core, channeling his energy to safeguard the lives depending on him.


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    ¡°Three attacks had been launched. This is my turn now,¡± Burn said.


    Burn jumped to the sky.


    The twenty shiny new battle mech armors were each powered by a miniature fusion reactor that promised all the razzle-dazzle of modern warfare technology.


    With the ability to fire ten consecutive laser beams that could dazzle and destroy, these mechs were the envy of every warmonger with a penchant for overkill.


    However, like an overeager sprinter who dashes too fast too soon, these metallic beasts had their limits.


    After their impressive display of pyrotechnics, the mechs needed a little downtime. They were akin to high-powered athletes who, after a spectacular performance, must retreat to their fancy cooling tents.


    The reactors, having thrown a temper tantrum of nuclear proportions, would overheat, making any further action a risky proposition.


    With a third of their fuel depleted¡ªa pricey sip of their atomic cocktails¡ªthe mechs would then sulk in a mandatory cool-off period.


    During this time, they resembled nothing more than oversized lawn ornaments, requiring a bit of setup before they could stumble to their feet again.


    Truly, Velaryon had bought himself an armada of capricious prima donnas of the battlefield, each as high-maintenance as they were destructive.


    Thus, a seasoned commander would¡¯ve saved these ten consecutive laser beams for the end of their battle as a their trump card.


    Playing it as their first move¡­ Well, if they went against some random army, they might be able to eliminate them all¡­


    But they were fighting against Soulnaught¡ªand Emperor Burn, in flesh.


    ¡°It¡¯s all thanks to my knowledge from the other loops¡­¡±


    Burn was the one who defended against these mechs in his previous loops. But now, he decided to make sure his army could also gain benefits from it.


    For the experience¡­ and training.


    ¡°Today, my army can defend against three consecutive beams. I¡¯ll make sure they¡¯ll be able to defend against ten beams next time.¡±


    TAP!


    Landing on a transparent platform he created with his force, Burn stood to defend against another seven consecutive laser beams.


    Alone.


    With each concentrated fury of atomic fire, the beams surged toward him. Burn raised his hand, his golden eyes shone even brighter than the power of the shooting stars launching at him.


    ¡°Such a waste of energy¡­ should I just¡­ absorb it?¡± Burn muttered.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAST!


    ¡­.ZZZZZZZZTTT!


    Each beam that struck him was met with a barrier of shimmering energy that he not only resisted but began to draw into himself, storing the vast power within.


    Then, it was the creation of the sun.


    Absorbing the relentless heat of the laser beams, an awe-inspiring transformation unfolded before the witnesses.


    A swirling mass of gas and dust, reminiscent of the ancient solar nebula, began to coalesce and collapse under the sheer force of its own new-found gravity.


    With each beam Burn absorbed, the cloud spun faster, flattening into a vast, spinning disk¡ªa cosmic dance of energy and matter playing out in the midst of battle.


    With a masterful display of his Force abilities, Burn orchestrated this celestial phenomenon, guiding the bulk of this frenzied energy toward the disk¡¯s center.


    There, it condensed into a nascent sun, a marvel of compressed energy so potent and yet so controlled that its immense heat became undetectable to all but Burn.


    He enveloped this miniature sun with his Force, containing its power as effortlessly as one might cradle a bird in their hands.


    This tiny orb of a sun, glowing fiercely yet contained, held the might of seven laser beams¡ªa testament to Burn¡¯s formidable power and his mastery over the forces both of magic and the cosmos.


    It floated before him, a surprisingly¡ª¡±Easy feat,¡± he whispered.


    Velaryon''s son watched from his fortress, his initial smugness fading into a mix of horror and disbelief. His hands clenched into fists, his confident facade crumbling as he witnessed the unexpected turn of events.


    Around him, his army shared in his shock, their morale faltering as they watched their formidable weapon turned into a mere tool for their adversary''s empowerment.


    Meanwhile, the Soulnaught army erupted in cheers and shouts of admiration. Their emperor, a lone figure against a backdrop of destructive force, was transforming what should have been their doom into his own reservoir of power.


    Their faces lit up with renewed vigor and awe, rallying behind Burn with a fervor that echoed across the battlefield. The sight of their leader, undaunted and ever-powerful, infused them with a fierce pride and a surge of confidence in their cause and capabilities.


    But also¡­


    ¡°Monster¡­¡±


    ¡°...demon¡­!¡±


    ¡°What kind of power is that¡­?!¡±


    Galahad was one of them, who couldn¡¯t help but to smile tiredly. ¡°A hundred thousand men can only defend against three attacks¡­ but he¡­¡±


    To Burn, the seven laser beams were mere trifles. They were playthings, hardly worthy of his formidable strength. He toyed with them effortlessly, absorbing their energy as easily as one might take a toy from a child.


    Galahad clenched his jaw, a smile breaking through. "God in the heavens... thank you for blessing us with such a formidable emperor to protect us."

 20 - That Piece of Meat in the Mill Wheel

    Grubert Velaryon, barely more than an undisciplined boy cloaked in the mantle of lordship, found himself outmatched and overwhelmed.


    With the battle mech armor cooling off like a tired racehorse, and the fortress of Velaryon lost its advantage, the stage was set for a spectacular fall.


    Grubert, inexperienced and cunning in only the most superficial ways, suddenly became the center of everyone¡¯s attention¡ªnot as a beacon of hope, but as a symbol of imminent defeat.


    His father, Benjamin Velaryon, the late duke, had left a legacy that now teetered on the brink of disaster. Their trump card wasn¡¯t just spent¡ªit was a bust, a dud that fizzled out under the scrutinizing pressure of real threat.


    As eyes turned his way, the weight of expectation and the sheer absurdity of his predicament fused into a paralyzing clarity.


    With a shriek that could peel paint off walls, "AAAAAAAAH!" Grubert Velaryon turned tail. Fear and horror painted his face as he sprinted, legs pumping in a comical dash for obscurity, his retreat as dignified as a clown fleeing a pie fight.


    In front of the overwhelming might of Emperor Burn, who could blame him? Under that tyrannical gaze, anyone would falter, and Grubert did spectacularly so.


    The Velaryon army, left leaderless and demoralized, felt their resolve crumble like dry bread. Knees buckled, swords dropped with resounding clangs, and hearts sank to the soles of their boots.


    The battlefield was not just lost; it was surrendered with a whimper, not a bang.


    All they could do was raise white flags, their hands trembling, their spirits as broken as their line of defense. Surrender was not just an option; it was an unspoken plea for mercy in the merciless expanse of war.


    Burn sighed with satisfaction as he eyed the battle mech armors.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t scratch them this time. It will be a good gift for our silly boy, Yvain.¡±


    ***


    [A couple of days later]


    Chit-chat¡­


    Buzz¡­


    Ahhh, how resplendently restored the throne hall of Edensor was. Magic had mended the scars of recent conflicts, weaving stone and timber back into grandeur.


    King Yvain, seated upon his throne, presided over the court with a newfound aura of command that silenced any whispers of doubt that once echoed beneath these vaulted ceilings.


    The young king was in the midst of lauding a particularly enterprising young noble, tasked with the ignominious disposal of Duke Benjamin Velaryon¡¯s body.


    "And to Sir Reginald," Yvain announced, his voice laced with a mischievous timbre that resonated through the hall, "whose creativity in dispatching the late duke¡¯s remains involved strapping them to a mill wheel.¡±


    The nobles suddenly paled.


    ¡°As it turned, so did the duke make one final journey, albeit round and round¡ªa fitting end for one who trafficked in circles of deceit! Hahahahaha!"


    The court erupted in a mixture of gasps and wary giggles, the humor dark yet undeniably fitting given the late Duke Velaryon''s notorious scheming.


    Nonetheless, discomfort rippled through the crowd.


    A duke as rich, powerful, and respected as Velaryon had been reduced to a mere disgrace, his remains further mocked as a laughingstock, leaving the nobles feeling uneasy.


    Their king had demonstrated that he could become a tyrant if he chose to, and they realized they had made a grave mistake.


    The nobles were now¡­ vigilant.


    Yvain''s capabilities appeared too dangerous; they were cautious not to press the wrong button, tread on the wrong tile, or speak their minds freely.


    Gone were the days when Yvain was merely seen as a young figurehead to be dismissed or belittled. Now, he commanded every room with the gravity of his presence and the sharpness of his wit.


    Respect pervaded the atmosphere, a thick, tangible respect that draped over the shoulders of everyone present.


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    But there was also fear.


    Eyes that once rolled at his decrees now watched eagerly, attentive and expectant, ready to follow wherever their young king would lead.


    ¡°Ahem, Your Majesty¡­¡±


    Duke Olfield suddenly raised his voice.


    Yvain turned to the old man. Now that he had the control of the entirety of the high ranking nobles, the rest of the dukes and marquis were deciding to stay in the capital for a bit longer, joining the court.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear what our beloved Duke Olfield wants to say,¡± Yvain gave him the stage.


    "Thank you, Your Majesty. Now that the rebellion has been quelled and normalcy has returned, why do you still allow the Soulnaught Army to reside within our walls? Forgive my forwardness, but could you please enlighten me?"


    Seeing how the old duke had asked, and how many other nobles also had the same question in their minds, Yvain raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± Yvain asked.


    "Your Majesty, your subjects¡ªno, the people of your kingdom¡ªare becoming more restless each day. They are wary of these... guests," Duke Olfield cautiously said.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Yvain prodded.


    ¡°With all due respect, Your Majesty, speaking of Duke Velaryon¡ª¡± Duke Merweather stopped his words when Yvain glanced at him. ¡°Ahem, ahem¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Duke Velaryon?¡± Yvain pushed further.


    Marquis Reune decided to take a bold step forward and answered him. ¡°His accusation toward His Majesty Emperor Burn before his death, Your Majesty¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ooooh, that?¡± Yvain chuckled. ¡°You believe that?¡±


    "Let us be bold enough to ask, does Your Majesty truly believe that he was not responsible for His Late Majesty¡¯s death? He accused him so adamantly, it might seem that Emperor Burn was indeed behind your father¡¯s demise..." Duke Olfield began gallantly, but his voice softened considerably by the end.


    "Didn''t I explain that if Burn truly intended to kill my father¡ªor anyone for that matter¡ªhe would have done it on the spot, at the coronation party?" Yvain began, his voice steady as he explained slowly in front of Duke Olfield.


    He paused, turning to face the assembly with a deliberate gesture. "Such a cowardly method, allowing my father to leave for home and then covertly taking his life in a way that would suggest natural causes, is completely out of character for him."


    His eyes narrowed slightly, emphasizing his conviction. "It''s just not his style."


    The court somewhat agreed.


    "Even then, Burn has always been the type who prefers direct confrontation. He''s someone capable of handling the consequences, after all. Admirable, isn''t he?" Yvain asked, his tone jolly.


    ¡°But then, when hearing that there¡¯s a possibility that Your Majesty¡¯s late father was¡­ murdered, we can¡¯t stay idle!¡± Marquis Reune said.


    ¡°Your Majesty¡­ the fact that it was the traitor, Duke Velaryon who said it, is suspicious¡­¡± Duke Merweather said.


    "Your Majesty, regardless of the circumstances, we should have held a trial for his crimes to clear any suspicions. We ought to have compelled him to confess everything he has done and then broadcast the truth to the entire nation!" Duke Olfield exclaimed.


    "Oh, so you were trying to pin the blame for everything in the past on that piece of meat in the mill wheel?" Yvain asked.


    Silence.


    Oh, so loud, the silence.


    "Which is it? Are you trying to sow discord between me and Burn, or are you attempting to absolve yourself of any past suspicions and crimes by pinning them on our dearly departed Duke Velaryon?" Yvain asked again.


    "Your Majesty¡­ how could you¡ª! Ugh!" Duke Olfield, attempting to refute Yvain''s accusation, suddenly choked.


    He gasped for air, clutching at his throat as the mark of the magic pact of complete submission began to glow ominously above his head.


    As Duke Olfield struggled for breath, the other nobles watched in silent horror, their eyes wide with fear.


    The glowing mark of the magic pact above his head served as a chilling reminder of their own vulnerability. The air thickened with tension as each noble felt the weight of the binding spell that shackled them all.


    Whispers ceased and movements stilled; the only sounds were the soft rustlings of fabric as they involuntarily shrank back.


    Eyes darted nervously among the assembly, reflecting a collective panic about the potential consequences of their own transgressions.


    No one dared to speak, and the grim realization that they, too, were under the same uncompromising spell, rooted them to their spots¡ªa tableau of dread, bound by unseen chains of magical obedience.


    ¡°My beloved court,¡± Yvain softly addressed, ¡°Who killed my parents?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Was it Burn?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Was it Velaryon?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Was it¡­ any of you?¡±


    GASP!


    PANT!


    GRIT!


    Everyone understood.


    Yvain was using the mystery of his parents¡¯ death as a shackle. Now that he had their complete submissions, whoever he accused of the crime would be punished, just like Velaryon.


    He chose to punish Velaryon immediately, without a trial, to obscure the truth, yet he was already aware of it.


    Even if Velaryon had been his parents'' killer, his death due to the crime of rebellion meant that the truth about the late king and queen''s demise could not be fully uncovered.


    Therefore, the identity of the official perpetrator behind his parents'' deaths remained unresolved.


    "Please provide me with concrete evidence," Yvain suddenly said. "Clear, irrefutable evidence that someone murdered my parents. Until then, this case will remain in my heart as a reminder..."


    "...that I will never trust anyone."


    A lone child.


    Burdened by the weight of an entire nation.


    A lone child, with no one¡¯s support, standing in the middle of a snake field.


    The nobles were silenced.


    Yvain smiled coldly, resting his cheek against his hand on the throne''s armrest.


    Even if Velaryon had been responsible for his parents'' deaths, such an act could not have been carried out without the knowledge of others.


    Surely, someone within the court, someone among the ranks of the nobles, must have been aware and chosen to remain silent. Worse yet, they might have actively colluded with Velaryon, aiding him either before or after the fact.


    Whether their involvement was to help cover up the deed or to ensure that everything unfolded according to their sinister plan, including his mother¡¯s death, remained a possibility.


    Compared to Emperor Burn¡­


    Well, now Yvain thought that facing that man head on was easier for him than facing these old politicians.

 21 - Threat

    What?


    What was Yvain thinking in the last chapter?


    [Well, now Yvain thought that facing that man head on was easier for him than facing these old politicians.]


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!¡±


    BLAAAAAAAST!!!


    ¡°WAAAAAAAA!¡±


    Yvain dashed across a vast clearing, his breaths quick and ragged, as two hulking mech armors¡ªshiny new models¡ªlumbered after him.


    They fired bursts of laser beams, the miniature version of what they used in the war, yet menacing, that zipped through the air, singeing the grass at his heels.


    Not too far behind, Emperor Burn trailed the chaotic scene, his cackle cutting through the tense atmosphere.


    "IS THIS REALLY FORCE TRAINING?!" Yvain yelled over the noise, dodging another laser that scorched a path alarmingly close to him. ¡°WAAAAAAAAAH!¡±


    "This is physical training. Outsmart the AI weapons targeting you automatically with their lasers!" Burn called back, his voice bubbling with a villainous mirth that seemed thoroughly unhelpful.


    Burn¡¯s laughter echoed around them, a sound that seemed to find particular joy in the situation.


    Yvain, meanwhile, turned agility into an art form, weaving between laser blasts with a grace born of sheer panic, his every move a reluctant dance with technology.


    "WHAT¡¯S NEXT! Are you asking me to dodge raindrops in a thunderstorm next time?! YOU¡¯RE CRAZY!" Yvain shouted back.


    Burn just laughed harder, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of his new sword playing a high-stakes game of tag with machines.


    ¡°What? You wanna give up? Do you even want to find your master?¡± Burn teased.


    Yvain flinched.


    This so-called Force training was Burn''s latest training idea, aimed at ensuring Yvain''s body was as robust as his Vision talents.


    The idea was that Yvain needed to be more than just a long-range magical sniper; he had to endure the occasional grunt work of close combat without wheezing like a retired draft horse.


    The training regime, cooked up by Burn (possibly during a moment of sadistic whimsy), was multifaceted.


    It wasn¡¯t enough for Yvain to simply summon spectral armies or rain magical destruction from a safe distance. No, he needed to dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge¡ªessentially becoming a nimble ninja in a wizard¡¯s robe.


    "Stamina and defense, boy! Imagine you''re dancing¡ªexcept every misstep could singe your dearest behind," Burn would shout, almost helpfully, as Yvain scampered around trying not to get zapped.


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    In theory, blending Force and Vision was a masterstroke¡ªmarrying the endurance of a marathon runner with the devastating finesse of a sharpshooter.


    In practice, it looked more like teaching a cat to swim by throwing it into a lake and yelling, ¡°Paddle!¡±


    The goal was to transform Yvain from a delicate magic wielder into a robust mage-warrior, capable of dispatching enemies whether they were across the field or in his face.


    But as Yvain leapt about, narrowly avoiding laser blasts, he couldn¡¯t help but think that perhaps his survival was less a testament to his emerging skills and more to his growing paranoia about what Burn might think of next.


    "Great, so now I¡¯m training to be an acrobat in a circus act. Next, you''ll have me juggling flaming swords, or maybe dancing on tightropes over spike pits!" he''d mutter under his breath, adding a mental note to maybe skim a few self-help books on boundary setting with tyrannical guardians.


    "Pussy boy, how gentle was your master in training you that you keep protesting like this?"


    ¡°My master¡¯s training is harder than this!¡± Yvain yelled in anger. ¡°A muscle brain like you won¡¯t understand!¡±


    "Ho..." Burn smirked, intrigued to have finally found a youngster who wasn''t intimidated by him. He yelled back in response. ¡°So I am the one too lenient that you dare talk back?¡±


    Yvain paled.


    ¡°Make it faster!¡±


    BLAAAAAAST!


    ¡°GAAAAAAAAAH!!!¡±


    ***


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of dramatic red, Yvain lay sprawled on the ground, gasping like a fish out of water after the day''s grueling physical training.


    Burn, ever the keen observer, had finally measured up the young king''s prowess¡ªor lack thereof¡ªin mastering the Force art.


    ¡°Not bad for a Vision user,¡± Burn muttered. ¡°Maybe because you¡¯re young.¡±


    It was a scene reminiscent of a tragicomic play: here lay Yvain, in the same defeated pose as when he had trained before trying to force his nobles into magical allegiance.


    Well, only that time he was blasting apart outdated mechs with his Vision art.


    The ground beneath Yvain might as well have been a bed of honor, or so his heavy panting suggested.


    Burn''s training regimen, which could easily be mistaken for a medieval boot camp meets a futuristic torture device, had pushed Yvain to his limits.


    The old mechs he used to demolish? Child''s play compared to the relentless force of Burn¡¯s "basic exercises."


    Indeed, for Yvain, the journey to mastering Force art was looking to be as long and painful as a saga penned by a particularly spiteful scribe, and Burn was just the man to write it.


    ¡°When... haa... huff... are you going to... start... training me... in my father¡¯s... Force art?¡±


    Burn raised his eyebrows, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Starting tomorrow, I suppose. You''re agile, and your stamina isn''t half bad¡ªprobably a side effect of your previous trainings."


    "Really?!" Yvain''s eyes widened in surprise. "I can actually start tomorrow?!"


    "Yes," Burn replied nonchalantly. "You absorb knowledge like a sponge¡ªquickly and efficiently. Just keep up with the physical training, and you''ll master your Force faster than anyone else."


    Yvain was skeptical. Burn wasn¡¯t known for doling out trust or compliments easily. He wondered if this unexpected praise was just another one of Burn''s strategic maneuvers, wrapped in a rare compliment to keep him motivated¡ªor perhaps off-guard.


    "B-but..." Yvain sat up, suspicion creeping into his expression. "How do you know I''ll be able to learn my family''s Force art? And how did you find out about it, anyway? Did you ever witness my father''s abilities firsthand?"


    "I have," Burn replied. "It was interesting."


    Yvain turned to face the man who stood against the backdrop of the setting sun. His silhouette was dark, yet his white hair seemed to glow, outshining even the sun itself.


    He appeared every bit the regal and formidable figure he was destined to be¡ªa man who had risen to become a great ruler. All his manipulative, cold, and pragmatic traits stemmed from the fact that he truly embodied the qualities of one.


    Burn turned to Yvain.


    "In my youth, I considered your father the only man who posed a threat to me."

 22 - Did You, or Did You Not?

    Belezak Qu Edensworn.


    Ten years older than Burn, Belezak was a man with the ability to control people''s perspectives. If Burn was manipulative in a negative sense, Belezak was manipulative in a positive sense.


    He was born with the perfect tool for influence¡ªa talent in politics. He excelled at controlling mass opinion, knowing whom to side with and how to bring others to his side, and consistently viewing every situation objectively.


    He lived by the philosophy that every loss brought potential gain and every tragedy an opportunity for improvement. This understanding was at the core of his actions and decisions.


    His only weakness was¡­


    Love.


    He loved his people. He loved his family. He loved the world.


    If he had been just a tad colder, with a more pragmatic view like Burn, he would have succeeded much earlier, become much stronger, and addressed his fatal problem much more effectively.


    He might not need to die.


    Burn first crossed paths with Belezak when they were both summoned to impart their wisdom as guest instructors at the continent¡¯s greatest magic academy¡ªan event that boasted more intrigue than a wizards'' convention.


    Among the four guest lecturers, two were masters of Vision art, dabbling in the ethereal and the elusive, while the other pair, including Burn and Belezak, were masters of Force art.


    This wasn''t your average academic lineup; it was more like drafting superheroes for a week-long boot camp.


    Burn, known for his cold but fiery tactics, and Belezak, with his warm but strategic mind, made quite the duo, turning what could have been a standard teaching gig into a spectacle of power and persuasion.


    Even back then, Burn''s was too strong, casting him naturally into the role of the ''strict teacher,'' while Belezak played the ''cool teacher,'' effortlessly charming and approachable.


    Beyond their good cop-bad cop dynamic, they weren''t particularly close, primarily because their schedules never overlapped.


    They couldn¡¯t even introduce themselves officially and privately.


    Not to mention, Burn was invited as the celebrated "genius of the century," while Belezak was simply doing a favor for a friend. Their age difference further widened the gap, making their paths even less likely to cross beyond the classroom.


    But even though Belezak¡¯s teaching style and strength seemed unflashy and subdued, Burn¡¯s perceptive eyes could see the truth.


    Belezak was stable, meticulous, and¡ªunmistakably¡ªloving in his approach.


    It was a weird description, especially for someone like Burn.


    ¡°When was it¡­ fifteen years ago?¡± Burn muttered as he answered Yvain¡¯s question. ¡°I saw him having a mock battle with the graduating students of Saint Lucia Academy.¡±


    ¡°HUH?!¡± Yvain rose to his knees in shock. ¡°You went to Saint Lucia?!¡±


    "I didn¡¯t. Your father did," Burn looked down at Yvain with a dismissive glance.


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    "Who do you think I am? Do I look like someone who would need to enroll in a magic academy? I am a self-taught mage. There is no one in this world qualified enough to teach me."


    Yvain narrowed his eyes.


    "So, you¡¯re telling me you hold my father in such high esteem? The same person who never quite managed a headline-worthy magical achievement, unlike a certain someone?" Yvain asked.


    ¡°Your father hid his power well,¡± Burn said.


    Yvain widened his eyes.


    His father hid his power? Ah.


    Yvain remembered a far away memory from his childhood. When he first showed his talent in Vision, his father said one thing witnessing it.


    He said, ¡°Child, when you are good at something, show the world. But when you¡¯re very, very good at it, keep it to yourself."


    A threat.


    That was what Burn thought about Belezak.


    Yvain felt a shiver run down his spine as he looked up at Burn. Narrowing his eyes, he questioned silently, "Am I sure you''re not the one who killed my father?"


    ¡°Even though you knew it was supposed to be Benjamin Velaryon?¡± Burn asked back.


    ¡°My uncle¡­ did, right?¡± Yvain asked again, increasingly vigilant.


    ¡°Why, are you regretting not asking him to make sure of it before killing him?¡± Burn sneered.


    Yvain clenched his fist and snapped, "Why are you like this?! If you say you didn''t kill him, I would believe you!"


    Burn raised his eyebrows, seemingly amused.


    He chuckled, patting the top of Yvain¡¯s head. ¡°How naive.¡±


    Yvain¡¯s eyebrows furrowed.


    "Just give it to me straight¡ªdid you, or did you not?" Yvain demanded, his voice heavy. "Even if you did, I have no choice but to ally with you now."


    "I didn¡¯t," Burn replied simply.


    At those words, a wave of relief swept through Yvain, loosening the tight knot of tension that had bound his chest. Relief mingled with the complexity of his feelings¡ªrelief that Burn was not his father''s killer.


    ¡°If I did, I¡¯d kill you along with him, and your mother. Also, I¡¯d take over your kingdom long ago, but now I know it¡¯s not a wise move.¡±


    Yvain¡¯s relief was interrupted.


    He saw Burn¡¯s ugly expression as the man imagined having to face the Infinite Witch¡¯s wrath much early on.


    ¡°T-then¡­ isn¡¯t it actually easier to just kill me and take my kingdom now?¡± Yvain asked. The boy whispered softly after, ¡°Just because you want to woo my master¡­¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Burn sighed before processing what the boy said under his breaths. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Woo my master?¡±


    ¡°This brat¡ª¡±


    ***


    The vast hall stretched out in an expanse of sleek, shadowy elegance, illuminated by the soft glow of ambient lights that traced geometric patterns along the walls.


    At the far end, a colossal glass window framed a mesmerizing view of a blue planet, its surface swirling with white clouds and vast oceans, suspended in the velvet darkness of space.


    In the center of the hall, a futuristic chair faced this grand vista. Its design was minimalist yet undeniably opulent, a perfect fusion of form and function, cradling its occupant in a state of luxurious inertia.


    Seated in this throne of modernity was a man clad in avant-garde attire, his face obscured by a veil that hinted at both status and mystery. His presence was commanding, even in repose.


    "Duke Velaryon is dead?"


    His voice was a deep baritone, resonating through the quiet of the hall.


    "Yes, sir," replied a woman standing beside him. Her posture was rigid, the respect in her stance unmistakable.


    A moment of silence enveloped the space.


    "Too bad. He was one of our VIP customers... and one of the best pawns we had." The regret in his tone was faint, almost indiscernible, but it lingered in the air like a subtle perfume.


    The man¡¯s thoughts turned to the disruptor of their plans. "It was that human... Apex Two, sir."


    At the mention of Apex Two, a grunt escaped him. "Caliburn Pendragon again, huh?"


    The woman shifted slightly, her voice tentative as she broached the next course of action.


    "Maybe it''s time we ask for more support from the Alliance?"


    The man slowly closed his eyes behind the veil.


    ¡°What about Apex One?¡±

 23 - Elysian Princess

    Once upon a time, in the Elysian Kingdom, a story unfolded that might make even the most stoic historian chuckle bitterly.


    The royal family had a legend, more of a curse, really, embroidered with the kind of irony that could only be appreciated in retrospect or perhaps in a dark comedy.


    It all began a millennium ago, when a wise man visited the pregnant queen. He prophesied that the queen would have a daughter destined to bring joy to the kingdom and embody filial piety.


    Naturally, the queen and king, who had their hearts set on a male heir to continue the royal family¡¯s Force art, were less than thrilled.


    So, when the princess arrived, she was met not with joy but disdain. Quickly sidelined in favor of her soon-to-be-born brother, she became the kingdom¡¯s least favorite child.


    While the brother was showered with love and adulation, she was relegated to the role of the family''s black sheep, an outcast even to the palace servants who bullied her relentlessly.


    The plot, as plots do in tales of royal folly, thickened when she was mysteriously pushed into the palace pond and drowned¡ªan act whispered to be the handiwork of her darling brother.


    Of course, everyone hushed it up.


    As if the palace hadn¡¯t learned its lesson (and let''s be honest, when do palaces ever learn?), the queen gave birth to another daughter who bore a striking resemblance to the late, unloved princess.


    Overcome with superstitious dread, the royal couple promptly rid themselves of the newborn. History, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor.


    Fast forward a few decades, and that favored son ascended to the throne, proving to be a tyrant who mistreated his elderly parents and violated a noblewoman.


    This woman, in a twist of poetic justice, gave birth to another daughter looking eerily like the previously murdered princesses.


    The cycle continued¡ªa carousel of cruelty where each male heir somehow turned into a monstrous ruler while each doomed princess with striking resemblance to the first princess was kind yet tragically mistreated.


    After several generations of this grim family tradition, the kingdom itself began to crumble.


    But lo and behold, it was the seventeenth princess¡ªa mirror image of the first¡ªwho saved the day.


    Rumor had it she was the original princess reincarnated, returning again and again to a family that never learned.


    With a bit of uprising here and a dash of overthrow there, the kingdom was turned on its head. The princesses ascended to power, celebrated and cherished, while the princes, well, they were there too, mostly for moral support, shackled by past sins.


    And thus, the Elysian Kingdom learned the hard way: keep killing your kindest, and they''ll come back to haunt you, possibly saving you from your own disastrous decisions.


    As for the princes, they became the eternal second fiddles in a matriarchy that thrived, because sometimes, the best man for the job is a woman. Repeatedly¡ª


    ***


    Morgan Le Fay disappeared right around the time the uninvited guests decided to pop in from their not-so-cozy crack in the sky.


    Coincidence? Well, maybe not.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    This fortuitous swap of presences did make a few eyebrows in Nethermere arch high enough to rival the very arch of that sky crack.


    Speaking of the crack, imagine it as less of a doorway and more of a fiery gatekeeper floating ominously above Nethermere.


    This wasn¡¯t your garden variety magical portal where you could just flounce through to the other side for a quick interdimensional jaunt.


    No, this crack came with a built-in BBQ feature¡ªtry to pass through without an invitation and you¡¯d get charred faster than a marshmallow at a dragon¡¯s birthday party.


    The locals spun tales, pointing fingers at Morgan for her timely disappearance, suggesting she might have traded her earthly residency for something a bit more cosmic.


    The conspiracy theorists had a field day with this, theorizing that she was either hosting intergalactic tea parties or had somehow become an involuntary ambassador in space.


    Perhaps she¡¯d gone off to negotiate a space trade deal: magic spells in exchange for alien tech and an accident happened in between¡ªit sounds fair, right?


    Well, that theory stopped circulating after the fact that she was still nowhere to be found even after three years.


    Was she¡­ dead?


    On the topic of technology, some bright spark theorized that the reason these invaders could waltz through the crack without turning into cosmic toast was due to their shiny spaceships, equipped with the latest in ¡°Don¡¯t-get-fried¡± tech¡ªa gadget that Nethermere¡¯s finest minds hadn¡¯t quite cracked yet.


    The idea that only these high-tech hotrods could navigate the crack without disintegrating brought about an intense side-eye from the Nethermerians.


    After all, who would want a one-sided visit?


    Despite undeniable proof that theirs wasn''t the sole prospering civilization amidst the vast expanse of space, the denizens of Nethermere remained frustratingly earthbound, unable to traverse the celestial realms that lay tantalizingly beyond their reach.


    This also explained why Burn couldn''t simply hurl his proverbial bucket at the invaders and force them to kick it¡ªfiguratively speaking, of course.


    "Where did she mention she was heading?" Burn inquired of Yvain as they sat together at the strategy table, having just discussed their next conquest of the Elysian Kingdom.


    Yvain''s gaze dropped as he admitted, ¡°My Master¡­ well, I¡¯ve never been worthy of worrying about her problems so she never said anything when she was going to leave to solve anything¡­¡±


    ¡°You knew she was going somewhere to solve problems?¡± Burn prodded, reading between the lines.


    Yvain solemnly answered, ¡°It¡¯s obvious when my Master had a problem.¡±


    ¡°For the minor skirmishes, she''d disappear without a word and reappear by dawn, as if she''d just popped out for a midnight snack. But when the big guns were called for..."


    Here, Yvain gestured vaguely into the air.


    At his wave, a small dimensional rift yawned briefly above the table, casually disgorging a cascade of magical items¡ªeach bristling with protective enchantments.


    "Whenever it was time for her to confront something big, she''d arm me with this arsenal of homemade¡­ rare, mythical goodies," Yvain continued, with a wave towards the glittering array of artifacts now cluttering the table.


    "You know, just casual keepsakes to protect me. I know she has always been extra about things like this, but this time¡­¡±


    Seeing the items on the table, Burn remembered why Yvain was a tough one to kill in his first loop.


    The implication was clear: when the going got tough, the tough got going, and Yvain¡¯s role was to sit tight and try not to let anyone sneak up on him¡ªarmed, of course, with his Master''s crafty collection of enchanted trinkets.


    Burn lapsed into a contemplative silence, his mind whirring as he parsed the breadcrumbs of information Yvain had scattered before him.


    It was during this reflective pause that something on the table caught his eye, drawing him out of his reverie.


    There, amidst the assorted magical paraphernalia that Yvain had casually summoned, lay the Frostbearer''s Heart stone, now masterfully crafted into a ring.


    This wasn''t just any trinket; it was a marvel of mystical craftsmanship. The stone itself shimmered with an inner light, pale blue and crystalline, as if capturing a sliver of winter sky within its facets.


    It was set in a band of silver that twisted around like the branches of frost-covered trees, delicate yet unmistakable in its strength.


    The ring''s aura of cold was palpable, chilling the air slightly around it, hinting at its power to wield the essence of frost itself.


    ¡°Frostbearer¡¯s Heart¡­ the Wintersin Empire?¡± Burn blurted.


    ¡°Eh?¡± Yvain suddenly flinched.


    ¡°What?¡± Burn turned to him. ¡°You know something?¡±

 24 - To Wintersin

    "But why?! I want to find my Master too! Why can''t I come along?!" King Yvain scurried after Emperor Burn with his short legs.


    The corridor echoed with the clatter of his small boots, a stark contrast to the thudding strides of the Emperor¡¯s metal heels, who were all set for a quest to locate the Infinite Witch, Morgan Le Fay.


    The scene was straight out of a strategy meeting from the night before. Yvain had blurted out that Morgan often traveled to the Wintersin Empire to mingle with her mysterious pals, and Burn¡¯s memory gears ground into action.


    He recalled that his first encounter with Morgan was supposed to happen after the conquest of Wintersin¡ªthree years in the future.


    No time like the present, thought Burn, let¡¯s head there right away.


    "You''re just a nuisance to me. What if finding your master requires me to fend off some danger? You''ll just be dead weight," Burn dismissed the boy king with a tact as subtle as a sledgehammer.


    Yvain''s face reddened, his mouth agape in indignation, ready to unleash a royal decree worth of tantrums, but he snapped it shut, a silent concession to the brutal honesty.


    "But what will you do to my Master?! You''re not going to... hurt her... right?" Yvain¡¯s voice quivered, a mix of fear and accusation dancing in his words.


    Burn clicked his tongue, an annoying habit that punctuated his annoyance, and gave Yvain¡¯s head a paternal push¡ªminus the affection.


    "No. If she dies, I die. That cursed witch..." His words trailed off into a grumble, revealing a complex web of emotions that could give any daytime drama a run for its money.


    Yvain¡¯s eyebrows arched, mirroring the arches of the grand corridor, as he parsed the tyrant¡¯s complicated expression.


    "Just go and help Galahad conquer the Elysian Kingdom," Burn commanded, dismissing the young king to what he likely considered child¡¯s play.


    As Burn walked away, Yvain stood in the echoing hall, the weight of kingdom management on his young shoulders, and a new mission to babysit another conquest. Oh, the thrilling life of a child king: part monarch, part errand boy.


    "I... also don''t want to be a burden..." Yvain reflected somberly. "But... is it really true that my Master doesn''t need my help at all? Am I truly... powerless to aid her?"


    Burn didn''t have the luxury to indulge a teenager''s craving for recognition; he was preoccupied with the urgent task of reversing a curse.


    ¡°Wait¡­ did he just ask me to¡­ help his men conquer the Elysian Kingdom?¡±


    Yvain short-circuited.


    Burn hadn''t permitted him to join the quest to find his master¡­ but to help him conquer another kingdom? He, a 12 year old king?


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    What kind of priority was that?


    ***


    For Burn from the first loop, conquering the Elysian Kingdom turned out to be a walk in the park¡ªa stroll so casual it almost begged the question why it hadn''t been done over a leisurely brunch.


    After millennia of being helmed by a lineage of formidable and just queens, the royal bloodline had thinned to a trickle. No new princess was born, while the last reigning queen passed away decades ago in childbirth.


    Now, the kingdom''s throne was warmed by its only remaining heir, a middle-aged king whose most notable trait was his profound mediocrity.


    Yet, despite his lackluster resume, he managed to be a decent king. He wasn¡¯t violent, cruel, or particularly bad at ruling; he was just overwhelmingly... okay.


    Perhaps the generations of women rulers had finally broken the cycle of monstrous male successors¡ªor maybe they had simply lowered the bar so significantly that merely not being a tyrant seemed like a monumental achievement.


    Either way, the kingdom, which had withstood fierce queens and dire straits, now meandered under the rule of a man who was as threatening as a librarian in a pillow fight.


    It was somewhat comforting to know that the king had a young son, around the same age as Yvain, who appeared bright and kind¡ªthough, admittedly, equally mediocre.


    Well, at the end of the day, they were still the king and crown prince. Mediocre or not, they were good enough¡ªuntil Burn declared war, that is.


    It was honestly embarrassing.


    Burn hadn''t even bothered to make a personal appearance during the conquest of the Elysian Kingdom.


    He simply doled out some strategic advice, leaned back, and provided some pointers based on his knowledge of the future. Yet, as it turned out, even that minimal effort was overkill.


    The kingdom folded so quickly it almost seemed they were waiting with a white flag at the ready, just in case someone decently organized showed up.


    Well, at this point, Burn had only one real concern, and it wasn''t about the Elysian Kingdom or Morgan Le Fay.


    Now that he was personally focused on tracking down Morgan Le Fay, Burn was convinced that his mission would be a slam dunk¡ªbecause when Burn sets out to find someone, the universe tends to align just so.


    However, the real wrinkle in his plan wasn''t about finding Morgan; it was the premature demise of Duke Velaryon in this current timeline.


    In previous iterations, Burn was the one who did the honors, but not quite so early.


    Every time he offed the Duke, it triggered an irritating series of events that felt like dealing with a recurring software bug¡ªpredictable, tedious, yet annoyingly disruptive.


    Butterfly effect might be a bit ugly this time.


    So, anyway, Burn rode his fusion-powered chariot towards the Wintersin Empire.


    Ohh, stepping into the frosty embrace of the Wintersin Empire, a land so far north that even the sun seemed to think twice before visiting.


    Here, winter didn''t just come; it practically took up permanent residency, blanketing the empire in snow and ice nearly all year round.


    The local weather forecast was a one-liner: "It''s going to be cold, followed by more cold."


    But chill aside, Wintersin was no barren wasteland. Beneath the icy exterior, the land was a veritable treasure chest, brimming with mining resources.


    If digging through frozen dirt for shiny metals was your idea of a good time, then Wintersin was your kind of paradise.


    The people of Wintersin were as tough as the land was cold. Known for their mastery of Force art¡ªan gallant way of saying they¡¯re good at manipulating energy to not freeze to death¡ªthey were as strong as they were skilled.


    This wasn''t a place where you''d find folks knitting by the fireplace. No, these were the kind of people who could wrestle a polar bear before breakfast.


    Wintersin''s military was the kind that made other nations politely decline to visit.


    Described as mighty, big in number, and great, their military prowess was the stuff of legends¡ªessentially, if their soldiers were a band, they''d be headlining every military parade around.


    In sum, the Wintersin Empire was a powerhouse wrapped in a snow globe¡ªremote, frosty, and formidable.


    But Burn wasn¡¯t here to conquer it¡­.


    ¡­yet.

 25 - A Cult

    For Burn, slipping into another kingdom unnoticed was less of a challenge and more of a leisure activity.


    Armed with his wits and magic, a network of spies masquerading as everything from bakers to bankers, and subordinates who were disturbingly competent at bending rules, crossing borders was a piece of cake¡ªa very sneaky, covert-operations type of cake.


    Sneaking into the famous Wintersin Empire? Just another day at the office.


    This wasn''t just slinking through some backwoods fence but infiltrating a fortress swaddled in ice and guarded by the kind of military that could make a tyrant whimper.


    But Burn, with the audacity of a cat burglar with keys to the city, made his plans.


    His entry strategy? A classic¡ªhiding in plain sight. Under the guise of a humble merchant, Burn swapped his imposing armor for the nondescript garb of a trader dealing in exotic spices.


    Spices, after all, were the one thing the frostbitten folks of Wintersin couldn''t mine out of their frozen soil.


    He had his caravan, loaded not just with the finest paprika and peppercorns, but also with cloaks, daggers, and some magic trinkets for good measure.


    His caravan wove through the snowy passes, greeted by the icy winds that howled like the Wintersin military at a victory parade.


    His spies, a veritable league of extraordinarily inconspicuous gentlemen and women, had laid the groundwork well.


    They had spread rumors of a spice merchant whose seasonings could make even boiled leather taste gourmet¡ªa story so appealing that even the frost-hardened border guards couldn''t resist a peek.


    As Burn, the spice merchant, made his grand entrance, the guards were too distracted by their culinary dreams to see the wolf amidst the sheep.


    Thanks to his well-placed bribes¡ªa sprinkle of saffron here, a dash of cinnamon there¡ªthe gates opened wider than the jaws of a yawning troll.


    But, searching for someone in the middle of someone else¡¯s backyard was another kind of task.


    Like searching for a particularly sneaky needle in an exceptionally large haystack¡ªonly the haystack is also frostbitten and suspiciously well-armed.


    ¡°Master is a believer,¡± Yvain said to him in the strategy meeting.


    Not exactly a revelation that would knock anyone off their chair, considering a lot of Vision users were believers.


    They operated under the belief that the same deity who crafted their souls didn''t skimp on each and every of their potential¡ªthough he might have diversified their portfolios a bit.


    These Vision aficionados weren¡¯t just about soul-searching; they liked to give a nod to the big boss upstairs for handing out the soul starter kits.


    "The church on the outskirts of the Wintersin Empire is where Master''s acquaintance lives,¡± Yvain said. ¡°But they¡¯re¡­ a bit weird.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    "What? Are they fanatics?"


    "No. They''re certainly devout, but not zealously so."


    Burn strategically deployed his people across the empire, covering all the bases just in case Morgan decided to pop up somewhere less predictable.


    Meanwhile, he took it upon himself to investigate the church Yvain had mentioned. Finding it wasn''t easy, but the moment Burn passed by, he knew he''d hit the jackpot. And yes, the congregation was... unique.


    Clad in dark robes from head to toe, with not a sliver of skin in sight¡ªno eyes peeking out, nothing.


    These weren''t your garden-variety churchgoers but rather folks who seemed to take the concept of ''Sunday best'' to a whole new level of grim.


    Dark, mysterious, and excessively covered, they made regular fanatics look positively laid-back by comparison.


    Yes, they were more than just devout; they were devout with a passion for anonymity that could rival any secret society. It was as if they were trying to out-fanatic the fanatics, setting a new standard for spiritual intensity.


    Now, approaching this group was going to be a bit like a peacock strutting into a gathering of penguins¡ªutterly and hopelessly out of place.


    Burn, typically so confident in his covert operations, suddenly found himself on the aesthetic back foot.


    Sporting his usual undercover attire, he''d stick out among the sea of meticulously covered-up devotees like a sore thumb¡ªor more accurately, like a neon sign in a nunnery.


    Navigating this crowd without drawing immediate suspicion would require a level of sartorial subtlety and religious camouflage that Burn hadn¡¯t packed for this trip.


    It was one thing to be a master of disguise, but blending in with this crowd might just be his toughest costume change yet.


    So, Burn decided to sneak in at night.


    Under the cloak of moonlight, he covertly made his way into the church¡ªonly to find that it bore no resemblance to any church he''d ever known.


    "Where''s the god''s statue? Not even a symbol?" he muttered to himself, bewildered by the lack of traditional religious decor.


    As he ventured deeper, the faint sound of soft, eerie singing wafted from the inner chambers.


    It wasn¡¯t the robust choir anthems you might expect but rather the sort of hushed, haunting melodies that could give you goosebumps on a warm night.


    As Burn crept closer and peered into one of the chambers, he witnessed four individuals methodically draining the blood of a creature into a bucket placed on the floor.


    Okay, done. This is a cult.


    DRAP! DRAP!


    Chatter! Yell, yell!


    Just as Burn was digesting the sight before him, the relative peace was shattered by a cacophony from outside¡ªa classic pitchfork-and-torch parade.


    It seems that the local villagers had finally had enough and were coming to express their feelings in the traditional ''mob justice'' fashion.


    "Tonight, we take back our town from these cultists! No more whispers, no more fear!" one yelled, thrusting his pitchfork skyward.


    The crowd responded with a resounding roar, their voices melding into a single, thunderous cry, "Drive them out! Burn the darkness away!"


    Leading this impromptu rally was a particularly vocal individual, who, armed with righteous fury and a megaphone voice, proclaimed their mission to drive out the "cultists."


    His voice cut through the night, his words igniting the air with a mix of fear and anger as palpable as the torches they waved.


    They marched like a storm, ready to rain down their homespun justice on the church''s doorstep.


    Burn, caught between the bloodletting he''d just witnessed and the angry village drama unfolding outside, found himself pondering the lesser of two evils.


    As the crowd neared, their shadows dancing wildly in the torchlight against the church''s stark walls, it became clear that this wasn''t just a confrontation¡ªit was a scene straight out of a gothic novel, minus the subtlety.


    Burn sighed.


    ¡°Why would Morgan Le Fay acquainted herself with these kinds of people?¡±

 26 - Encounter

    Ka-click!


    As the locals'' agitation simmered to a boil outside, a figure emerged from the church, his entrance so silent and unassuming that Burn nearly jumped out of his skin.


    Not because the man was particularly frightening¡ªfar from it¡ªbut because Burn, despite his seasoned senses, couldn''t detect his presence until he was practically beside his hiding place.


    This wasn''t just stealth; it was as if the man had materialized from thin air, sauntering through Burn''s hiding spot with the casual ease of a ghost breezing through walls.


    Clad entirely in black, from the robe shrouding his body to the gloves covering his hands, the man was a shadow incarnate.


    His head was also fully covered, turning his face into a mystery that not even the nosiest villager could solve. He stepped toward the front door, where the torch-lit faces of the youthful mob flickered with a blend of curiosity and indignation.


    ¡°What can this old man help you lovely youngsters with?¡± he inquired, his voice dripping with a humility so thick it could have been cut with a knife.


    The irony of his polite address to the torch-wielding crowd¡ªwho were indeed quite young, more a university protest group than a seasoned mob¡ªwas not lost on anyone.


    The scene was almost comical, like watching a polite butler inquire about tea preferences in the middle of a rock concert.


    His calm demeanor contrasted starkly with the chaos brewing at his doorstep, a solitary figure of serene, almost annoyingly composed, defiance amidst the storm.


    The mob, taken aback by his eerily calm approach, faltered slightly. Their righteous anger met with the old man¡¯s unnerving tranquility, creating a palpable tension that hung in the air like thick fog.


    "Help us?" a tall, lanky youth scoffed, the flicker of his torch casting sinister shadows across his face.


    "You can start by packing up your shadow circus and disappearing into the night from whence you came!"


    His voice, brimming with contempt, echoed off the church walls as his companions nodded vigorously, their faces twisted in a mix of fear and defiance.


    Another villager, a fiery-haired woman, stepped forward, brandishing her pitchfork like a conductor''s baton at a riotous symphony.


    "Yeah, and take your creepy robe collection with you! We don''t need your kind lurking around, scaring the kids and creeping out the livestock!"


    The crowd surged forward slightly, the torches in their hands weaving through the air, drawing dangerous arcs of light.


    "If you don''t clear out by dawn," she threatened, her voice rising over the crackle of the torches, "we''ll light up this haunted house of yours and watch it burn to cinders!"


    A chorus of agreement rose from the group, a ragtag choir of righteous indignation ready to sing the hymn of eviction with fire and fury.


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    The old man stood his ground, his expression unreadable behind the mesh that veiled his face, as the crowd''s anger simmered into a boiling threat.


    "Last chance, grandpa," a young man with eyes as hard as flint sneered, stepping close enough for his breath to mingle with the cold night air swirling around them.


    "Move out, or we move in. And trust me, we''re not the kind of guests you want for dinner."


    Their postures were rigid with tension, hands tightening on their makeshift weapons, a tableau of impending violence set against the backdrop of an ancient church that had seen far better days.


    The night air was thick with the smell of pine and impending arson, a potent cocktail that promised chaos at the slightest spark.


    "Hmm, this is indeed a predicament," the old man responded with measured calmness.


    "Had you approached us with this request a few months earlier, we would have been able to comply without hesitation. However, given the current season, I regret to inform you that departing now would not be possible for us."


    It was summer, though. Didn''t people normally travel during summer and usually feel aggrieved if chased away by winter?


    Not only was Burn hidden there, pondering the situation, but the people outside were also wondering.


    ¡°Please let us stay for a couple of months until the season is more conducive to travel, my dear youths,¡± the old man pleaded, his voice weaving a tapestry of genteel charm as he lifted the mesh fabric covering the upper half of his face to reveal glowing red eyes.


    The sudden display wasn''t just surprising; it was mesmerizing.


    As if he''d flipped a switch, the once-angry mob''s expressions softened from fiery indignation to an eerie blankness.


    Their arms, which had been rigid with the weight of pitchforks and assorted implements of villager justice, now slackened. The tools of confrontation gently lowered as if the group were suddenly finding the weight of gravity too much to bear.


    Their eyes dulled, reflecting the crimson glow with a hypnotized sheen, as though their fiery will had been washed away by a tide of red light.


    "Of course. In a couple of months, please leave," one of them murmured, his voice stripped of any prior confrontational zeal as if he were discussing the weather rather than negotiating with a potential cultist.


    It seemed that the old man¡¯s crimson peepers had not only caught the villagers off guard but had transported them to a state of tranquil compliance, showcasing a party trick that even the best magicians couldn¡¯t match.


    If eyes could be registered as lethal weapons, the old man¡¯s would be at the top of the list.


    And Burn froze where he was.


    The villagers, still spellbound by the eerie afterglow of the old man''s red eyes, shuffled away into the night, their torchlight receded into the distance like the last flickers of rational thought.


    The old man closed the church door with a gentle thud¡ªa sound that seemed to seal away the surreal scene just witnessed.


    He began to hum a prayer, his voice a soothing melody that meandered through the shadowy aisles of the church like a spirit soothing itself.


    That tranquility was abruptly shattered when a completely black cat, embodying the night itself, leapt into the fray. When its golden twin orbs noticed Burn¡­


    HISSSS!


    It hissed¡ªa sound like tiny daggers slicing through the silence¡ªand darted towards the old man, seeking refuge in the folds of his robe as if trying to blend back into the darkness from which it came.


    Burn, who had been a silent observer tucked away in the shadows, felt his heart skip a beat. But his surprise morphed into icy realization as he understood that he hadn''t been as invisible as he''d hoped.


    The cat¡¯s alarm was just the final confirmation, the exclamation mark on a sentence he''d failed to read correctly from the start.


    Because as he looked towards the old man, he could sense¡ªnot see, but sense¡ªa smile spreading beneath that mysterious veil of fabric.


    It was as if the old man had been aware of Burn¡¯s presence all along, letting him play his little game of hide and seek, indulging the intruder with a patience reserved for the theatrically inclined.


    Burn''s expression hardened, the shock fading into the cool detachment of a chess player who realizes he''s been in check for far longer than he thought.


    This game, it seemed, was being played on a board much larger and stranger than he had anticipated. The cat, now purring contentedly in the safety of its master''s shadow, might as well have been a smirking spectator to Burn¡¯s unmasking.


    Yet, the man¡¯s voice retained a friendly and serene tone as he called out, ¡°Come out, lost child. Let me make you a cup of hot chocolate to warm you up.¡±

 27 - Senile Old Man

    True to his words and peculiar form of hospitality, the old man whisked up a beverage for Burn.


    Rejecting the hot chocolate¡ªpartly out of suspicion and partly because he wasn''t keen on being coddled like a toddler¡ªBurn found himself staring down a cup of tea instead.


    But this wasn''t just any tea; it was an overly sweet concoction, milky to the point of being infantile. Clearly, the old man hadn''t received the memo that Burn was no longer in short trousers.


    As Burn took a reluctant sip, his face contorted in a grimace worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy, all thanks to the saccharine overload.


    Observing this, the old man clucked sympathetically, "Why? Did I forget to add sugar again? Poor boy, it¡¯s bitter, right? I¡¯m so sorry."


    His tone was dripping with such earnestness that it bordered on comedic.


    Burn, already on edge from being treated like a misbehaving child relegated to the kids'' table at Thanksgiving, found his irritation bubbling like a poorly brewed potion.


    The sincerity in the old man''s voice only served to grate further, as if he genuinely believed he''d brewed a batch of unsweetened sorrow instead of a dental nightmare.


    "Now, dear child, please share your concerns with Father. It was quite tumultuous outside for a time, wasn''t it? Did you seek shelter and assistance here? Tell me what troubles you, and I will do all I can to help."


    If Burn hadn¡¯t been aware of how dangerous the old man in front of him was, he might have actually gagged. The overly sweet tea had nearly made him gag as well, but this was even more nauseating.


    "What is this place?" Burn asked, maintaining his cold and vigilant demeanor.


    The old man hummed thoughtfully. "This... is a church. A place where you worship God?" he replied, tilting his fully covered head to the side as if truly puzzled by Burn''s question.


    "I saw you draining a creature''s blood in one of your chambers. You still claim this is a holy place?" Burn asked sharply, his tone low and accusing.


    "I understand... you''ve witnessed our less favorable side. It''s unfortunate, as we are not in a position to defend ourselves under these circumstances."


    "But child," the man said as he slowly lifted the mesh fabric covering the upper half of his face, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes¡ª"Could you perhaps be more understanding about our only means of sustenance?"


    As Emperor Burn felt a chill slither down his spine, his golden eyes widened at the sight of the two glowing red orbs surrounded by an abyss of darkness.


    Being on the receiving end of that crimson gaze was an experience unto itself. It was suffocating, like wearing a turtleneck knit by an overly affectionate grandmother, or in this case, a grandfather¡ªtight, itchy, and unrelenting.


    The air seemed to thicken, each breath a laborious effort, as if he were trying to inhale through a straw at a high-altitude training camp.


    The cold that accompanied those eyes was not the refreshing chill of a brisk fall evening but more akin to the unexpected shock of sitting on a frozen toilet seat in the dead of winter¡ªa jolt that sends unwelcome shivers across your entire body.


    Yuck.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Moreover, the sheer heaviness of that stare pressed down on him felt a lead blanket. So oppressive.


    Burn''s senses were overwhelmed, each one dialed up to eleven as if his body was trying to perceive danger through every possible channel.


    ¡°Alright, please stop that or I¡¯ll vomit right on your expensive rug,¡± Burn said with narrowed eyes.


    A flicker of surprise passed through the old man''s exposed red eyes, quickly followed by a glint of curiosity.


    Though subtle, these changes were discernible¡ªa brief interruption in his otherwise composed demeanor, like a ripple on a still pond, revealing a depth of emotion momentarily before returning to calm.


    Silence.


    ¡°Are you sick? Nauseous? Here¡­ drink your warm milk tea, dear,¡± the old man pushed the tea closer to him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid,¡± Burn growled.


    Maybe this old man was actually just senile.


    ¡°But aren¡¯t you baby Burn, the young Soulnaught king¡¯s son? You were just born¡­ a couple of months ago, right?¡± yep, the old man was actually senile.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to continue playing your game. Don¡¯t randomly try to surprise me that you know who I am, old vampire,¡± Burn countered after controlling his popping angry veins.


    The pair of red eyes were smiling.


    ¡°But I do know who you are,¡± the old man chuckled softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for teasing you. This old man can¡¯t help it.¡±


    After a brief cozy silence, the man sat reclined on the chair and sighed. ¡°You might not remember me, but I met you when you¡¯re still so small. My name is Gran Gran Vlad.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not your name.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ right. It¡¯s how the children call me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure no children would call you that.¡±


    ¡°Huh? What do they call me, then?¡±


    "Stop stalling. Just tell me what this place really is. Have I come to the wrong church?" Burn asked, his frustration mounting.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re searching for something? Is it your Gran Gran Vlad?¡±


    Burn¡¯s face twisted in anger as he grasped the armrest of his chair. ¡°I¡¯m going to start speaking casually to you, old man.¡±


    ¡°Hohoho¡­ you sound a lot like your mommy¡­¡± Vlad smiled.


    Burn¡¯s tongue tied. His mouth shut.


    ¡°How¡¯s my sweet Viviane? Is she healthy?¡± The old man¡¯s voice was deep and warm.


    A heavy silence fell over them, thick and dark, stretching endlessly before Burn finally broke it.


    "She passed away."


    ***


    It was like a roller coaster ride.


    Surely it wasn''t Burn''s favorite pastime, but here he was, strapped in and climbing the next big incline.


    Burn speculated from the man¡¯s abilities that he was a vampire. The hypnotizing red eyes, the attire, the blood draining and how old he actually sounded.


    Not just any vampire, but the kind who wielded his supernatural abilities with the finesse of a seasoned maestro.


    Instead of unleashing hellish fury on the torch-bearing mob, he opted for a gentler mischief¡ªmind control at its mildest, as if swatting flies with a silk handkerchief instead of a sledgehammer.


    He was an odd one, this Vlad¡ªquirky yet not malevolent. His tactics in dispersing the mob were more about cheeky interference than any dark, annihilative force.


    It was the supernatural equivalent of a grandpa pulling coins from behind ears, albeit the coins were people¡¯s wills and the ears were their minds.


    Like prank-loving-old-man-vampire-grandpa.


    And¡ªhe even knew Burn''s mother''s other name, Viviane. Only her closest was privy to that alias, which painted Vlad not just as a mischievous old bloodsucker, but as someone significantly closer to the family than Burn might have guessed.


    Vlad had dubbed himself ''Father,'' too, a fitting title in this bizarre sanctuary that masqueraded as a church. It seemed this congregation of fully-covered vampires might actually believe in something divine, despite the obvious irony of their situation.


    A vampire church was about as conventional as a shark vegetarian support group.


    Burn¡¯s curiosity spiked¡ªwhy would a band of vampires need a church? (Everyone was wearing full body coverage garments, remember?)


    Seeing the situation, they might know about Morgan Le Fay too, right?


    ¡°Huh? Morgan Le Fay?¡± Old Man Vlad asked, ¡°Whose child is she? Do I know her parents?¡±


    He is senile.

 28 - Devout Vampires Daily Lives

    In the peculiar world of the repentant vampires of the church, daily life was an exercise in contradiction and comic restraint.


    ¡°Good Morning, child of God,¡± one of them often greeted him.


    From dawn till dusk, sometimes till dawn again, these vampires swathed themselves in full-body robes, the women¡¯s eyes hidden behind black mesh and the men¡¯s faces veiled as if they were plotting a bank heist rather than attending morning prayers.


    The reason, ostensibly, was to avoid the deadly kiss of sunlight, though Burn couldn''t help but suspect it also spared them the indignity of sunscreen.


    ¡°My, there¡¯s a human guest? Is the youngsters okay interacting closely with a human¡­?¡± some old ones meekly muttered in worry.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, we¡¯ll hunt more monster today to satiate the cravings.¡±


    These vampires had turned their backs on human blood and meat, adopting a diet that would make any vegan proud¡ªif, that is, vegans feasted on animal blood instead of tofu.


    They meticulously drained their nocturnal catches, treating the whole process with the solemnity of a tea ceremony, albeit one where the tea screams and tries to run away.


    Observing this, Burn wondered if there was a Michelin star category for morally conflicted butchers.


    ¡°Let¡¯s clean the hall after prayer.¡±


    ¡°Careful not to create any symbol on the ground with stains or dust when cleaning. It¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    Inside their sanctuary, devoid of any traditional religious symbols¡ªbecause apparently, for them, proximity to such items could lead to spontaneous combustion¡ªthe vampires gathered to worship.


    This was no ordinary church. Here, prayer was more about not turning into a barbecue than about spiritual enlightenment.


    ¡°Okay, no gesture for prayers too. I know how much you want to embody your belief, but let¡¯s keep it in our heart.¡±


    Burn mused whether their prayers were more pleas for forgiveness or just requests to not catch fire mid-sermon.


    Their decision to forsake human blood for animal was lauded as a significant ethical step, akin to swapping out a gas-guzzler for a hybrid¡ªonly much messier.


    As night fell and they ventured out in groups, the hunting party looked less like a congregation and more like a flash mob about to break into a choreographed routine.


    ¡°We can go farther today, right?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s monsters a bit to the north!¡±


    Burn, witnessing all this, couldn''t decide if he was watching a profound transformation or just a particularly bizarre episode of lifestyle documentary for the undead.


    Either way, he kept his snark to himself, half-expecting a vampire to turn to him and ask if he''d prefer his animal blood shaken or stirred. While smiling.


    In their unorthodox spiritual enclave, dietary restrictions extended beyond just a preference for the animalistic over the anthropomorphic.


    ¡°N¡­ no. No pork. Yes, no boar, or orcs¡­ sorry. You can eat that yourself, of course! Don¡¯t waste food!¡±


    Pork, for instance, was off the menu¡ªnot due to any religious taboo, but because, as the vampires solemnly declared, it tasted eerily reminiscent of humans.


    Burn found this dietary quirk both horrifying and hilarious, wondering if there was a vampire version of a plant-based diet where ''plant-based'' was a euphemism for ''not-taste-like-a-person''.


    Fasting became their new pastime, a way to stave off the more carnivorous cravings.


    This wasn''t your grandma''s idea of fasting¡ªno mere abstention from snacks between meals¡ªbut a full-on denial of their deepest, darkest desires.


    It was like watching someone try to diet at a buffet; noble but ultimately futile.


    ¡°There¡¯s a human guest¡­ fasting become so much more difficult¡­¡±


    Burn, observing these efforts, speculated whether their next step would be joining Vampires Anonymous: "Hi, my name is Vlad, and it''s been forty days since my last human."


    Alcohol was another no-no; not because it was beneath them, but rather disappointingly, because it had no effect.


    It turns out that being undead seriously undermines your ability to catch a buzz.


    This led them to abandon spirits for spiritlessness, although Burn noted that their avoidance of wine didn''t stop them from lamenting over blood as if discussing a fine Merlot.


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    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Do you like alcohol? Seasoning? Oh¡­ garlic? Sorry, that¡¯s also¡­¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have that here¡­ We have plain bread, as much as you like?¡±


    Garlic, naturally, was the culinary boogeyman. Not for any mystical reason, but simply because it stunk. This aversion gave Burn endless amusement; he mused that a vampire¡¯s version of hell was probably a garlic farm.


    Pets? Dogs were out of the question¡ªtoo much historical baggage since their werewolf cousins had once served as vampire underlings.


    Instead, they opted for cats, those paragons of indifference, to teach them the fine art of restraint and the cold shoulder. Watching a vampire attempt to win over a cat was like observing a stand-off between two masters of disdain.


    Burn¡¯s days among the vampires were filled with these absurdities, each more bizarre than the last.


    He often caught himself chuckling under his breath, not sure if he was in a horror story or a dark comedy.


    As he scribbled notes for future reference, he wondered how one might explain these undead eccentrics to someone who had never seen a vampire trying to pet a cat, or fasting to avoid turning into a monster¡ªliterally.


    It was clear, whether through divine comedy or diabolic irony, these vampires were trying to find their path to redemption, one awkward, animal-blood-laden step at a time.


    ¡°So? You have talked to each of our members? Have you found what you seek?¡±


    In the serene courtyard of the church, where the sound of laughter flitted through the air like confetti, Father Vlad, sat perched on a weathered stone bench.


    His lap served as a throne for the black cat that had first heralded Burn¡¯s secretive arrival, now purring contentedly as if it were the keeper of all church secrets.


    Around them, children vampires frolicked in a blur of black robes and veils, their games a macabre twist on typical childhood play, resembling a gathering of tiny grim reapers more than anything else.


    Beside Vlad, Burn sat with a demeanor that hovered between intrigue and irritation.


    Burn shifted slightly, the stone beneath him doing little for comfort. ¡°Not even a whisper about the Infinite Witch. Are you even a member of society? How could you not know about her?¡±


    Vlad chuckled, a sound that stirred the leaves at their feet. ¡°Like I said, most of us only knew the generation of your parents¡­ or grandparents¡­ or, great grandparents? What year is it¡­?¡±


    Burn couldn¡¯t help but roll his eyes. Here he was, sitting next to a vampire who thought eternal damnation could be a punchline, in a church that seemed to double as a gothic daycare, searching for a witch that no one seemed to know.


    ¡°Maybe¡­ we know her, but not with the name you proposed,¡± Vlad mused, stroking the cat, which seemed to smirk at Burn¡¯s frustration.


    ¡°Or maybe everyone¡¯s just playing dumb,¡± Burn retorted, his voice tinged with the weariness of a man who had been through too many crypts.


    The conversation hung between them, a taut thread ready to snap, as the children''s shrieks of joy provided a stark, eerie contrast to their somber discussion.


    ¡°Why are you looking for this girl anyway, boy? Planning to marry her when you grow up? How sweet¡­"


    Burn clenched his fists, feeling his blood pressure surge¡ªa common side effect of conversing with this particular vampire. "She cursed me," he managed to say through gritted teeth. "And I intend to make her lift it, by force if needed."


    "Oh dear¡­ a curse? Why are youngsters these days so dramatic about romance?" the old man murmured, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in dismay.


    ¡°I really am about to speak informally to you,¡± Burn spoke in between his gritted teeth.


    "Have you told us what she looks like?"


    "I''ve already told you! You senile old man!"


    "Oh¡­ How does she look again¡­?"


    "This is the fifth time I''ve told you!"


    "Yeah, just help this old man out, boy."


    "You don''t really intend to help me, do you?"


    Silence.


    Burn silently groaned, and finally told him how Morgan Le Fay in his memory looked like once again.


    ¡°She was breathtakingly beautiful, as if the sun itself had chosen to dim its light to let her brilliance shine more freely,¡± Burn began.


    "We''re talking about a woman who could make the sun seem timid," Burn shrugged. "That even the brightest celestial body in our sky might feel, you know, bashful, kinda."


    Her image started to dance in his mind, ¡°Her hair fell in golden waves, each strand shimmering with the hues of dawn, defying the ordinary with¡­ some sort of silent elegance.¡±


    ¡°Her eyes, are so, so blue. She smiled and it was a gateway to cosmic mischief, literally.¡±


    Burn massaged his temples. ¡°I thought I was dreaming when she stood in front of me.¡±


    ¡°The boundaries of reality seemed to blur and expand, not merely because of her apparent ethereal appearance, but because well, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Burn, in his earnest admiration, saw her not just as a figure of beauty but as a beacon of intrigue and allure, a person whose laughter could turn tides and whose presence made the ordinary extraordinary.


    However, it seemed that his attempt to genuinely describe what he felt about her appearance, although clumsy¡ªnot just a mere description like he had given at his court a few loops ago¡ªleft the old man...


    Well, the old man beside him appeared struck speechless. Even through his head coverings, Burn could sense the man''s jaw drop, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.


    ¡°A-are you a child?¡± Vlad asked, genuinely thinking Burn was a child and now surprised because of the ¡®child¡¯¡¯s insight.


    ¡°I¡¯m an adult!¡± Burn snapped.


    ¡°How old are you again?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m 27.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a baby. A genius baby. Dear god.¡±


    ¡°This old¡ª¡±


    "Well, if you describe her like that, I might know who you''re talking about," the old man said, effectively halting Burn''s outburst.


    Burn widened his eyes, ¡°You know?¡±


    CRASH!


    ¡°GET OUT, DEMON WORSHIPERS!¡±


    ¡°THIS CHURCH IS A SCAM!¡±


    While Burn and Vlad were chillin'' in the courtyard of this quaint rural church, minding their own business, out of nowhere, a whole swarm of folks started gathering like it''s about the hottest shit in town.


    Burn sighed, ¡°Seriously, again? Right when I am about to find out something important?¡±


    ¡°GO AWAY!¡±


    ¡°WE¡¯RE GOING TO BURN THIS PLACE DOWN!¡±


    It seemed that it was going to get hotter any minute now. Like seriously.


    But wait, there''s more!


    DRAP-DRAP-DRAP!


    Suddenly, out rode this squad of knights on their high horses, gleaming armor and all kinds of flags. Like, talk about making an entrance. And in the lead?


    Burn massaged his temples. He turned toward Vlad, expression hidden beneath the veil, ¡°What¡¯s wrong with this place? Look, they brought out a big guy here.¡±


    Mr. Shiny Armor himself, looking like he just walked out of a medieval fashion show. Couldn''t miss him even if you wanted to.


    ¡°He¡¯s definitely a royalty,¡± Burn rested his face on his arm, leaning forward nonchalantly. ¡°Can you fix it with your mind control again?¡±


    Definitely couldn¡¯t. This big guy was a force user. Quite a good one too.


    Burn was right. What was the deal with this place? Were they about to witness a vampire hunt right in the churchyard? Or something else¡­

 29 - Wintersin’s Second Prince (1)

    Vlad scratched his head, squinting at the growing crowd outside the church.


    "Huh... Is this Monday already?" he muttered, the confusion evident on his face.


    Burn, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow.


    "What does it have to do with Monday? It''s not Monday, but Thursday," he pointed out, his tone tinged with amusement.


    Vlad shrugged. "That''s weird. The villagers usually come on Mondays."


    "So, this is a routine, then? They come every week to threaten to burn the church?" Burn asked, his expression a mix of disbelief and suspicion.


    "Yeah, sorta like a tradition," Vlad replied, nodding as if it made perfect sense.


    "Hey, you''re treating this too casually, old man," he remarked, sweatdropping at Vlad''s nonchalant attitude amidst the chaos unfolding before them.


    As the mob gesticulated wildly, their collective indignation was thick enough to cut with a rusty greatsword.


    They surged forward, a tidal wave of old grievances and new pitchforks, the noise level escalating as if someone had told them the church was hoarding the last remaining bread on earth.


    Then the leader stepped forward, mounted nobly on a stallion that looked like it had just stepped out of a fairy tale. Clad in armor so shiny it could have doubled as a solar panel, he was the epitome of medieval chic.


    Clearly, his wardrobe screamed, "I''m here not only to control these peasants but to look dazzling while doing it."


    With a flourish that could only have been practiced in front of a mirror, he signaled to his aide¡ªa less-dazzling mini-me.


    This aide, atop his horse which undoubtedly was the runner-up in the ''finest stallion'' category, took a deep breath. His armor wasn''t as eye-catching, suggesting perhaps he wasn¡¯t as important of a person compared to the other guy.


    "SILENCE!" he commanded, his voice booming with unexpected authority. It was the kind of shout used to scare off bears or silence an orchestra of squabbling toddlers.


    Miraculously, the mob''s volume dropped from uprising-frenzy to library-quiet in a heartbeat. Pitchforks paused mid-thrust, torches stopped mid-swing, and a hush fell over the crowd, their expressions frozen in a comical tableau of suspended rage.


    The aide looked momentarily disappointed, his eyes flicking to his leader for a sign of approval. The leader, maintaining his poise, nodded subtly¡ªa silent acknowledgement that screamed, "Good job, but let''s not make a habit of outshining the boss."


    Burn turned toward Vlad after seeing everything, tilted his head as his curiosity tickled, ¡°Do they always come with knights every Monday, too?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t help but be amused, watching Vlad suddenly adopt a more somber expression¡ªas if the appearance of knights was the secret ingredient needed to spice up his usual Monday drama. This vampire¡­ would he start showing his true self?


    ¡°I can¡¯t remember. Did they always bring the knights¡­?¡± the man in black robe tilted his head, mirroring Burn. He mused, his tone suggesting he was trying to recall whether it was knights, or circus performers who last stormed the church.


    ¡°You senile¡­!¡±


    "ENOUGH! You demon worshipers¡­ quit your act and surrender the people you brainwashed!" he bellowed, his voice dripping with the kind of dramatic fervor usually reserved for soap operas.


    The aide''s accusation flew through the air like a misguided missile, landing squarely in front of Vlad and Burn, who were standing somewhat heroically¡ªor foolishly, depending on one''s perspective¡ªin front of the church.


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    Burn turned to Vlad, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.


    "Ohh, right, you brainwash people?" he asked, his tone suggesting he wouldn''t be entirely surprised if Vlad pulled out a manual titled ''Brainwashing for Beginners''.


    Ultimately, Burn remained puzzled by this old man. He seemed like an unreliable narrator in a story, portraying himself as a senile old vampire¡ªyet shrouded in secrets.


    But, something felt amiss.


    The church, despite its gloom and peculiarity, was a peaceful haven for vampires¡ªwell, for the unusual vampires who worshiped God.


    It wasn¡¯t at all a gathering of suspicious¡­


    Well, they WERE suspicious.


    But they weren¡¯t dangerous¡­


    They were. They were LITERALLY vampires.


    ¡°Pffft¡ª¡± Burn almost burst out laughing, but suppressed it just in time with his stone cold face.


    Anyway, Burn had no stake in their ¡®traditions¡¯ of discontent nor any desire to sway the outcome of their fervent, albeit ¡®routine¡¯, standoff. His objective was singular and far removed from the political or social intricacies of village life.


    He was here for the witch.


    Burn''s search had led him to this unlikely location, guided by hints that the witch frequented the area for reasons known only to her.


    And just as he thought, Vlad didn¡¯t even try to lift his veil and hypnotize the mobs.


    Instead¡­


    ¡°Why should I leave the land I owned? Boy, do you know who you¡¯re talking to?¡±


    Burn got goosebumps as Vlad''s deep voice unexpectedly resonated around them. It wasn''t loud, yet it seemed as though he was whispering directly into everyone''s ears.


    He arched his eyebrows, taken aback by Vlad¡¯s reaction to their provocation.


    Like Burn thought, the presence of knights was a novel addition; the mobs had never included such armored escorts before.


    Moreover, he began to question the regularity of these confrontations that Vlad had mentioned. The notion that the mobs came every Monday seemed increasingly dubious.


    Given Vlad¡¯s formidable abilities and his pacifist approach, particularly with his mind control powers, it was unlikely that these villagers could consistently muster the will to challenge the church each week, unless Vlad permitted it. Or¡­


    Something had helped them to break free from the mind control.


    "Your land? The audacity to lay claim to the venerable soils of Wintersin as though they were your own personal chattel! Be reminded that this empire is the hallowed domain of the imperial lineage!" the aide declared, his voice dripping with disdain.


    "Moreover, the gentleman before you is none other than His Royal Highness, the Second Prince himself!"


    Ohhh, the man with the finest armor was that Second Prince?


    Burn truly wanted to buy some popcorn and immerse himself in the drama now.


    It''s a pity Galahad wasn''t around to pen this into a script worthy of a noblesque-supernatural-drama-filled-mystery opera that Burn could enjoy in his leisure time.


    ¡°Too bad, old vampire. You entangled yourself with the famous asshole of the imperial family,¡± Burn grinned.


    Vlad didn¡¯t seem to acknowledge Burn¡¯s words. He just stood there, body covered in black from head to toe, face entirely hidden by a veil that not even his eyes were visible.


    Strangely, his black figure seemed to look darker and darker each second.


    In the middle of that, Burn saw the guy with the best armor gesturing again to the man beside him. His aide flinched and nodded.


    The aide cleared his throat with great emphasis, a practiced maneuver designed to reclaim the attention of the now-silent crowd.


    "Ahem, ahem!" he began. He adjusted his slightly less glamorous armor, making a show of smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle, drawing all eyes to him.


    "How magnanimous indeed is His Highness!" he proclaimed, sweeping his arm in a broad, generous arc, as if physically dispersing largesse upon the villagers.


    "For he has not forgotten your acts of kindness and shelter provided during his time of dire need, when you tended to his injuries with such selfless devotion," he paused.


    "In recognition of your loyalty and service," he continued, his voice dipping into solemn tones, "His Highness has graciously decreed to grant you a period of grace¡ªa time allotted for you to make preparations to vacate these lands."


    His hand, clad in the less shiny gauntlet, swept across the crowd slowly, as if bestowing a final benediction. "Even better¡­"


    ¡°Bring out your women and His Highness will shelter them in his palace, free of charge! He would absolve them of the accusation and let them stay there forever under his protection!¡±


    ¡°Pfffft¡ª!¡±


    So that was why.

 30 - Wintersin’s Second Prince (2)

    ¡°Pfffft¡ª!¡±


    Burn had to take a deep breath, holding himself from laughing out loud at these clowns.


    Pathetic!


    Why were there so many pathetic men in this land?!


    So he was lusting over the women? The vampire women? The God worshiping vampire women?!


    Burn was shaking as he stood there. ¡°Huhuhuhu¡­¡±


    No wonder Vlad was so on edge. Now he must¡¯ve realized why his mind control was useless. The prince and his limitless resource was behind it.


    But it also meant that the prince knew he was provoking a brainwashing monster. Whether he knew about the women being vampires or not, whether he knew that the monster he was provoking was an ancient vampire or not, Burn wasn¡¯t sure yet.


    It would be even more interesting if he didn¡¯t know, Burn thought as he sneered to himself.


    It could be that he thought they were just average demon worshipers, right?


    The commotion gradually spread and now the church members started to emerge from the building. From their silhouette, Burn noticed even the women also came out from their rooms.


    Oh, one might question how Burn, with his tall build and formidable aura, managed to stand amidst the chaos unnoticed. He, as mentioned, was in his disguise; he employed his Force art to conceal his true identity.


    However, he observed a peculiar detail: while the mob and the knights remained oblivious to his presence, many members of the vampire church seemed to see right through his illusion.


    So at least 70% of the group would be able to subdue the entire mob and the knights almost instantaneously if push came to shove.


    Observing church members, even with their faces obscured by veils, Burn understood why it was Vlad who typically handled these situations. The other vampires¡¯ readiness suggested they were on the brink of attack.


    Even if the knights only dropped one single pin to the ground, the silence would be broken and they wouldn¡¯t know what killed them.


    ¡°That¡¯s right! To let the women suffer under this demon worshipers organization is a sin! They must¡¯ve used them for sacrifice rituals!¡±


    Someone instigated the mob.


    ¡°OH GOD! IT¡¯S HORRIBLE!¡±


    ¡°SURRENDER THEM! You must¡¯ve brainwashed them!¡±


    ¡°We have to take them back!¡±


    ¡°Your Highness, help us!¡±


    The prince sat in resplendent silence, an island of smug serenity amidst a sea of peasant turmoil.


    The mob, now unified in desperation rather than anger, implored him to rescue the ''brainwashed'' women, who they claimed had been seduced by the dangerously reasonable ideas of the black robed organization.


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    His Highness, elevated both on his horse and in his self-regard, surveyed the scene with a disdain that could curdle milk. His lip curled ever so slightly, as if the very air breathed by the common folk offended his royal nostrils.


    The prince¡¯s eyes, glazed with the sheen of unearned superiority, flickered over the crowd like a lord inspecting turnips that had the audacity to sprout in his field without permission.


    ¡°Peasants,¡± he began, his voice dripping with a condescension so thick it could be spread on toast, ¡°fear not, for I have heard your quaint little concerns.¡± The words hung in the air, a banner of benevolent neglect.


    The prince, a flare of determination in his eyes, straightened in his saddle and pointed a gauntleted finger dramatically towards the church.


    ¡°I will rescue each and every lady you captured under your spells,¡± he declared, his voice booming across the now-silent crowd.


    He paused, sweeping his gaze over the villagers as if to ensure they grasped the gravity of his next words.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± he continued, leaning slightly forward in his saddle, ¡°including that beautiful blonde lady in the coffin you stored in your deep and dark dungeon under the church.¡±


    There was a moment''s hesitation as he glanced down at his armored glove, seeming to gather his thoughts. Then, looking up, he added, ¡°She might have died, but I will give her a proper¡­¡±


    Here, he cleared his throat, a brief, awkward sound that echoed oddly in the quiet, ¡°AHEM! You know, imperial farewell!¡± His voice regained its confident timbre as he finished his vow, nodding firmly to emphasize his commitment.


    Wow.


    Burn thought he was just a pathetic pervert and an asshole, but was he also a necrophiliac?


    For Prince Cletus Von Winter, that infamous royal fuckup, the art of dragging his own and his family''s name through the mud came as naturally as breathing.


    The moment his dick got hard, it was game over for any semblance of decorum or dignity. This prince didn''t just flirt with scandals; he fucked it, regularly and with gusto. It was his goddamn calling card.


    Not to mention fucking a corpse. He often killed people while he was still inside of them for his ultimate release¡ªand then continue fucking them until their body become cold.


    Well, if even the imperial family has stopped giving a damn about covering up his usual tomfuckery, then you could bet your ass his real character was even more fucked up¡­ with deeper atrociousness behind the scenes.


    A couple of weeks ago, Cletus found himself sprinting through the woods with assassins on his heels. But no, it wasn¡¯t thanks to his vile actions against a local woman.


    As luck, or perhaps misfortune, would have it, he was left for dead, sporting a shiny new injury as a souvenir from one of his atrocious escapade.


    He thought he was truly going to die.


    Cletus prayed earnestly to god, out loud, pathetically, groveling on the ground with the last energy he had. It almost looked like he truly regretted everything he had done.


    Here, enter the vampires who stumbled upon him and nursed him back to health.


    Sheltered within the walls of a church, the prince decided to play the convalescent card longer than necessary, duping his fanged rescuers who, it turns out, weren''t exactly well-versed in human physiology.


    As boredom overtook him, he decided to look around the mysterious place. His first major discovery was the church''s basement¡ªor as he dramatically dubbed it, "the dungeon."


    He stumbled upon the coffin-dwelling woman.


    Enchanting, haunting, he had never encountered a woman of her allure. However, his nocturnal rendezvous was cut short when vampires found him and forcefully dragged him away, nearly tearing apart his recently healed wounds.


    But wait, that wasn¡¯t all! On subsequent evenings, driven by a mix of curiosity and perhaps a dash of creepiness, he found himself voyeur to a scene straight out of a mythical wet dream:


    Vampire women, bathing in a river, their beauty magnified by the moonlight, free of their full coverings. Apparently, the sight was enough to stir feelings within him¡ªwell.


    This moment in this life was truly a culmination of his poor decisions and even poorer justifications.


    But strangely, at that moment, Burn¡¯s brain¡¯s chemistry reacted to the phrase ¡°that beautiful blonde lady in the coffin you stored in your deep and dark dungeon under the church¡±.


    Burn hadn¡¯t gone there. He remembered vampires taking turn guarding a certain door. Well, after the human prince snuck there a couple of weeks ago, of course they would guard the door now.


    With this information, Burn turned toward the old man beside him.


    Vlad, sensing his sharp gaze, also turned to him. ¡°Ah, right. Didn¡¯t you also come for her?¡±

 31 - Can You Shut up for a Bit?

    ¡°Ah, right. Didn¡¯t you also come for her?¡±


    Burn eyes widened.


    It had been a while since something could surprise Burn to this degree. And to think that it was because of the same woman¡­ heh.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying¡­ she¡¯s already¡­¡± Burn couldn¡¯t control the irritation in his chest. But if she already died, then he would¡¯ve returned, right?


    ¡°Accept His Highness¡¯ kindness, you demon worshipers!¡± bellowed the prince¡¯s right-hand man, his voice laced with condescension.


    It was immediately met with a symphony of uproar from the crowd. Here comes, the mob suggested¡ªthat the church receive a rapid, unscheduled renovation by fire! To the ground!


    "LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE!" They chanted, their voices a harmonious blend of outrage.


    The dwellers of the church were encouraged, with the gentle subtlety of a sledgehammer, to pack their bags and explore the exciting world of anywhere-but-here.


    ¡°Evict yourselves, or be evicted!¡± they cried out.


    The air was thick with the perfume of righteous indignation and the smoky essence of impending arson, creating a festive atmosphere that really brought the neighborhood together.


    Ah, nothing says ¡®unity¡¯ quite like a good old-fashioned church burning, guided by the tender mercies of His Highness¡¯ most gracious diplomacy.


    Yes.


    This was the pinnacle of medieval justice.


    But they didn''t realize how much their actions had inconvenienced a certain Mount Tai. This person was deep in thought, and their actions disrupted that train of thought.


    Burn sighed. ¡°Can you shut up for a bit?¡±


    It was like a spell.


    Oh, the irony was delicious. One moment, the mob was a cacophony of curses and threats, the next, an exquisite silence descended like a curtain at the end of a particularly tragic play.


    Their mouths were agape, a comical array of O¡¯s and U¡¯s, as if the concept of silence was an alien artifact they couldn¡¯t quite comprehend.


    It was as though an invisible hand¡ªperhaps belonging to a particularly irked being¡ªhad reached down and gently squeezed their throats shut. Not enough to harm, mind you, just enough to hush them into a stunned, breathless quiet.


    The knights, in their clanking armor, looked particularly foolish, like tin soldiers wound up for battle but suddenly bereft of their bravery.


    And the second prince, oh the prince! His royal indignation at being silenced mid-pompoussy was a portrait of thwarted arrogance that would have delighted the most cynical of court painters.


    The force? Let''s just say it had the subtle charm of a velvet glove with an iron fist inside. Absolutely terrifying.


    Still, it was nothing compared to what was coming.


    Previously concealed with his Force, deluding people of his presence, Burn emerged. Shedding his disguise, even a lot of the vampires got a chill from his entrance.


    Burn noticed that the knights, and even the second prince himself, didn''t possess much of the outsiders'' technology.


    This indicated that they lacked support from the imperial family or any significant nobles, except perhaps the prince''s maternal family, who might have grown tired of his antics.


    So he didn¡¯t hold back.


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    Tap!


    As he strode forward, each step a proclamation of doom, the common folk did what any puny human would do in the face of impending annihilation¡ªthey collapsed backward in a rather unflattering display of bladder betrayal.


    No. Some even almost shit themselves. How the ground must have glistened with the sheen of fear itself!


    The entourage was no less pathetic. The horses, those noble beasts of burden, transformed into skittish shadows of their former selves.


    NEIGH!


    WHEEZE!


    Their screams pierced the air, a symphony of high-pitched terror, as they danced backward in a clumsy ballet of panic. What a spectacle it was, a veritable circus with Burn as the ringmaster, commanding dread and wet trousers with mere footsteps.


    GASP!


    HA!


    PANT! PANT!


    And let¡¯s not forget the knights¡ªthe frozen statues of men! Their mouths agape, yet void of sound, as if someone had cruelly hit the mute button on their vocal cords.


    There they stood, a gallery of petrified souls before Burn¡¯s presence. The silence was so profound, one could almost hear the quiet whimper of their dignity, fleeing the scene.


    As Burn approached the regal centerpiece of this silent opera, the prince, mounted high upon his steed like a tin soldier on a toy horse, his fa?ade of bravery was as thin as the veneer on a cheap armoire.


    The steed, bless its equine heart, had apparently not signed up for this level of malice. With a frantic leap, worthy of the grandest stages, it unseated its royal burden.


    NEIGH! GRR!


    ¡°AAAAAAAH!¡±


    THUD!!


    There lay the prince, the epitome of royal grace, sprawled in the dirt. His body writhing, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of his own mortality.


    As Burn closed in, each step a tolling bell of doom, the prince seemed to shrink smaller, a shriveling violet confronted by the golden white sun.


    Truly, if Burn was the god of death, then this pitiful scene was his underworldly domain, a realm where pride came to whimper and bravery to wet itself.


    As the shadow of Burn loomed over the fallen prince, one could almost hear the faint echo of the underworld¡¯s laughter, amused by the mortal play unfolding.


    ¡°W-w-WHO are you to DARE¡ª!¡±


    SLAP!


    Burn¡¯s palm landed successfully on the cheek of Prince Cletus.


    ¡°Huh¡­?¡±


    The slap, as resounding as a judge''s gavel, echoed through the courtyard, a sound so profound it could likely awaken the dead from their peaceful slumber.


    The impact was nothing short of seismic. One might say it had enough force to realign the very continents, or at least the dental configuration of our dear prince.


    As the prince''s teeth wobbled precariously, like a drunkard on a tightrope, the flesh in his cheek gave up the ghost, rotting instantly as if touched by the dark hand of the Grim Reaper.


    Blood vessels, traumatized by such unbridled brutality, decided to clot in horror, forming a small, morbid congregation at the site of impact.


    Oh, the knights and peasants alike bore witness to this royal recalibration, their silence hanging heavy in the air¡ªa dreadful, almost delicious silence.


    It was as if they were all collectively holding their breath, not daring to let even a single protest escape, lest they be next in line for such a "noble" correction.


    "Ou DARE! OU DARE!" Despite losing half of his face, the prince felt no pain, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Unable to flee, he stood his ground, screaming through his tears with a defiant, yet pompous air.


    And so,


    SLAP!!


    There you go, the second slap¡ªa symphony of disdain played out on the delicate canvas of Prince Cletus'' cheek.


    With a flourish less vigorous than its predecessor, it still managed to resuscitate the pain from the initial assault, which had momentarily retreated into the shadows courtesy of the adrenaline.


    How thoughtful of Burn to orchestrate such a painful reminder.


    In that splendid interlude between pain and humiliation, Burn had, indeed, extended an olive branch disguised as a pause¡ªperhaps a moment for reflection or surrender.


    Yet, Prince Cletus, in his infinite wisdom and experience of being perpetually unopposed¡ªsave for the occasional scolding from his regal brother or the imperial disappointment from Daddy Dearest¡ªfailed to grasp this lifeline.


    You see, poor Cletus had never been taught the elegant dance of retreat. No, the steps he knew were those of forward march, the spoiled stomp, the royal tantrum.


    So, when faced with the novel sensation of a repeated slap, his shocked faculties were as unprepared as a cat in a bathtub.


    Thus, our Prince stood there, hellishly stinging cheek and all, the perfect portrait of bewildered aristocracy drenched in tears, blood and saliva.


    SLAP!!


    The third slap echoed sharply through the air.


    At that moment, a bizarre transformation swept over the crowd. The mobs of peasants, who had been paralyzed by an indescribable fear, now erupted in tears.


    Watching the prince fall to the ground, humiliated and defeated, they did not shed tears of helplessness as one might expect. Instead, their faces, wet with tears¡­radiated joy.

 32 - Seventh Slap

    SLAP!


    ¡°AAAAAAAH!¡±


    The fourth slap.


    The reason the villagers were so keen on pushing away the church at the request of the prince, was of course, not only because of the royal resource freeing them from Vlad¡¯s mind control.


    It was because the prince himself had terrorized them.


    SLAP!


    ¡°GUH! UGH!¡±


    ¡°Hmm, seeing how they reacted, it seems you had also touched their women too, huh?¡± Burn muttered as he delivered the fifth slap.


    Their unexpected display of emotion stemmed from weeks of tyranny under the prince''s ¡®rest¡¯ in their village after he was kicked away from the church.


    Each slap, echoing the grievances and silent sufferings they had endured, struck a chord within their hearts. As the prince lay powerless, the peasants saw a symbol of their own liberation unfolding before their eyes.


    It was as if each tear shed was a release of pent-up anguish, and with every drop, they washed away some of the bitterness that had long tainted their lives.


    SLAP!!


    How could they possibly challenge the prince of the empire?


    Even as the prince teetered on the edge of downfall, his royal status ensured that any rebellion against him would be met with severe consequences, with no protection from the higher echelons of power.


    Their women were violated, their children attacked¡ªyet what options did they have? They were powerless, crushed under the prince''s tyrannical will.


    So, when the depraved prince demanded the women of the church, their fury had no choice but to simmer and redirect. Anything, just to get that monster off their backs.


    SLAP!!


    The grand finale¡ªthe seventh slap!


    Clearly, a performance worth a standing ovation.


    There lay the prince, a royal mess on the ground, his face a deconstructed, cubism painting¡ªabstract and barely recognizable.


    His teeth had gone on a little adventure, some hanging by a thread in his mouth, others taking a bloody dive onto the dirty floor, and a lucky few getting a first-class trip down his throat. Swallowed, or clogged his respiratory system.


    Calling him black and blue would be like calling a tornado a gentle breeze¡ªutterly inadequate. The man wasn''t just bruised; he was a walking, well, lying disaster.


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    Might have snagged himself a minor concussion too, if he''s lucky. What a show, folks, what a show!


    If you asked Burn, he''d tell you he wasn''t fucking satisfied yet. But if he kept it up, he''d definitely end up killing the bastard. Wouldn''t be his loss, though, but a damn tragedy for everyone else. Especially those poor villagers.


    And the vampires. Well, given how things were going, Burn would be affected eventually too.


    But, this time was ripe for the vampire¡¯s mind control ability to shine.


    Thus, Burn turned toward Vlad, and with one look, the old man knew what to do.


    Burn''s voice was low. "I want you to instill a fear," he began, his words deliberate, "a fear so deep, so dormant, that it lingers in their subconscious, that their own brain works hard to suppress the memory.¡±


    ¡°Ensure they tremble at the mere thought of this place; make them never dare to even approach these grounds again."


    He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink into the minds of everyone present. There was a sinister calm in his demeanor, a poised readiness of a predator.


    Slowly, his head turned towards the crumpled figure of the prince, who was a lying mess on the ground.


    With a sudden movement, Burn stepped towards the prince. His hand shot out, fingers entwining cruelly in the prince''s hair. He clenched his fist, yanking the prince¡¯s head back with such force that it seemed he might rip the hair right from his scalp.


    The prince gasped, half conscious, a sharp, pained sound that echoed within the courtyard.


    Burn leaned down. His expression was one of cold fury mixed with a twisted satisfaction.


    ¡°Especially this guy.¡±


    Burn tightened his grip, pulling the prince up with a rough jerk, treating him no better than a sack of flesh. The prince''s body jolted, his limbs flailing weakly as he struggled to find his footing.


    Burn held him there, suspended in discomfort and fear.


    ¡°Go on,¡± he said to Vlad.


    Burn realized that these devoted vampires had an aversion to getting their hands dirty.


    It became clear that this was the very reason they welcomed him into their secretive community¡ªsomeone had to take care of the less glamorous tasks.


    And so, they continued to wait on their feet, seemingly incapable of lifting a finger themselves. What an excruciating way of life. Shackled beasts with hunger for blood, yet they chose this kind of life themselves.


    Vlad unveiled his upper veil, a pair of crimson orbs glowed from within.


    The knights and the prince, already in a state of vulnerability and mental weakness, fell under the old vampire''s powerful mind control spell.


    Their minds were tormented, their fears amplified a hundredfold. Vlad delivered precisely what Burn had requested: an overwhelming surge of pure terror.


    But Vlad didn¡¯t stop there. He did the same with the villagers, but a tad bit different.


    He offered more lenience and empathy in his mind control spell, giving them a chance to heal their sanity, both from today¡¯s event, and the prince¡¯s torment.


    ¡°Go home. Go back to your own places,¡± Vlad said.


    As the commotion subsided, like zombies, the crowd slowly dispersed. The mob seemed entranced as they departed, while the knights retreated on horseback, dragging the second prince with them.


    "Thank you for your assistance," Vlad expressed his gratitude as he approached Burn, who stood there visibly annoyed.


    "You all could have managed without me," Burn retorted, his voice tinged with irritation.


    "Indeed, we might have," Vlad conceded.


    "However, the vampires are young and still navigating their faith. They are quickly agitated, and once they resort to violence, it becomes difficult to rein them back in. The instinctual craving for blood dominates our nature," he explained.


    ¡°Why would I care about that? It became annoying, so I took care of it,¡± Burn said flatly, ¡°But, you owe me one, old man.¡±


    Vlad raised his eyebrows, chuckling. ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°So now, bring me to her.¡±


    The two immediately exchanged looks.


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay.¡±

 33 - Sleeping Beauty

    Burn descended the stone steps, leading under the church to the vast basement. The expected chill wrapped around him like a welcome from an old, frosty friend.


    Surprisingly, the place was immaculate, as if dust and decay dared not settle where the undead rested. With Vlad gliding ahead like a dark parade float, Burn followed into a chamber that could only be described as ''Gothic Aesthetic meets Funeral Home.''


    The room was an ethereal maze of transparent white curtains, cascading from the ceiling like ghostly waterfalls. At the heart of it were floating candles, their flames flickering with the enthusiasm of a morose disco.


    These encircled a single black coffin. The air was thick, saturated with a fragrance potent enough to resurrect the dead¡ªor at least make the living wish for a gas mask.


    "Apologies for the overpowering scent," Vlad explained as he noticed Burn''s discomfort.


    "The younger vampires possess exceptionally acute senses of smell, and this child, in particular, has a very alluring aroma. The fragrance helps to mask her scent."


    As Burn edged closer to the open black coffin, his gaze fell upon the woman lying within, her appearance strikingly beautiful yet hauntingly serene.


    She was dressed in a pure white gown that contrasted sharply with the dark roses scattered across her form, perhaps serving both as a somber decoration and a practical means to mask her enticing scent.


    Her beauty was ethereal, almost transcendent, as if she were a celestial being caught in a temporal slumber. The purity of her dress mirrored the innocence etched on her features, creating an arresting image of surreal tranquility.


    Her blonde hair, paler now than Burn remembered, spilled around her like a halo of faded gold, framing her face in delicate wisps.


    Her eyes, closed gently as if she were merely sleeping, were shielded by eyelashes that seemed almost crystalline, frozen in time.


    Despite the peacefulness of her repose, there was an unsettling stillness to her, akin to a lifeless doll abandoned in a forgotten toy chest.


    ¡°She¡¯s only asleep, isn¡¯t she?¡± Burn queried, his tone laced with skepticism.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking, yes,¡± Vlad responded, his voice carrying a hint of questionable assurance. ¡°That is, according to vampire standards.¡±


    Burn furrowed his brow. ¡°And what does that mean in human terms?¡±


    Vlad gave a nonchalant shrug. ¡°For us, it''s akin to a deep slumber. But for humans, one might liken it to a vegetative state. It¡¯s not as if she can just decide to wake up and join us for tea.¡±


    ¡°That sounds dangerous,¡± Burn commented, his attempt to navigate the conversation with this age-old vampire feeling more like defusing a bomb without a manual.


    ¡°Then, are you going to wake her up?¡± Vlad asked.


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Try to kiss her~ like sleeping beauty~¡±


    ¡°You fucking¡ª¡±


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    "I''m serious," Vlad said abruptly. "We discovered her on a frozen mountain to the north of here. Her body was completely frozen, and nearly all of her soul energy had been drained."


    Burn furrowed his brows. ¡°When was this?¡±


    "Hmm, three years ago, was it?" Vlad muttered thoughtfully. "It was sometime after that crack appeared in the sky."


    Immediately, Burn¡¯s thought about Yvain¡¯s words before he left. ¡°The Edensor boy sent multiple letters here asking about her whereabouts. I heard you told him that you didn¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°What would happen if he knew? No. What would happen if anyone knew?¡± Vlad asked back.


    If news of her condition were to spread, it could jeopardize Yvain and his position. Moreover, even if Yvain were informed, there''s little he could do about it. In fact, knowing might only harm his own wellbeing.


    "It''s challenging enough for us to manage on our own," Vlad suddenly remarked. "We''re containing dangerous beasts here, training them through faith and sheer determination. We''re not equipped to meddle in worldly affairs."


    "However, until she recovers, we will provide her with shelter," he added. ¡°And it¡¯s not like we have the means to help her recover faster either.¡±


    [¡°Ah, right. Didn¡¯t you also come for her?¡±]


    [¡°But, you owe me one, old man. So now, bring me to her. Morgan Le Fay.¡±]


    After Vlad disclosed her whereabouts to Burn, Burn agreed to assist him in resolving the situation with the second prince.


    This arrangement allowed Burn to meet Morgan Le Fay, while Vlad and the vampires managed to settle the issue without getting their hands dirty.


    ¡°You actually already planned to disclose her whereabouts to me earlier. So you should¡¯ve still owed me one,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Vlad shrugged again. ¡°I don¡¯t mind giving you one.¡±


    From his vantage point, Vlad watched as Burn approached the coffin with a mixture of reverence and subtle trepidation. It was not often that one witnessed Burn, a figure often cloaked in stoicism, allowing his guard to drop, even if just slightly.


    As he neared, Burn¡¯s face softened, illuminated by a cocktail of dark longing and a faint trace of anger. Here was a legendary witch, alive yet dormant, her mystique intact even in slumber.


    Each step Burn took was measured, almost reverential, as if every footfall on the cold stone floor was both a privilege and a trespass into sacred territory.


    His eyes, typically sharp and commanding, now roamed over her features with a gentleness born of respect and a deep-seated hatred.


    He seemed to be searching for echoes of the magic that Morgan Le Fay was famed for, the power that had trapped him in this soul binding curse.


    Pausing beside the coffin, Burn''s gaze lingered on her serene face.


    There was a quiet intensity in the way he observed her, as though committing every detail to memory¡ªperhaps out of respect for her power, or perhaps to better understand the circumstances that led to her current vulnerability.


    In this moment, the usual hardness of Burn''s demeanor gave way to a subtle vulnerability. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, revealing a flicker of human emotion that he typically kept well hidden.


    ¡°What happened to her?¡± Burn growled beneath his breath.


    Vlad teased. ¡°Aww~ you love her so much do you?¡±


    Burn raised his face, utterly disgusted.


    "No one knows what happened to her," Vlad commented. "You should ask her when she wakes up, but that won¡¯t be anytime soon, right? You¡¯ve seen her condition yourself. It''s possible she may never wake up."


    Burn knew. This woman was too beaten up to wake up. Not to mention¡­


    ¡°But isn¡¯t that best for you and your curse?¡± Vlad suddenly said sinisterly, ¡°You¡¯d still be cursed, but as long as you keep her alive, you won¡¯t have to return, right?¡±


    Mind¡­ reading?


    ¡°This bastard old vampire!¡± Burn snapped. He knew about the curse¡ª?


    ¡°Like I said, someone like you would choose the most effective method, right? Just keep her asleep so she wouldn¡¯t be a headache to you,¡± the old vampire said.


    ¡°You¡ª¡±


    ¡°A couple of months ago, her soul energy suddenly depleted again. She lost her breath and almost died. Her entire organ was failing,¡± Vlad stepped closer toward Burn, suddenly giving a menacing aura.


    ¡°After a couple of days peeking into your mind, I knew¡­ it was you,¡± Vlad coldly said.


    ¡°You took everything away from her.¡±

 34 - Breathe More

    ¡°You took everything away from her.¡±


    A Vision user relied on their souls to produce and control mana. They could heal themselves, keeping their body healthy with automatic recovery magic if needed.


    So even if her body was in a dire situation, Morgan would still be able to heal herself if given time.


    But, just when she was able to recover enough soul energy and recover her body after three years, suddenly, it was depleted again a couple of months ago.


    Yes. The exact moment Burn returned from three years in the future¡­


    More than him, Morgan was in a worse suffocating loop.


    Three years from today, she would manage to wake up, and realizing that everything she loved was gone because of Burn, she would confront him and looped him back to three years prior, depleting her energy once again.


    Ouroboros. She was a snake eating her own tail.


    ¡°Now that you have her in your possession, you can even manipulate her. You can use her disciple as your hostage and force her to mend the curse as much as you like, giving you advantage. As long as you keep her by your side¡­¡± Vlad paused.


    ¡°You might even become a real immortal.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°That¡¯s a good idea,¡± Burn smiled. ¡°But why are you staring at me like you¡¯re going to kill me?¡±


    ¡°How could I kill you?¡± Vlad laughed. ¡°You¡¯re just going to go back to the predestined time and her soul would be depleted once more.¡±


    "Not to mention the stacking effect," Vlad asked, his tone laced with concern.


    "How many loops have you wasted already? With each loop, the penalty on her soul doubles. Even though she''s the infinite witch and might eventually awaken, don''t you think each time it happens, she''ll wake up further into the future?"


    ¡°But she always comes¡­ at the exact time,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Just because she can, it doesn¡¯t mean it was easy, right?¡±


    ¡°It was her own stupid choice to curse me!¡± Burn snapped.


    ¡°Because you took everything away from her,¡± Vlad reminded.


    Silence once more.


    ¡°She was weak, and on the brink of death each time. Yet she chose not to kill you with her remaining power. She chose to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Kill herself,¡± Burn sighed.


    Well, well.


    Was it not the consequence of his own action?


    "Why... didn''t she kill me?" Burn murmured, confused, weary.


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    As he stood by the side of Morgan Le Fay''s coffin, the weight of his question hung in the air.


    He knew her capabilities were vast, perhaps limitless, and it puzzled him deeply why she chose to manipulate time instead of simply eliminating him.


    What was it about his existence that necessitated preservation rather than elimination? Did Morgan see him as a piece in a larger puzzle, one whose role was not yet fulfilled?


    Did she want his power, like he wanted hers?


    These thoughts filled Burn¡¯s head as he gazed upon her serene, timeless face. The decision to rewind time rather than killing him could imply that Morgan Le Fay believed in possibilities that were not yet apparent.


    And he was merely dancing on top of her palm.


    "About that, you''ll have to ask her yourself when she wakes up," Vlad said. He then turned and walked away, leaving Burn alone in the chamber with his thoughts.


    GRIT!


    Burn''s hand tightened around the edge of the open coffin. His grip was firm, perhaps desperate.


    The coffin, made of dark, polished wood, seemed to absorb the scant light, casting deep shadows around its edges.


    If Burn''s grasp were any stronger, the wood might splinter under the force, marring the coffin''s sleek surface and disrupting the meticulously arranged ornaments that surrounded it.


    Such a breach could fracture the delicate balance of the chamber¡ªbecause apparently, the vampires¡¯ magic had helped her as much as they could to shelter and strengthen her.


    When Burn¡¯s eyes wandered around her face, in a blink, it almost looked like she opened her eyes, but no. Burn focused his eyes and he was wrong. It was just his own eyes playing tricks on him.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Burn realized something. ¡°Just some time ago¡­ you¡¯re still breathing¡­¡±


    The man widened his eyes.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you breathing?¡± Burn shoved his hands between the petals of roses, grazing the sharp thorns, touching her soft and cold cheek. ¡°Breathe!¡±


    Fear gripped him. If she died, he would return again¡ªand her soul would¡ª


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay, breathe!¡±


    Her organ was failing. His Force could sense it. ¡°No. This¡ª¡±


    This was what Vlad said earlier.


    [¡°A couple of months ago, her soul energy suddenly depleted again. She lost her breath and almost died. Her entire organ was failing.¡±]


    But what was happening? Why suddenly¡­ Was it because she wasn¡¯t fully recovered from the incident a couple of months ago?


    If she died now, he would return back to before the war started.


    ¡°Don¡¯t die, Morgan,¡± Burn was desperate now. ¡°I didn¡¯t kill your disciple this time! Are you forcing me to redo that again?¡±


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay!¡±


    [¡°Try to kiss her~ like sleeping beauty~¡±]


    ¡°Tch!¡± Why did he remember that now?!


    But¡ª


    GRASP! CLATTER¨CCLATTER!


    ¡°Mmh¡­¡±


    A woman¡¯s body was soft. But not only was she soft, she was also light, and thin. She felt fragile.


    The moment their lips brushed together, and then pressed to each other, Burn¡¯s Force started to ignite. She had no sign of Force at all, and her Vision was depleted alongside her soul energy.


    Her body felt like an empty shell of a lifeless human.


    Yet, she was alive. Unmistakably.


    And he begged for her to stay alive.


    ¡°Ngh¡­ mh¡­¡±


    There! The subtle rise and fall of her chest had returned. The warmth that emanated from her skin, all reconfirmed her existence in this world.


    ¡®Breathe!¡¯ Burn screamed from the deepest pit of his chest. ¡®Breathe more, damnit!¡¯


    ¡°GASP!¡±


    She was gasping for air. Her empty eyes blinked open, and slowly focused¡­ to see him.


    ¡°C¡­Caliburn¡­ Soulnon Pendragon¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t die after calling my name again,¡± Burn demanded as he grasped her cheek and jaw. ¡°Breathe, Morgan.¡±


    ¡°Give me¡­ more¡­¡±


    Burn sighed, his eyes complicated, but he relented and gave her more¡ªkiss¡ªForce.


    It was akin to thirst. An insatiable longing that coursed through their veins. As their lips met, once again, she drank in his Force, inhaling it with an urgency that mirrored the need for air itself.


    It was a desperate, forceful exchange, a silent communion that left them both yearning for more.


    Her breath mingled with his, forming a delicate dance of desire and passion. Like a parched wanderer stumbling upon an oasis, she savored the taste of his Force, drawing it deep into her being.


    It was an intoxicating exchange, a subtle yet powerful exchange of energies that left them both breathless.


    ¡°You¡¯re killing me. That should be enough, right?¡± Burn whispered at the end of it.


    But the woman in front of him¡­ had started to daze off again¡ª


    ¡°Don¡¯t die again, this bi¡ªwitch!¡±

 35 - Give Me More

    "I didn''t know you could do that," Burn said. "I didn''t know you could transfer the mana you''re able to control through your Force to someone else."


    "Normally, you can''t. It''s just that you two are a good match," Vlad replied, knowing that Burn would be able to catch his hint on how to help Morgan awaken.


    Burn couldn''t help but roll his eyes at Vlad''s cryptic response. "What good match? She doesn''t have the same Force affinity as I do. Not to mention her talent in Force is¡ª¡±


    "Zero, I know," A mischievous grin played on Vlad''s lips, and Burn was sure of its presence under those veils. "Now you know why she''s dying, right?"


    Burn let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "That''s obvious. Her body can''t sustain itself without her Vision."


    Vlad nodded knowingly, his eyes behind his veil twinkling with a hint of amusement. "But she''s alive," he pointed out.


    With a sarcastic quirk of an eyebrow, Burn retorted, "Because she is the Infinite Witch? What does that even mean? No, don''t tell me to ask her."


    Vlad couldn''t help but chuckle as he finally finished brewing a cup of sweet milk tea. He turned to Burn, holding up the steaming cup. "Why not?" he asked, a note of mischief in his voice. "She''s awake now."


    "You address me with such ease now, young man. It pleases me to see you''ve shed any pretense in front of this old soul," Vlad remarked.


    "Given your distinct personality and the isolation that often accompanies great strength, I find myself curious about how you interact with those under your command."


    "Playing the tyrant wouldn''t do me any good, not with you coddling me like this," Burn retorted as the man put the sweet milk tea in front of him.


    ¡°It so happens that you two are the complete opposite,¡± Vlad explained. He leaned back in his chair, the old leather creaking under his weight. ¡°That¡¯s why it worked.¡±


    Burn crossed his arms defensively, his brows knitting together in a frown. ¡°Not because our souls are connected by the curse?¡±


    Vlad¡¯s smile broadened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging Burn¡¯s point.


    ¡°The curse itself might work in the first place because you¡¯re a good opposite match,¡± he conceded, his hands gesturing gently in the air as if to balance the scales of fate between them.


    Burn was right. The woman was planning everything to turn out this way.


    "Fine," Burn declared, abruptly rising from his seat, the untouched milk tea still resting on the table. His movements were brisk, almost dismissive as he prepared to leave.


    Vlad''s eyes lit up with delight. "Bring the cup with you, boy. Drink it on the way."


    "I''m not going to bring that with me," Burn shot back, his tone firm and final. Without another word, he turned on his heel, the door closing sharply behind him with a resolute click, sealing off the conversation.


    Vlad sighed. ¡°Sweet boy.¡±


    ***


    Muscle atrophy.


    After three years lounging in a vegetative state, Morgan Le Fay found herself in the regrettable position of dealing with muscle atrophy.


    It seemed even the Infinite Witch wasn''t immune to the whims of biology. There she was, with her muscles, decided to take an extended holiday.


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    Upon waking, Morgan discovered that her weak physique had dwindled even more to something that would struggle to intimidate a well-fed pigeon.


    Her arms, previously capable of moving elegantly, now seemed challenged by the heft of a teacup. Her legs, which had carried her through dimensions and battles, now wobbled like a novice on ice skates.


    ¡°HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!¡±


    As Morgan Le Fay clung to the wooden bar provided by the ever-so-accommodating vampires of the church¡ªa makeshift gym for the magically incapacitated¡ªshe roared with a ferocity that would make a banshee consider a career change.


    Weirdly, she sounded melodically good.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!¡±


    ¡°Why is she singing like that? It sounds good, but isn¡¯t she straining herself?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s just screaming.¡±


    ¡°YAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!¡±


    Each pull-up was a battle cry, each squat a declaration of war against her rebellious muscles. The air was thick with the sound of her grunts and groans, a symphony of pain and determination that echoed off the ancient stone walls.


    But everything coming out of her mouth sounded good.


    ¡°Oh, Your Majesty Burn, are you visiting Miss Momo today?¡± one of the vampires greeted Burn when he approached.


    Momo¡­


    So the reason no one knew about ¡°Morgan Le Fay¡± was because she was known as ¡°Miss Momo¡± here.


    ¡°HAAAAAAAAAH!¡±


    Yet, amidst her struggle of rehabilitation, Morgan''s beauty remained ludicrously unaffected.


    It was almost offensive how, between her gasps for breath and the beads of sweat cascading down her forehead, she could look like she had just stepped out of a fairy tale painting.


    Her hair, though tousled, fell around her face in perfect disarray, catching the dim light in a way that seemed purposefully designed to add an ethereal glow.


    Her skin, despite the strain, held a luminous quality, as if she were partly made of moonlight.


    The vampires, ever the connoisseurs of human suffering and beauty, couldn''t help but pause in their whisperings to admire the absurdness of her charm.


    Simply, Burn bet Morgan would look beautiful in the middle of constipated shitting.


    CLATTER! CRASH!


    "Ah!"


    "Miss Momo!"


    "Oh no, are you alright?"


    The vampires quickly gathered around her, visibly worried. They converged on her position as she lay on the ground, attempting to gently assist her.


    She gradually got back on her feet, laughing at herself. "Well, what do you know? It''s tough."


    "Why don''t you just use your Vision to fix yourself up?"


    Burn suddenly inquired from a not-so-safe distance, his voice mildly frosty. He clucked his tongue disdainfully, "Pathetic."


    The vampires clad in black robes shifted uneasily, their faces a mix of emotions behind their veils as they glanced at Burn.


    Morgan retorted, "Oh sure, I could just blow all my little Vision on a self-repair. But then, what kind of guest would I be if I didn¡¯t use the generous ''Force'' gift card someone gave me?"


    Force energy works best when you actually move your body, not just think really hard about moving it. Unfortunately for Morgan, her natural grace with Force energy was on par with a sloth''s sprinting skills.


    Combine that with her current state of looking like she lost a wrestling match with a tornado, and you''ve got a recipe for some seriously clumsy energy flow.


    And let''s be honest, taking this quick route was not just about efficiency¡ªit was also about hoarding her Vision like a miser with gold coins. After all, why blow through your magical reserves when you can just limp along with the basics?


    ¡°Why? Are you trying to threaten me with my disciple?¡± Morgan asked. ¡°You want me to hurry and lift your curse, so I¡¯m working hard here.¡±


    Silence enveloped the scene.


    ¡°Sisters, Brothers, thank you for worrying about me. I am alright. I¡¯ll speak with His Majesty, so can you give us some space?¡± Morgan asked.


    Yep.


    That was one of the reasons Burn couldn¡¯t speak freely with her this couple of days. The vampires were wary of him.


    ¡°Miss Momo¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, I promise.¡±


    With those final words, the vampires cast one last look of concern before they reluctantly departed.


    Burn sarcastically sneered, ¡°There you go, ¡®Miss Momo¡¯.¡±


    Morgan chuckled.


    He was about to sit on a nearby chair, but he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Morgan looking up at him, grasping at both his clothes and the wooden bar.


    ¡°I¡¯ve spent your Force energy for today. Before we talk, please give me more.¡±

 36 - Mind Reading Spell

    ¡°How did you know about the loops?¡±


    In the Wintersin Empire, where seasons had a dramatic flair for the ironic, teetering on the edge of summer like a novice on a tightrope.


    Here, the weather gods seemed to have a twisted sense of humor, gifting chilly showers and a gloom that clung more stubbornly than an unwanted party guest.


    The sun, apparently shy this time of year, peeked through the sullen clouds like a reluctant child at a dance recital.


    On this particularly dreary day, the church, a brooding behemoth of stone and stained glass, stood as a silent witness to the damp whimsy of the season.


    Its interior, a haven from the persistent drizzle, murmured with the echoes of a thousand confessions.


    Inside, Burn and Morgan found themselves seated comfortably close. The air between them had the kind of tension that could make even the most devout atheist say a little prayer.


    The only light was a quivering candle, flickering as if it was nervous about the conversation to come, casting long shadows that danced a slow, macabre waltz across the cold, stone floor.


    Rain tapped a morose rhythm against the stained-glass windows, the droplets racing each other down the panes like tears on the face of the sky.


    ¡°In the other loops, you were unaware of it all. So what changed this time around?"


    ¡°Courtesy of the vampires. Spending a couple of decades training here turned out to be a wise decision," Momo replied.


    Mind reading, huh?


    ¡°What is the condition of that annoying spell¡­?¡± Burn muttered.


    ¡°Do you want to know?¡± the woman smiled softly at him.


    Momo launched into an explanation of the spell, her voice a soothing melody that threatened to turn the conversation into a bedtime story.


    Given the somber pitter-patter of rain outside, perfect for a nap, Burn half-expected to find himself drooling on the chair by the time she finished.


    "For beginners, you know, the 1st-3rd circle initiates," she began, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as if sketching the circles herself.


    "They must be terribly polite: knowing the person¡¯s name, getting their permission¡ªalmost like asking, ''May I please cast a spell on you?'' They also need to touch the target, concentrate, and shout the spell out loud.¡±


    Burn was wrong. She looked and sounded beautiful, he wouldn¡¯t be lulled to sleep.


    ¡°Oh, and they can only juggle one target at a time. Handy if you''re into personalized service, like magical customer support for the mind."


    Her lips curled into a smile that could only be described as impishly charming.


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    "Moving up to the 4th-6th circles, it gets a bit more... invasive. No need for pleasantries or permissions. They just need to know who they''re dealing with and manage a touch¡ªlong or intimate enough to make it count.¡±


    ¡°It''s less ''May I?'' and more ''I just did.'' And they can multitask, handling more than one target. Think of it as upgrading from solo performances to conducting an orchestra.¡±


    And she had the same sense of humor as him.


    She leaned closer, her expression one of mock-seriousness as if sharing a juicy secret. "Now, for the grandmasters, 7th-9th circles, they''re basically almost like Vlad.¡±


    Bad.


    Burn found himself squinting in disdain, as if by narrowing his eyes he could somehow lessen the overwhelming impact of her image.


    ¡°No need to know names, no need for touching¡ªthough it does help. They can hypnotize, brainwash, mind control... It¡¯s like they have an unlimited subscription to every brain in the vicinity."


    "And Vlad," she concluded with a dazzling smile, "well, he''s in a league of his own. He could probably sell ice to snowmen or convince the moon it¡¯s made of cheese."


    ¡°So, you¡¯re around 4th-6th circles mastery of the spell?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m a little less than that,¡± Momo answered. ¡°I still need a little permission from you. Didn¡¯t you give it to me,¡± she paused, her lips glistening in the dark room from the previous kiss, ¡°unconsciously?¡±


    What was she, a temptress?


    ¡°Well, it saves time. I don¡¯t have to explain everything to you,¡± Burn said. ¡°And was it fun?¡±


    The two looked into each others¡¯ eyes, deep, yet coldly.


    ¡°Looking into someone¡¯s mind everyday while also sucking his Force energy?¡±


    The woman closed her eyes, and it suddenly felt as though all the blue in the world had disappeared. The sky outside darkened further, and no warm light seemed able to penetrate the deepening gloom.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t fun,¡± she answered.


    Burn saw her slowly open her eyes again.


    ¡°But aren¡¯t you glad to see your worst enemy able to understand your point of view?¡± the woman smiled softly. ¡°You should also be glad that I¡¯m a rational and considerate type of person.¡±


    Even to her worst enemy.


    Just as the conversation was heating up, a cold gust of wind, clearly with no regard for personal space, barged into the chamber from the cheerless world outside.


    With the subtlety of an uninvited guest, it wrapped its icy fingers around everything, seemingly just for the thrill of causing discomfort.


    Momo, in her current state as delicate as a blossom in a storm, was an immediate victim to this chilly intrusion.


    ¡°Mmh¡­¡±


    Looking at how the tip of her fingers unconsciously hooked around her thick garment in a pose to shield herself, her body, unprepared for such audacity from the weather, shivered¡ªa silent, elegant protest against the impolite cold¡­


    Her skin, which had held the soft glow of candlelight moments before, surrendered to the pallor of a tragic heroine in the climax of a dark romance novel.


    As she wrapped her arms around herself, one might have mistaken her for a fragile statue, momentarily bewildered by the sudden change from warm discourse to cold reality.


    Burn somewhat understood why she didn¡¯t kill him.


    She was simply¡­ weak.


    Her eyelashes fluttered.


    The moment Burn¡¯s thought landed on that conclusion, it almost seemed like she heard the echo of it. Burn looked at her in suspicion and saw her smile slowly bloomed.


    ¡°How?¡± he asked, demanding to know.


    ¡°Ah,¡± she chuckled. ¡°I hadn¡¯t mentioned the duration of the spell.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re able to extend the duration?¡±


    ¡°If I managed to plant my Vision energy in you, yes.¡±


    But it also meant¡­ that she knew¡­ that he was attracted to her the whole time.


    ¡°Pffft¡ª¡± Momo had the same sense of humor as him.


    GRASP!


    ¡°HMPH!¡±


    Burn¡¯s angry veins popped as he grasped the woman¡¯s beautiful face with his hand. For the most part, he was irritated at how distracting her beauty was. But now, he had more reason to hate it.


    ¡°But it¡¯s not my fault that I¡¯m pretty¡ªno! It¡¯s your fault to find me pretty!¡± she retorted.


    ¡°Fix that useless feature your face has. Make you look ugly to me and we¡¯ll talk afterwards.¡±


    ¡°Why? Do you find it difficult to concentrate? Pa-the-tic~¡±


    This bloody sense of humor!


    ¡°Let¡¯s leave the church tomorrow, Your Majesty.¡±


    Burn raised his eyebrows. He lifted his palm from her face, seeing her disheveled bangs and red cheeks appeared from behind his irritated little squeeze.


    ¡°I want to meet my disciple.¡±

 37 - Burn’s Chariot

    Physical recovery training was a nightmare, and doing it while trekking across the continent? Even worse.


    Burn couldn''t help but watch as Momo, day after day, wrestled with her own limbs like they were rebellious teenagers, all while being miserly with the precious Force energy he graciously shared with her.


    Speaking of sharing, let¡¯s talk about their method¡ªkissing. Yes, the life-saving magic of a smooch. It was their only option for now, apparently.


    Forget about magic wands or enchanted potions; it was all about the power of a good pucker. Besides the obvious physical buzz and the cocktail of hormones zipping around, there was nothing else to write home about.


    Morgan, or ''Momo'' as she preferred, seemed unaffected by any deep psychological changes from this.


    No sudden revelations about life, no existential crises following their lip-locked moments. Nope, just straightforward, no-strings-attached, energy-transferring kisses.


    In essence, the whole thing was as transactional as buying bread from a store¡ªexcept maybe a tad more intimate and with slightly higher stakes.


    But Burn¡­ well.


    He was tired of it.


    Not only did he have to portion out his Force to give her, he had to be that intimate with the woman who had ruined his life. If only she wasn¡¯t as irritatingly beautiful.


    ¡°From here, we¡¯ll switch to my chariot.¡±


    After they passed the border of Wintersin, it would be easier for them to ride the chariot since they didn¡¯t need to be too conspicuous.


    Momo was standing with her knees trembling when she waited alone at the edge of the road for Burn to pick her up. He said it wouldn¡¯t take long.


    He didn¡¯t take long indeed.


    WHIIRRR!


    ¡°Woah.¡±


    Burn¡¯s chariot wasn¡¯t just a ride; it was a rolling paradox from the future, courtesy of the outsiders. Now, in the spirit of "if you can¡¯t beat them, join them," they offered up this custom high-tech hot rod as a peace offering.


    Picture this: the chariot itself, forged from an alloy that probably had a name longer than a royal wedding guest list.


    This wasn¡¯t just any metal; it shimmered with a pretentious iridescence that screamed, "Look at me, I¡¯m not from around here."


    Traditional wheels? Please. That¡¯s so last millennium. Instead, this toy floated on anti-gravity modules that hummed like an overcaffeinated bee, subtly reminding everyone just how advanced they were.


    At the front, instead of the classic, reliable horse, were two mechanical griffins, because why use living creatures when you can have cold, hard steel mimicking life?


    These griffins looked like they¡¯d been designed by someone who had only had mythical creatures described to them in a fever dream. The energy conduits inside them glowed with a power that was probably capable of jump-starting a dead planet.


    Inside, the chariot was as minimal as a hipster¡¯s loft. One seat, because who needs friends when you have fusion power? This seat was the kind of thing that would make ergonomic chairs weep in inadequacy.


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    The controls were also an impressive series of holograms that responded to hand waves like an overly eager stage magician. No reins, because we¡¯re too cool for old school.


    Kinda.


    ¡°I slept for three years, huh?¡± Momo muttered.


    ¡°Come on in.¡±


    ¡°Where can I sit?¡±


    ¡°Here,¡± Burn pointed at his lap after he spread his legs. There was a bit of space there.


    ¡°My butt is not that small!¡± an angry vein popped in Momo¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°I know,¡± Burn said flatly. ¡°So just put it between my lap. There¡¯s still space for the rest of your body.¡±


    Silence.


    The two looked at each other, both annoyed.


    ¡°I know you didn¡¯t want this either. Excuse me, then,¡± Momo acknowledged, aware that her selfishness to find Yvain immediately had left Burn without the opportunity to arrange a more suitable vehicle for their journey.


    It''s important to remember that they were traveling under the radar and as swiftly as possible.


    Had stealth not been necessary, Burn might have opted for a larger chariot, not this one he already had. Similarly, if speed hadn''t been a priority, he could have included her in the merchant-slash-spy caravan he also used on his infiltration into Wintersin.


    He was able to move fast despite using the spice merchant caravan before because he was alone. But now, he had a heavy baggage.


    PLOP.


    Huh. She¡¯s not that heavy, actually.


    She was tall. Around 5¡¯8. But this¡­ ¡°100 lbs¡­¡±


    ¡°Will you be able to survive¡­?¡±


    ¡°Why? I¡¯ve put up more weight since I woke up a couple of days ago.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d die if this thing stumbled on a pebble.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that fragile.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s all that Force I gave you? Are you actually wasting it?¡±


    POOF!


    They quarreled so much that it made them move too much¡ªand now, a certain part of a certain person''s body was squashing on the other person¡¯s personal space.


    ¡°So it went here,¡± Burn muttered irritatedly as his cheek was smothered by the woman¡¯s breast. "The Force has been strong with this one. Ah, I mean these two."


    Surely, after that, Momo was seen giving him a disgusted look all the way.


    Thankfully, they only need 24 hours in that chariot before arriving at Edensor.


    ***


    On the outskirts of the clamor and clang of a battlefield that looked like a medieval rendition of a bad day at the stock exchange, stood the boy king Yvain.


    Perched atop his war chariot like a falcon ready to dive, he was surrounded by a flock of generals and aides, each decked out in enough armor to sink a small ship.


    With war machines whirring around him, and protection spells and technologies surrounding him, not to mention being merely 12, Yvain had the demeanor of someone who had binge-watched the entirety of human history, giving off an air of premature world-weariness.


    As the front lines engaged in their chaotic dance of steel, lasers and shouts¡ªa performance that might have been choreographed by a drunkard swinging at bees¡ªYvain was engrossed in a report.


    His eyes darted across the parchment. His brow, barely enough years on it to be furrowed, was knit tighter than a miser¡¯s purse strings.


    Finally, he lowered the report, and the look on his face could curdle milk. It was too grim an expression for such a young monarch.


    With a sigh that suggested he was carrying the weight of the world rather than just his feather-light crown, he asked the people around him, ¡°Has His Majesty Burn not sent any word yet?¡±


    ¡°No, Your Majesty.¡±


    Yvain lifted his gaze toward the battlefield ahead. With a deliberate motion, he handed the reports back to one of his aides and instructed, ¡°Return these and ensure they are given to His Majesty upon his return.¡±


    ¡°At your command, Sir.¡±


    ¡°My master¡­ Burn has been gone this long without sending a message. Perhaps he has not yet found her.¡±


    Yvain mentioned several locations his master often visited, primarily in the northern hemisphere, suggesting that Burn might still be searching there.


    The boy king narrowed his eyes toward the direction of Elysian¡¯s Capital.


    ¡°For now, then, I must manage this myself.¡±

 38 - Uselessly Beautiful

    As dawn cracked its lazy eyes over Edensor, the fusion-powered chariot of His Majesty Burn roared into view, its engines humming a tune that probably said, ¡°Move aside, I own the place.¡±


    The chariot, glinting with the promise of high-tech and high drama, careened through the palace gates, which opened as if in awe (or perhaps in fear of being vaporized).


    There, lined up like a band of ruffled pigeons, were Burn¡¯s men. Despite looking like they¡¯d just rolled out of a hedge backwards, they managed to muster what could pass for royal decorum in the face of sleep deprivation and existential dread.


    Among them stood Galahad, fresh from the Elysian battlefield, sporting the latest in ¡®sweat-and-blood¡¯ chic.


    As the chariot pulled up¡ªa spectacle of screeching brakes and sighing hydraulics¡ªthe assembly of weary warriors perked up.


    Here was their leader, presumably back with tales of heroic deeds or at least a new war strategy scribbled on a napkin.


    The chariot halted with all the dramatic flair of a season finale cliffhanger, right at the front entrance stairs, where the red carpet lay in wait, wondering if it was meant to be an accessory to grandeur or just a glorified doormat¡ª


    FSSSSHHHH!


    ¡°Mmmh!¡±


    The men flinched.


    They had poised themselves for Burn¡¯s usual grand, menacing exit.


    Instead, the chariot doors swung open with a bit of a puffing smoke and out tumbled not the feared monarch, but an ethereally beautiful woman, looking like she¡¯d just survived a cyclone at a fashion show.


    With long, blonde hair cascading around her like a dramatic golden curtain that had lost its stage, she was a vision of disheveled grace.


    Her hair, though tangled and wild, shimmered even in its unkempt state, giving the sun a run for its money with its natural sheen.


    Her clothes, though wrinkled and dirt-smudged, clung to her in a manner that suggested they were designed for a goddess who enjoyed a bit of earthly turmoil now and then.


    She hit the carpet with the poise of a melodrama queen, groaning not so much in pain but as if lamenting the tragic cancellation of her grand entrance, if she even cared at all.


    The tremble in her limbs was less about weakness and more like the delicate shudder of a leaf on a breezy day, theatrically emphasizing her vulnerability.


    Despite the chaos of her appearance, she radiated a sort of beauty that was both infuriating and captivating¡ªinfuriating because no one should look that good in such a state, and captivating because, well, everyone loves a stunning plot twist.


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    As she tumbled on the carpet, the crowd couldn¡¯t help but marvel: if this was what disarray looked like, perhaps they all needed a bit less order in their lives¡ªOKAY, WHAT HAPPENED?


    Her presence almost made them forget about a CERTAIN MAN.


    Darkness.


    It was darkness emanating from the inside of the chariot!


    Just as the crowd was about to rename themselves the Official Admiration Society for the Disheveled Blonde Goddess, a reminder that this wasn''t merely a one-person show emerged from the chariot.


    With a presence that could only be described as ''eternal void'', Burn made his entrance. Unlike the ethereal tumble of his predecessor, he stepped out with the grace of a storm cloud on a mission.


    There was no trembling here; just the weary irritation of a man who might have been more comfortable emerging from a black hole than a high-tech chariot.


    The bloody chariot!


    His hair and clothes rivaled the woman¡¯s in terms of dishevelment, suggesting perhaps they had both attended the same battle but only he had decided to fight a tornado along the way.


    His expression carried a touch of tired anger¡ªprobably at having his thunder stolen by the blonde, or maybe just at his stylist for suggesting that ''just rolled out of bed after a skirmish'' was this season¡¯s look.


    As he stood there, the crowd did a mental recalibration. Yes, the woman was a scene-stealer with her dramatic hair and pain-filled performance, but Burn, oh Burn, brought the kind of dark allure that made one think, ¡°Well, maybe severe disarray is the new black after all.¡±


    OKAY, WHAT HAPPENED?


    Pull yourselves together, men! This was your emperor! And a woman¡­?


    AND A WOMAN!


    ¡°Throw away¡­ this damn chariot,¡± the emperor growled, declaring war on the vehicle that had dared to cramp his style¡ªliterally and figuratively.


    Galahad, still as a statue carved in the image of shock and awe, barely blinked, much like every other man gathered, now audience to this spectacular, historical meltdown of royal proportions.


    Burn ascended the stairs with the heaviness of a man who had not only fought ¡®battles¡¯ but also possibly the entire concept of gravity.


    YET his march was interrupted ONCE AGAIN by a feeble, shaking tug at his pants. It seemed desperation had a new synonym, and it was clutching at his leg.


    Turning with all the enthusiasm of a man who¡¯d just been asked to donate his crown to charity, Burn faced the woman sprawled elegantly in distress on the ground.


    Through her tears and the near-death by cramp, she gasped, ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t walk¡­ c-cramps¡­ I can¡¯t climb the¡­ stairs¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯VE GIVEN YOU ENOUGH FORCE ALONG THE WAY!¡± Burn barked back, as if his support during their chariot ride had included a complimentary leg massage.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious about not being able to even stand!¡± the woman contorted her face in a serious grimace. ¡°Ugh¡ªthis is embarrassing, I wanna die¡­¡±


    Like the embodiment of chivalry in a bygone era, the aides and subordinates turned their faces away. One might wonder if they were giving her privacy, or simply couldn¡¯t bear to watch without bursting into tears¡ªor laughter of horror.


    ¡°Fine! I¡¯ll wait here. I¡¯m not going to be able to move anyway!¡± she declared, settling into her new role as the damsel-in-distress-turned-statue.


    ¡°Just bring my dear Yvain here,¡± she demanded, as though summoning a knight with a horse rather than a servant with a wheelchair.


    Burn sighed, the sound so profound it seemed to suck the color from the faces of those nearby. He reluctantly kneeled in front of her, his movements heavy with the weight of resignation.


    Gathering her into his arms with all the enthusiasm of a man picking up a sack of particularly petulant potatoes, he carried her up the stairs.


    ¡°This weak, uselessly faced, bi¡ªwitch,¡± he grumbled under his breath, the words barely audible over the creak of each step under the burden of the uselessly beautiful goddess he bore.


    There they were, the grumbles of a man who¡¯d rather face dragons than whatever this was.


    But then¡­


    ¡°HE¡¯S NOT HERE?!¡±


    Morgan Le Fay turned sharply toward Burn, who immediately stiffened.


    He forgot he assigned the boy to the front lines.

 39 - No Sympathy, No Affection

    That woman was Morgan Le Fay.


    Of course! She was the woman the emperor was looking for. But she¡­ didn¡¯t at all seem like what Galahad imagined.


    Oh, yes. Her beauty was undeniable, a fact that even the gruff Emperor Burn, who usually reserved his compliments for his weapons and war strategies, couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge¡ªalbeit grudgingly.


    Every single word of praise Burn sang about her appearance seemed unjust. But she wasn¡¯t the... person... Galahad had in mind.


    ¡°We need to go now. My child needs me!¡± In a flare of maternal panic, Morgan clutched desperately at Burn¡¯s clothes. Her voice carried the urgency of a woman deadly worried about her child. ¡°Something bad could happen to my Yvain!¡±


    ¡°What can you do when you can¡¯t even stand on your own?¡± Burn retorted, his tone dripping with the patience of a saint at the end of his tether.


    Morgan, now using him as a substitute for her absent wooden bar, leaned heavily, her legs shaking like leaves in a storm.


    ¡°I beg of you, Your Majesty!¡± she implored, her eyes wide with tragedy that could have won her every man¡¯s heart.


    ¡°My best men are with him. I will also go right now if you let go of me,¡± Burn countered, obviously trying to escape the clutches of her ¡®magic¡¯ as much as her physical grip.


    ¡°Take me with you!¡± she demanded, her voice a blend of desperation and command.


    ¡°No. You¡¯re just dead weight,¡± he shot back, as loving as a tax return.


    ¡°Caliburn Soulnon Pendra¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you threatening me with your life right now?! You could die!¡± Burn was incredulous, looking as if he was deciding whether she was more of a hazard to herself or to him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not! I promise I¡¯ll be fine!¡± Morgan persisted, her determination as shaky as her legs.


    ¡°Miss Momo!¡± Burn exclaimed, using her pet name with all the affection of a man calling his lawyer after reading a particularly bad contract.


    ¡°Calling me with my pet name disdainfully won¡¯t deter me!¡± she shot back, her chin tilted with defiance that could rival a cat in a standoff.


    Ahhh¡­ what romance¡­


    To the onlooking men, the scene before them was less a crisis and more a prime-time drama unfolding live.


    There they were, Burn and Momo, at each other¡¯s throats yet somehow, in the twisted view of the spectators, engaging in what looked suspiciously like flirtation.


    To the untrained eye, this could have been mistaken for a lovers¡¯ quarrel, or perhaps a debate over their child¡¯s custody in the weekends following a messy royal divorce.


    Ah, what romance indeed¡ªif your idea of romance involves sharp tongues and sharper tempers, all wrapped up in a battle of wills that could rival any war Burn had ever fought.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I¡¯m weak, okay!¡± the woman exclaimed in a voice that was melodious enough to be featured on a tragic opera soundtrack.


    ¡°But whose fault was it? Who made me this weak?! It was you who took everything away from me!¡± Her accusation could have frozen the very air between them, had it not been for the heat of her anger.


    FLINCH!


    Shiverrrrr¡­


    The men surrounding them suddenly found themselves questioning their life choices¡ªspecifically, the choice to be within earshot of this dramatic exchange.


    They collectively felt the overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here, perhaps wishing for invisibility cloaks or at least a sudden, urgent call to arms.


    Yes. Her words definitely caused a major misunderstanding.


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    ¡°Can¡¯t you at least take responsibility?!¡± she continued, her voice rising as if she was addressing a courtroom rather than a single, increasingly uncomfortable man. ¡°Can¡¯t you please let me see my child?!¡±


    Yep. A huge misunderstanding!


    Burn, for his part, stood there, looking like he wished the ground would open and offer him sanctuary from the tempest before him.


    To the casual observer, it seemed less like a lover¡¯s quarrel and more like a public trial, where the charges were emotional robbery and the jury was made up of awkwardly shuffling knights.


    SCANDALOUS!


    To Burn''s men, who were now experts in the art of discreetly edging away, it looked as though they were witnessing either the world''s most passionate reconciliation or the preamble to a spectacular breakup.


    Either way, popcorn would have been appropriate.


    But, in this situation, Momo still had one card up her sleeve.


    ¡°You could¡¯ve just kissed me more!¡± she exclaimed, tossing the statement like a grenade into the middle of the tense atmosphere.


    GASP!


    HUH?!


    EH¡ª


    Popping eyes, floored jaws.


    The reactions ranged from shock to utter bewilderment, each man present blinking as if trying to reset their brains and make sense of what they just heard.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get better and stronger faster if you kiss me more¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why are you embarrassing yourself like this?!¡± Burn, utterly flabbergasted, exploded in anger.


    ¡°What can I do other than to grovel to you in this situation?!¡± Momo shot back, her voice a blend of frustration and earnest plea.


    She stood her ground, having played all her cards, now relying solely on the wild card of whimsy. ¡°I can be of help if you help me get stronger faster!¡±


    She begged and insisted, pouring her heart out in a room where, sadly, only one opinion truly mattered¡ªand unsurprisingly, that opinion wasn''t hers.


    Moreover, the sole arbiter of her fate was the very person least moved by her distress. How utterly convenient for him.


    There he stood, a paragon of indifference: cold, stern, and steadfast. His heart seemed immovable¡ªbut then, that would require him to actually have one, wouldn''t it?


    With a trembling gaze, she wondered what grim nursery rhymes were sung to him as a child to shape such a heartless creature? What bleak landscapes had cradled him to forge such icy resolve?


    She mused on how the world managed to sculpt such a... monster.


    Here, her significance was painfully clear: she was valued only for her strength, only when she was useful. How wonderfully pragmatic of him to remember her existence just then.


    Even so.


    ¡°Mmh¡ª¡±


    He kissed her.


    Oh, what a magical, soul-stirring moment¡ªexcept it wasn¡¯t. Reading his mind when their lips touched had become as routine for her as checking the weather.


    As she absorbed all the Force he offered, she glimpsed the true nature of his thoughts.


    It was darkness, a profound void, as inviting as a black hole. No sympathy, no affection¡ªnothing that hinted she meant more to him than a convenient source of power.


    Trapped in the pesky mortal shell of a human body, his attraction to her was probably more about aesthetics than anything deeper. And frankly, he despised that he found her face pleasing.


    If it was this man¡­ maybe godhood was something within reach.


    No, if this man was a benchmark, godhood seemed not just achievable but a downright downgrade.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason you¡¯re so worried about Yvain, right?¡± Burn finally piped up, his voice as warm as an iceberg, recognizing her desperation at last. ¡°I¡¯ll bring you there.¡±


    How generous, how magnanimous.


    Well, they were both adults. Burn figured that if she was throwing herself headlong into this Yvain debacle, she must really have something gnawing at her.


    This woman had been nothing but understanding, almost saintly in her patience toward him. And ever since she was awakened, all she did was to get back in shape and fix everything within reach.


    She wasn¡¯t a selfish person.


    ¡°You said there was a report from him, right? I¡¯ll read it. Prepare the others in the meantime,¡± Burn declared.


    Galahad, ever the eager beaver, zipped over with the reports post-haste. Burn skimmed through them as he walked, his pace that of a man who believed he could outwalk his problems¡ªuntil, of course, the content of the report slapped him back to a slower, more thoughtful strut.


    ¡°I told you, we have to hurry,¡± Momo chimed in from behind, apparently having telepathically devoured the report''s contents too.


    Burn pivoted to regard her, noting her quivering stance. ¡°You still can¡¯t walk?¡± he asked, with the tenderness of a drill sergeant.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°But your body?¡±


    ¡°I can manage.¡±


    ¡°Bring my chariot,¡± he commanded Galahad, then turned back to Momo with all the grace of a chess master making a pivotal move. ¡°You sit with me.¡±


    Her lips trembled, perhaps in fear of being so close to him in a confined space again, but she muttered a resigned, ¡°Okay, thank you, Your Majesty.¡±


    With a gesture that could only be described as knightly¡ªif knights were known for their abrupt, no-nonsense rescues¡ªBurn scooped her up and made his way to the chariot.


    This was the very same chariot that previously almost discarded, remembered mostly for the exquisite torture it had inflicted upon them.


    Well, no time to prepare another one.


    ¡°No more delay. Let¡¯s go.¡±

 40 - Kiss Me

    With the pomp and circumstance of a parade that nobody asked for, Burn led his army from the grandiose gates of Edensor Royal Capital, bound for the war in the Elysian Kingdom.


    The march was quite a grand affair, if one''s idea of grandeur involved trudging through mud and dodging the occasional overly affectionate horsefly.


    As they moved, the landscape shifted from the manicured opulence of Edensor¡ªwith its buildings that looked like they were trying too hard to impress visiting dignitaries¡ªto the rugged, untamed wilderness leading to Elysian territory.


    Here, the trees stood tall and unyielding, much like the morale of Burn¡¯s troops, fed on a steady diet of rousing speeches and the promise of glory.


    Burn rode at the front, his face set in a mask of cold that could easily be mistaken for indigestion.


    On his lap, Momo clung to her own composure with the tenacity of a cat in a bathtub, her eyes scanning the path that Yvain, the boy wonder and accidental military strategist, had carved through the enemy¡¯s defenses.


    Ah, young Yvain.


    At the tender age of twelve, he had managed to surprise everyone¡ªprobably himself most of all¡ªby morphing from a royal novice to a commander with a knack for not getting immediately overrun.


    Though being supported by a cabal of seasoned generals and a certain Sir Galahad, whose guidance was as invaluable as Burn¡¯s.


    Together, they had turned potential disaster into a somewhat less disastrous adventure, pushing through Elysian defenses with the finesse of a bull in a china shop¡ªassuming the bull had a really good plan.


    The path they marched was littered with the relics of these swift victories: abandoned Elysian banners, discarded weapons, and the occasional piece of armor that looked as though it had decided it just couldn¡¯t go a step further.


    The scenery was a mix of battle-wearied fields and forests that bore silent witness to the hurried passage of Yvain¡¯s forces, now marked by the heavy boots of Burn¡¯s own men.


    As they neared the Elysian Kingdom, the air grew tense, charged with the electricity of impending conflict. Birds, wise to the ways of men, kept their distance, their silence a stark contrast to the metallic symphony of armor and weapons clanking in rhythmic harmony.


    Truly, as Burn and his army marched on, one could almost hear the whispered prayers of the local flora and fauna, hoping fervently to remain untrampled by history¡¯s heavy feet.


    Such are the joys of military expeditions¡ªglorious to some, a downright nuisance to others. Especially if you¡¯re a squirrel.


    Also, this squirrel on Burn¡¯s lap.


    ¡°You got pale again. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Your body is hot. I¡¯m sweaty,¡± Momo replied with the warmth of an arctic breeze. ¡°My body¡¯s moisture is leaving me.¡±


    In all his emperor-ly wisdom, Burn failed to grasp the full extent of her discomfort. To him, she was merely a tad moist, her sweet scent amplifying as if she were a human diffuser rather than a suffering companion.


    ¡°Drink water,¡± he suggested helpfully, as if hydration could solve the existential woes of their journey. Momo reached for the canteen, her hands trembling from exhaustion. It dawned on him that she hadn¡¯t slept a blink since they departed from Wintersin.


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    Suddenly, a herald announced their arrival, ¡°Elysian Capital is up front, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived¡ª¡± Burn began, but Momo cut him off urgently.


    ¡°I feel something. Can we get out of here? Can you bring me quickly to the east now?¡± she jolted, her intuition flaring up like a poorly timed firework.


    ¡°What?¡± Burn frowned, his face contorting into a map of confusion.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it?¡± Momo¡¯s eyes wavered dramatically. ¡°It¡¯s Yvain. He needs me now. Bring me there!¡±


    With a single blink, Burn halted the chariot, shocking the procession of knights and generals as if he¡¯d just announced his intention to elope.


    He scooped Momo out of the chamber with the urgency of a man fetching a pizza from an oven.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go first. Follow through,¡± he declared to his men, who responded with a chorus of ¡°Yes! Your Majesty!¡± that echoed through the air.


    By the time their voices settled, Burn had vanished with Momo in his arms.


    GASP!


    Fast!


    Momo, cradled rather unceremoniously in Burn''s arms, found herself suddenly hurtling through the air at a velocity that would make a cheetah envious.


    The scenery whipped past them so quickly it was as if the world had turned into a poorly tuned television, all static and blurs.


    As they dashed toward the capital of Elysian, east to their location¡ªor as Momo thought of it, ''in the general direction of impending doom''¡ªthe wind howled around them.


    Trees bent in deference (or possibly in self-preservation), and the small wildlife likely filed noise complaints about the sonic booms left in their wake.


    The speed was exhilarating, or so Burn''s tightly set jaw suggested. Momo, on the other hand, could barely keep her eyes open, what with the gale force winds threatening to turn her eyeballs into a pair of dried apricots.


    Her hair, already disheveled, now adopted the look of a bird''s nest post-tornado, waving wildly in the airstream, attempting to establish contact with low-flying birds.


    But she didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Quick!¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    BZZZZZZZZZZT¡ª!


    It almost looked like he forcibly ripped the space in half.


    As Burn and Momo made their whirlwind entrance into the Elysian capital, it was immediately apparent that they were not just fashionably late to the party, but had arrived at the grand finale of some apocalyptic pyrotechnic display.


    The city was ablaze, with flames licking the sky as if trying to escape the chaos below. Screams and cries provided a haunting melody to the fiery dance, crafting a scene straight out of a disaster artist¡¯s fever dream.


    In the epicenter of this inferno was a giant tornado of fire, swirling with the kind of fury that would make even the most seasoned storm chaser reconsider their career choices.


    It was centered right where the palace stood¡ªor, more accurately, trembled on the brink of incineration.


    "Yvain''s there," Momo stated, pinpointing the location of the young king in the heart of a firenado.


    Burn didn''t miss a beat. It wasn¡¯t as though she would agree to wait where it was safe while he stepped into the blaze. He didn¡¯t slow down, using the wind to create a force field of his own, shielding them from the heat.


    As they advanced, the fire raged on, almost offended by their audacity to defy its destructive embrace. The flames danced madly, reaching out with fiery fingers, only to be rebuffed by Burn¡¯s wind-crafted barrier.


    SSSHHHH!


    They burst through the fire tornado.


    ¡­


    Silence


    ¡­


    Inside, in the eye of the storm however, was a vacuum of air. Nothing could escape, nor survive. No shadow, no sound. The space was suffused with thick, colorless mana, the kind touted as ''the purest of the soul''s vision¡¯.


    No air¡ªcompletely replaced. In this domain, only those with a master in mana manipulation¡ªbe it Vision or Force¡ªcould survive.


    For the Force users, who were used to breathing mana like oxygen, the environment was somewhat tough, but bearable. Meanwhile, Vision users found it akin to stumbling into a field of enlightenment.


    A bit farther in, central to this avant-garde performance of mana mastery, floated a small figure. The 12-year-old boy king, suspended a meter in the air, his eyes glowing with the eerie emptiness of a ghost.


    It was quite the sight¡ªhere was a child who could barely be trusted to run a bath, let alone a kingdom, now floating ominously, berserk.


    What actually happened?


    ¡°Y¡ª ca¡ªt, Mo¡ª¡±


    Burn''s voice evaporated into the thick mana, utterly useless and frustratingly intangible. He was clearly mouthing, ¡°You can¡¯t go, Morgan,¡± his words forming silent wisp that failed to reach Momo.


    But even in that brief, mute exchange, Burn knew the truth: Momo wouldn¡¯t listen to him, even if his words had managed to bridge the dense mana divide.


    Instead, she turned to him, her hair floating backwards from the explosion of mana. Attempted to speak, her words fragmenting in the dense space, ¡°Ca¡ªurn S¡ªn Pe¡ªdr¡ªn, p¡ª¡±


    Burn, struggling to piece together her chopped audio, could only catch glimpses of her intent, ¡°Ki¡ª m¡ª¡±


    Kiss me.

 41 - How Lonely

    Ah, the Elysian Kingdom, where it took nothing short of a series of tragedies for royal daughters to finally get a bit of respect. How progressive!


    Once the calamities piled up sufficiently, the kingdom had an epiphany: perhaps these princesses were good for more than a tool for the prince to shine¡ªor a target of abuse and humiliation.


    With this newfound enlightenment, they started marrying them off to great families¡ªnot just any high-born buffoon with a title, but GREAT families.


    Dukes, Marquis, no less.


    This was, of course, advertised as giving them a chance for a good life, because what more could a princess want than a splendid marriage alliance?


    Well! In special cases, they even handed them the throne.


    These instances became frequent enough that power slowly shifted, and lo and behold, the princesses started to accumulate real influence.


    Over the years, these princesses, once mere black sheeps, became preferred as the independent rulers.


    Who would have thought?


    It wasn¡¯t a problem then.


    The sky didn¡¯t fall, the realm didn¡¯t descend into chaos, and dragons didn¡¯t start running the banks.


    The kingdom thrived, and everyone lived happily ever after.


    Not.


    In reality, the princess catalog was a bit more varied than the fairy tales would have you believe.


    Not every princess was a carbon copy of the ''original saint,'' the illustrious seventeenth princess who ascended to power after her predecessors'' unfortunate penchant for untimely demises.


    Indeed, not every princess was the embodiment of purity, filial piety, and forgiveness. Oh no, the royal lineage also boasted its share of bad apples¡ªprincesses who were cruel, selfish, and arrogant.


    Some even embraced the hedonistic lifestyle with the enthusiasm of a cat at a cream festival, and yes, a few were blessed with the intellectual brightness of a particularly dim candle.


    Worse, some princesses were just plain evil.


    Not the charming kind of evil that might win you a cult following, but the sort that made you double-check whether your royal lineage hadn''t accidentally been crossed with that of a villainous overlord from a neighboring kingdom.


    These were the princesses who skipped the whole ''happily ever after'' and went straight for the ''what in the seven kingdoms were they thinking?'' kind of reign.


    Thus, under the noble banner of halting villainy in its tracks, the royal princes were put under the kind of surveillance that would make a paranoid dictator blush.


    The mantra around the castle was clear: "Princes tend to pop out as evil reincarnates, so let¡¯s ensure only the delightfully mediocre ascend to greatness!" A foolproof plan if ever there was one.


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    So, what was the fate of those unfortunate lads who dared to exhibit a spark of talent at a tender age?


    Well, not much to write home about.


    Initially, they¡¯d be gloriously dubbed ''royal helpers''¡ªa title just glamorous enough to not sound like ''royal scapegoats''.


    Soon after, these promising princes were packed off to the kingdom''s scenic borders as military advisors. Here, they could use their sharp minds, just not within sniffing distance of actual power.


    Their royal blood was treated like last season''s fashion¡ªacknowledged but decidedly pass¨¦.


    And then, the tables turned.


    The princes, once potential tyrants in the making, found themselves the favored targets of abuse, humiliation, and the kind of bullying that would make even a schoolyard tough think twice.


    It seems the royal family had swapped one extreme for another¡ªtrading potential despots  for princely punching bags.


    The recent decades, though, had been a bit of a dry spell for the princess production line in the royal family.


    For reasons unknown, the princess birthrate had plummeted¡ªnot just in quantity, but also in quality. It seemed the royal gene pool needed a bit more chlorine.


    As time marched on, the royal cradle saw only baby boys.


    No matter how enthusiastically the royal family engaged in the business of heir production, daughters were as elusive as a five leaf clover.


    This peculiar trend left the duchesses and marchionesses¡ªthe previously exported princesses and their descendants¡ªin quite a tizzy.


    Imagine palaces filled with little princes running amok, and not a tiara in sight. The noble ladies were agitated, their dreams of tutu-clad grandchildren twirling through the halls dashed. It was a blue-only baby shower, century edition.


    In the end, Yvain came to know about this.


    The fact that many princes had been discreetly ''relocated'' over the years, or worse, disposed of, had come to his knowledge.


    Some of these princes were out there in the wild, persecuted and abused, wandering about and probably wondering, "What did I do to deserve this?"


    It became like this¡ªa kingdom with more discarded princes than a fairy tale could shake a scepter at, and not a princess in sight to save the day.


    If she returned, could the tides turn? Would the kingdom once again reach heights that now seemed buried in the sands of time? Perhaps the solution was simple: produce more heirs, kill more princes!


    More, always more!


    Oh, where art thou, ''original saint''?


    Why do you forsake us in our hour of need? Why won''t you grace us with your rebirth and rescue this floundering royal lineage?


    Now, even the princes were also praying for her to be born. These poor little boys, royal blood coursing through their veins¡ª


    So when Yvain entered the palace just to see ¡®that¡¯, he was disgusted.


    It was a repulsive sight.


    Akin to a macabre and twisted ritual, oozing with gruesomeness, the scene unfolded before the boy king, evoking a sense of sheer horror that surpassed even the most depraved acts committed by the evil he knew.


    The young prince¡ªthe last crown prince, infamous for his mediocrity alongside his father, was surrounded by a line of noblewomen: adult, young, and younger.


    All ordered to harvest his seed in the hope of birthing the ¡®Princess¡¯.


    It seemed that, after realizing they had no chance of winning the war, their desperation had pushed them to the brink of insanity.


    For Yvain, witnessing a boy his age in the middle of that traumatic, hopeless situation, and the empty glance the crown prince shot at him...


    Rampage.


    At the time, it seemed like the best decision. To end it all. So Yvain wanted everything to just¡­ perish. Maybe it would be the best end for everything¡ªa swift and painless death for the crown prince, and death for everyone around, who were abusing him.


    No one escaped, no one knew what truly happened. And Yvain decided to shoulder the truth alone.


    Yet, how lonely it was.


    The crown prince¡ª


    BLAAAAAAAAAAST!


    The capital, in flames.


    ***


    ¡°A¡ªn!¡±


    ¡°¡ªn!¡±


    ¡°AIN!¡±


    ¡°WAKE UP!¡±

 42 - Butterfly Effect

    Momo read Burn¡¯s mind.


    Compared to the previous loops, Yvain¡¯s attempt at conquering the Elysian Kingdom was practically a hallmark of gentility.


    He rolled out the red carpet for evacuations and gave them ample time to pack their teacups and tiaras¡ªa real gentleman of a young king.


    It was all to lessen the number of casualties.


    And yet, amidst this courteous conquest, Yvain allowed the kingdom''s desperate schemes to unfurl¡ªapparently indifferent to their dreadful nature.


    In the previous loops, Burn hadn''t given them a chance to even ''harvest'' the Crown Prince''s seed. But post-conquest, whispers of their wild plans reached his ears through the grapevine of gossip and official snitching.


    Burn was as skeptical about whether these horrible strategies would ever come to fruition. However, today served up the cold, hard proof.


    And Yvain had to be the one to witness it himself.


    After Momo grasped the situation, she pieced together the possibility and wanted to meet Yvain quickly, just to be safe.


    She was afraid of being right, and that fear came true.


    Thus, the moment the two saw the capital in flames, and Yvain in the center of it, they confirmed it.


    "A¡ªn!"


    "¡ªn!"


    Her voice faltered, swallowed by the dense mana field enveloping them. Undeterred, Momo infused her own voice with mana.


    "AIN!"


    "WAKE UP!"


    The boy turned, his eyes vacant yet somehow responsive to her call.


    "I''m back. I''m here, Ain."


    He remained motionless, his senses dulled and distant.


    But surrender was not in Momo''s nature. She pressed forward, fueling her every step with her Vision.


    As she drew nearer, the violent mana began its assault.


    Thirty feet away, and her sleeve disintegrated into nothing as she reached forward.


    Twenty feet, and her skin began to blister and peel.


    At ten feet, her flesh was rent, piece by piece.


    Now, just three feet away, the bone in her arm lay bare, her hand stripped entirely of skin, nerves, and flesh.


    Yet she moved forward.


    ¡°Ain, I¡¯m back.¡±


    Perhaps if she pressed on, her very bones might begin to crumble into dust. Maybe, just maybe, if she pushed a little further, the rest of her body¡ªher already half-vanished face included¡ªmight just decide to vanish completely.


    But would she stop?


    ¡°Have you decided to die again?¡±


    It was weird.


    When he touched her skeletal arm with his equally bony hand, stripped of flesh, it felt like a proper grasp¡ªwarm and sturdy, despite the total absence of nerves.


    At that moment, his Force touched her Vision.


    Supported by Burn''s support, Momo took the final step. When she finally managed to tap Yvain''s head with the palm of her bony hand, everything¡ªmiraculously¡ªbegan to simmer down.


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    SSSSSSHHHH!


    As if someone had finally found the off switch, Yvain''s mana rampage and its accompanying fire tornado began to dissolve, like sugar in tea¡ªonly far less sweet and rather more eventful.


    It was over.


    As the chaos unwound and the fiery swirls gave their final flicker, Yvain''s body, which had been hovering mid-air, started its unscheduled descent towards the ground.


    Gravity, no longer manipulated by the pure mana field, was back in business.


    Momo and Burn lunged forward. As they reached out, Yvain''s falling form nestled perfectly into their arms, creating what could only be described as a skeletal group hug¡ªwarm in intention, if chilling in appearance.


    "Mas...ter...?"


    Yvain''s eyes fluttered open, awake. There, in front of him, stood the very woman he had been waiting for, though she had undergone a bit of an extreme makeover.


    Her face was now a charming mix of flesh and bone, showcasing a daring half-skeleton look, while the entire side of her body boasted a bold, flesh-free finish.


    "Master?!" he exclaimed, confusion mingling with a hint of horror.


    Before Yvain could further process everything, the other figure, clearly unbothered by the skeletal chic before him, reached out.


    Burn grasped Momo''s partially destroyed chin¡ªa bold choice of handholds¡ªand pulled her into a kiss that was as surprising as finding a rose growing in a battlefield.


    ¡°Eh¡ª?¡±


    But the real jaw-dropper came post-smooch.


    Momo''s flesh began to regenerate. Her beauty bloomed anew, her skin smoothing over. The red on her cheek transformed from gruesome to a glowing blush¡ªthe kind you''d expect after a good kiss, not a horror show.


    Her body followed suit, knitting itself back together, right down to her once skeletonized arm.


    Reborn.


    ¡°It¡¯s enough, Your Majesty. You need to heal yourself too¡ªmmh¡­¡±


    ¡°Your Maj¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stooop~¡±


    Yvain¡¯s face morphed from shock to outright disgust in record time.


    ¡°Ugh! COUGH! COUGH!¡±


    Right on cue, Momo chose that moment to cough out blood, her expression blank from pain. Meanwhile, Burn, ever the pragmatist, looked on with irritation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare spit blood on my face. Get kissed obediently,¡± he commanded, shooting her what could only be described as a ''death glare''.


    His body, too, had begun to regenerate, as if his cells were in competition with his ego.


    ¡°Yeees~¡±


    Momo found herself melting into the kiss, as if she were a pat of butter on a hot skillet. His Force surged through her, coursing through the freshly minted veins in her body.


    And just like that, Momo was back to her full health.


    Meanwhile, Yvain had caught up with the plot, his memory now fully refreshed. As he turned to survey the aftermath, the scene before them was less ''picturesque kingdom'' and more ''disaster''.


    The palace of Elysian, once a beacon of grandeur, was now just a footnote in the annals of "Oops, we blew it up."


    The capital was still an impromptu bonfire, though now it seemed more people had found their buckets and hoses. They scurried about, throwing water with a newfound enthusiasm, perhaps motivated by the fact that the source of fire had been distinguished.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Yvain''s voice carried a new weight, the kind that comes with freshly unpacked self-awareness. ¡°I am¡­ dangerous.¡±


    Momo sighed, ¡°That¡¯s why, you must wear the charms and artifacts I gave you. The Frostbearer¡¯s Heart could¡¯ve prevented all this from happening¡ªor at least, lessened the damage.¡±


    Yvain looked down, his youthful face etched with deep guilt. His emotions, a whirlwind as potent as his magical misfires, had clearly gotten the better of him.


    Shock, a new and unwelcome guest in his emotional repertoire, had nudged him into a full-blown rampage.


    But as the dust settled and the fires dwindled, it was clear that at the end of the day, his master had saved him again.


    She had returned¡­ to him.


    "Now, we have to clean this up," Momo declared, attempting to straighten up with the grace of someone who''d just survived a minor apocalypse.


    She twisted her waist, probably checking if all parts were still operational, before getting down to business.


    Raising her hand to the sky, she summoned the greatest mana she could muster with her Vision.


    In the blink of an eye, she absorbed the flames scattered about the capital city, snuffing them out like candles on a birthday cake, much to the relief of its beleaguered inhabitants.


    As she performed her magical fire extinguishing routine, Momo turned toward Burn, catching his intense gaze. "Can you help the injured? You can distribute healing items and aid, right?" she asked, hopeful.


    "What are you doing, using your power for such a useless thing?" Burn retorted, his question dripping with the kind of disdain usually reserved for those who use fine wine to put out a barbecue.


    "You thought helping them was obvious, so you ignored my request, huh?" Momo chuckled, her laughter tinged with the delight of understanding exactly what the man had in mind.


    She then gathered the flames and condensed them into a small ball of light¡ªmirroring Burn''s feat with the laser beams from the mech armors. Smiling at him, she quipped, "I learned a lot from you."


    Burn frowned, irritated.


    This woman was just too¡ª


    ¡°AIN, GET DOWN!¡±


    It was a split-second act. Despite screaming at Yvain to get down, Momo was already leaping toward Burn, pushing him out of the way¡ªwhen a blast of light struck her skull, killing her instantly.


    Burn turned, his movements feeling like slow motion, his brain processing the information ten times faster than normal, even before he landed on the ground from her push.


    He saw a person in a mech suit, holding a gun, pointed right at the spot where he had been standing before. It was a weapon this world had not yet seen¡ªbut he had seen it in his previous loops.


    The White Dwarf.

 43 - New Checkpoint

    Like before, it felt like he was merely blinking.


    When he opened his eyes, the scenery had undergone a drastic transformation, and it was dark. It only took a split second for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and then he realized he was back¡ªnot to the morning before the war started, but...


    In front of the dying Morgan Le Fay, in the basement of the vampires'' church.


    She wasn¡¯t breathing.


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay¡ª¡±


    Burn grasped her body, vividly recalling the events of this moment in time. He lifted her from the coffin and kissed her as he swiftly carried her out of the basement. Time, after all, was of the essence.


    As Burn strode out of the basement with Morgan in his arms, the resident vampires took one look and nearly tripped over their own robes trying to intervene.


    But their fangs dropped when they saw Morgan not just alive but actively reaching out to continue her impromptu make-out session with Burn.


    "¡­Slow¡­ down¡­" she murmured between breaths.


    "You ask me to slow down when you know what¡¯s coming?" Burn retorted, his tone dripping with incredulity. "At this rate, your disciple is going to end up dying too."


    "I know¡­" Momo whispered against his lips, "But we¡­ at least¡­ need to speak to Vlad¡­"


    Burn spun on his heels.


    Burn''s impatience was obvious as he questioned her. "Can you even speak properly?" he asked.


    "I...I¡¯m sorr..." Momo struggled, her voice barely a whisper. Even her tongue was still weak.


    "What are you trying to tell him?" Burn pressed further.


    "...thank¡ª" she started.


    "Thank you, and what?" he interjected.


    "...that..."


    "Is it something you can''t tell me?" Burn guessed.


    "No...t... reall..."


    "What can''t you tell him?" Before they realized it, they had encountered Vlad in one of the church''s hallways. Vlad added with an understanding voice, "I will read your mind if you don¡¯t want him to hear."


    Gathering her remaining strength, Momo whispered, "Mas...ter Vl...ad¡­¡± she paused, ¡°My father... he... had died..."


    ***


    Previously, they thought they had time to wait a bit for Momo''s recovery in the church. But now, with the knowledge of impending events, idling around was not an option.


    While they had the luxury of speaking to Vlad personally before, this time constraints forced a different approach. They needed to accelerate Momo''s recovery, hence the strategic, albeit annoying, kissing.


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    Not much had changed, except for the return of the chariot¡ªbecause they came back, the chariot was back too.


    Momo, determined to prevent Yvain from going on a rampage, and Burn, aimed to stop whatever that had previously ended her life.


    They had returned in time, and this moment served as their checkpoint. Literally¡ªthey respawned together after her death.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter who died, right? Why did you save me when we¡¯re going to return either way?¡±


    Momo raised her face to him, her expression serious. ¡°Did you not notice the difference?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference?¡± Burn''s tone was incredulous.


    Momo nodded solemnly at his question. ¡°If it¡¯s you who died, it will be you who¡¯ll pay the price. Your soul¡­¡±


    Burn had killed himself once.


    But he did it right after he woke up, managing to awaken almost immediately afterward. Presumably, the cost wasn''t as steep for him.


    ¡°I am the Infinite Witch. My soul is ''infinite'', albeit needing some time to ''recover''. My soul won¡¯t perish even though I lose everything,¡± Momo explained, her tone laced with both authority and a hint of weariness. ¡°But you¡­¡±


    Her words trailed off, leaving an ominous silence that suggested the stakes were much higher for Burn.


    ¡°I know,¡± Burn sighed. ¡°You saved me.¡±


    But just a split second later, his face immediately shifted to cold indifference. ¡°If not because you did it to use me in your curse.¡±


    Inside the chariot, Momo narrowed her eyes. No matter what, this man wouldn¡¯t appreciate her help, huh?


    Well, the reason she cursed him was so she could force him to change everything. Not to mention how she was using him to maintain her life with his Force right now.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for being weak,¡± she suddenly blurted out.


    ¡°And yes, I''m serious. I should¡¯ve been able to at least fend for myself now that I¡¯m awake and with you. The curse should have been enough to weigh you down, not to have me as an added burden.¡±


    If she weren¡¯t so fragile, everything would¡¯ve been a breeze. She also wouldn¡¯t have had to stoop to begging for his help like this. How utterly undignified.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Burn conceded, his tone almost too casual.


    Momo attempted to mask her reaction, but perhaps his words stung more than she expected.


    ¡°But let¡¯s not forget, you¡¯re also the only one who managed to bring me to my knees,¡± Burn added with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯re my first defeat.¡±


    Burn, the celebrated genius of the century, the one-man army who repelled the outsiders, the destined unifier of the world¡ªCaliburn Soulnon Pendragon.


    Even as she was just on the mend, Burn was convinced that one day when she fully recovered, she would effortlessly defeat him repeatedly.


    Even in her weakened state, she had managed to turn back time on him rather than resort to something as final as killing him.


    Morgan Le Fay, the Infinite Witch.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you remain my only defeat, now and forever.¡±


    BTHMP!


    Burn felt an unexpected thump against his chest, prompting him to raise an eyebrow in surprise.


    Right there, Momo¡¯s voluptuous chest was pressed against his, and from it, he felt a loud, unmistakable heartbeat. Distracted from the road, he turned to see her face turned away, her cheeks blooming with a soft, embarrassed blush.


    ¡°Your heart¡­ it just went wild for a moment. Is your organ still failing?¡± Burn asked, his irritation thinly veiled.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Momo replied, fanning herself with her hand, her face still painted in shades of red. ¡°Kiss me, then?¡±


    ¡°Tch,¡± Burn clicked his tongue, the sound dripping with exasperation and annoyance.


    Hitting the autopilot button on the chariot, Burn was ready for another kissing session. He noticed how her blush hadn¡¯t disappeared, and remembering how she almost never blushed at him before, he wondered what was different this time.


    Well, she was just awake from her dying state. It made sense that she looked a bit weaker, felt a bit softer¡­ and melted right on top of him.


    Maybe because they had been kissing non-stop since she opened her eyes¡ª?

 44 - Not as Dangerous as You

    Eschewing the predictable route to Edensor Capital, Burn and Momo opted for a jaunt straight to the Elysian kingdom¡ªa whimsical detour that turned their journey into a nearly 48-hour marathon, punctuated by necessary pauses for ''rest and other things''.


    Burn seemed perpetually unfazed, while Momo, despite being about as comfortable as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, didn¡¯t voice a single complaint.


    Truly, the epitome of grace under pressure¡ªor perhaps she just lost her complaint department''s number.


    By the 40th hour, with the persistence of a particularly stubborn barnacle, they finally caught up with the army commanded by Yvain.


    The young king, who seemed as knee-deep in paperwork in the middle of the war, was frantically gathering information and reports.


    The Soulnaught army, a fearsome assembly of might and magic, stood ready, bristling with the raw power of seasoned warriors and magical adepts.


    It was a sight to freeze the blood of their enemies: banners fluttering like the pulse of a dragon''s wing, armor gleaming under the sun in a silent threat, and the air thick with the promise of impending doom.


    Yvain, flanked by an impressive cadre of generals freshly drafted from Edensor, managed the chaos with the flair of a circus ringmaster.


    These generals brought not just additional muscle but a certain gravitas¡ªafter all, it''s not every day that one gets to see such an illustrious gathering outside of an epic bard''s tale.


    Marquis Reune was standing beside Yvain when he witnessed the grand entrance of Burn. With all the subtlety of a storm breaking, Burn strode into the strategy meeting tent, Momo cradled in his arms.


    ¡°Sir, th-this¡­ His Majesty has¡­¡±


    Marquis Reune¡¯s mouth was agape.


    The infamous Morgan Le Fay, known far and wide for her legendary strength, seemed to have taken a brief detour from her usual mystique to play the role of a distressed damsel.


    As Burn carried her into the tent, her blonde hair swayed with a life of its own, catching the sunlight and scattering it like a personal entourage of fireflies dedicated to making her look good at all hours.


    Her face, a masterpiece of fatigue touched with a charming blush, suggested she might have just run a marathon in her dreams.


    Yet, despite appearing as though she might crumple at any moment from the sheer weight of her own eyelashes, there was an undeniable magic about her.


    Her eyes, a blue so clear that the sky might file a lawsuit for identity theft, peeked out from beneath those lashes, capturing hearts and probably a few souls.


    It was enchanting, really, how someone could look both like they needed a good nap and as if they might command the very stars to rearrange themselves with a mere flicker of those cerulean depths.


    Truly, Morgan Le Fay, even in her most disheveled state, managed to look ethereally beautiful¡ªlike a goddess who had decided to slum it with mortals for a day, just for the divine giggles¡ª


    ¡°Master¡­?¡±


    There she was, Morgan Le Fay, not just a figment of imagination but very much in the flesh, and looking like she''d just stepped out of an epic saga¡ªalbeit one about napping beauties.


    It had been three years since she vanished into whatever mystical sabbatical she''d taken, leaving behind nothing but whispered rumors and an unfillable void in leadership that Yvain had awkwardly tried to plug.


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    Now here she was, in the arms of Burn, who looked as if he''d wrestled a tornado and then ran a marathon through a sandstorm.


    Disheveled? The understatement of the century. Irritated? If looks could kill, his glare would have already set the tent on fire.


    Yet, despite resembling a walking, grumbling storm cloud, Burn had the decency to deliver the missing enchantress like a courier with an express delivery.


    Yvain, overcome with emotion, dashed forward, arms outstretched for a reunion hug that would have made cinematic history. "Master!!"


    He exclaimed, tears practically forming crystalline structures in his eyes.


    GRASP!


    However, the touching scene was abruptly paused by Burn¡¯s palm, which met Yvain¡¯s face with the subtlety of a stop sign.


    ¡°HMPH!¡±


    ¡°HWAT? L-LET ME GWPH!¡±


    Burn, a tired spirit from behind Momo, whose arms clung to him with the tenacity of ivy, effectively barricaded any further attempts at group affection.


    The palm-face interface was a clear, if not particularly gentle, reminder that personal space was still a concept, even in such heartwarming reunions.


    ¡°Get back, I¡¯m tired.¡±


    Yvain, halted mid-hug, his face squished comically against Burn''s hand, could only blink in startled confusion, his emotional runway abruptly cut short.


    Ah, right, his master looked incredibly tired right now.


    Burn breezed past Yvain, depositing Momo into the main chair with the casual air of someone dropping off dry cleaning.


    ¡°I¡¯m taking over,¡± he declared with the kind of authority that suggested he wasn''t just talking about the chair. ¡°The Edensor delegation can pack up their toys. Escort King Yvain and the Infinite Witch off the battlefield.¡±


    ¡°Galahad! Everyone, front and center in ten minutes¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Momo interrupted, her fingers latching onto Burn¡¯s sleeve just as he started to turn away. He swiveled back, a picture of impatience, but her gaze was filled with concern. ¡°I saw everything. Will you be okay?¡±


    Ah, the White Dwarf. The weapon so potent it could send the planet to oblivion with a mere sneeze of its full power.


    A weapon harnessing the rage of a contained stellar core, so monumentally powerful and absurdly compact, you''d think it was a cosmic joke.


    The sheer audacity to deploy such a universe-ending party favor on the ground was enough to make any sane person check if they¡¯d accidentally wandered into a badly scripted sci-fi thriller.


    Burn, faced with Momo¡¯s wide-eyed worry, might have wanted to reassure her with something soothing¡ªlike how standing next to a weapon that could potentially vaporize them wasn¡¯t the worst way to spend a Tuesday.


    But really, what do you say in the face of such apocalyptic firepower?


    What happened in the previous loop was merely a teaser, a mere tickle compared to the White Dwarf''s full tantrum. Blasting off her head with that almost undodgeable power was using just 0.000000001% of its full capabilities.


    To put that into perspective, that''s like using a peashooter in a nuclear war¡ªquaint, but hardly the main event.


    It''s crazy to think that such a weapon appeared this early in the game. It''s like bringing a chainsaw to a butter knife fight¡ªoverkill doesn¡¯t even begin to cover it.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it better if you¡¯re completely out of my sight?¡± Burn quipped, trying to extricate his sleeve from her grasp.


    Yet, Momo was not to be outdone. She switched tactics, grabbing his hand with an urgency that suggested she was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want you to die, it¡¯s different if it¡¯s me. We still had time, so let me make an artifact to deflect the attack you receive to hit me instead. I¡­ Caliburn¡­ I¡­¡±


    Her voice wavered.


    As her trembling voice trailed off into uncertainty, the warmth from her hand crept into the icy aloofness of his, a stark contrast that could have melted glaciers¡ªor at least thawed his chilly disposition.


    Her expression was a live painting of desperation, eyes glistening with hysteria. The silence that followed was thick enough to slice with a knife.


    ¡°Momo, did you forget something?¡± Burn sighed, his tone dripping with the kind of exasperation usually reserved for a parent who¡¯s found yet another forgotten lunchbox.


    With a slight maneuver, he brought Yvain into view.


    The poor boy looked like he''d been caught in a rainstorm of his own tears, silently crying as he eavesdropped on their conversation.


    The emotional weight of his first reunion with his master after such a long separation was clearly more than he had bargained for.


    ¡°W-what is going to happen? What is happening? A-are you going to die too? H-His Majesty Burn¡­ Master too?¡±


    Yvain stammered, his voice a shaky collage of fear and confusion. His questions hung in the air, each one layered with the kind of dread that could easily stab someone in the feels.


    Here stood their young king, grappling with the potential loss of not just one, but possibly both of his mentors in one fell swoop¡ªlike his parents.


    ¡°...Ain¡­¡± Momo grasped her chest, grimacing.


    "Enough." Burn''s voice was impatient. "Haven''t you already rummaged through my memories? I¡¯ve fought the White Dwarf before.¡±


    The man sighed at her. ¡°It¡¯s not as dangerous as you.¡±

 45 - Responsibility

    Yvain had a one-of-a-kind nuclear-powered royal carriage. Unlike Burn''s war chariot, designed for a lone warrior, Yvain''s carriage boasted specialized features focused on defense and protection.


    Its interior exuded an air of luxurious comfort, beckoning anyone who stepped inside to bask in its lavishness. The carriage was a sight to behold.


    Plush upholstery adorned every surface, enveloping passengers in a cocoon of lavishness. Cushions, meticulously crafted for maximum comfort, seemed to whisper promises of indulgence and relaxation.


    Every detail, from the intricate carvings on the walls to the gilded accents, spoke of Yvain''s identity as a ruler.


    Within the spacious confines of the carriage, Yvain reveled in his own magnificence. The nuclear power that propelled the carriage ensured a smooth and swift journey, while also serving as a statement of his status and influence.


    Here, within this mobile fortress of luxury and protection, Yvain could shield himself from the hardships and inconveniences that mortals faced.


    Especially with his master here, who had just recovered from a serious predicament.


    His eternally captivating master, seated beside him within the lavish confines of the carriage, gazed out of the window with an air of sublime beauty.


    Momo, the epitome of resplendence, possessed a charm that transcended even the most dire circumstances. It was as if her beauty had an uncanny ability to flourish even amidst the most unflattering circumstances.


    She could be drenched in mud or adorned with the finest manure, and yet, her allure would remain untouched, defying all conventional expectations.


    ¡°Ain, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Yvain flinched when the woman suddenly spoke.


    She let out a weary sigh, her voice laced with a mix of regret. "I vanished, without a single word. It''s been all these years... You must''ve gone through so much during my absence."


    "All that matters is you''re back, Master. Everything else is trivial; I understand," Yvain said, his words brushing aside the weight of the past with a simple, earnest affection.


    Momo responded with a soft chuckle, her laughter tinged with a hint of sadness as she pulled him into a warm embrace. "If you knew what the future holds, I wonder if you''d still find it in your heart to forgive me.¡±


    Yvain felt complicated. Seeing what happened earlier between his master and Burn, he felt that they knew something and shouldered it alone.


    He was still a kid, after all, privy to the universal child''s diet of secrets and half-truths.


    Yet, he wore a crown, which regrettably didn''t come with the luxury of a typical childhood¡ªno scraped knees or stolen cookies, just statecraft and scepters.


    Was this because he was weak?


    ¡°Aside from the past, my child, have you seen the reports about the Elysian Kingdom?¡± Momo asked.


    ¡°Huh? Uh¡­ that¡­¡± Yvain sputtered. The whole thing with the kingdom was something else¡ªcloaked in secrecy and just plain wrong.


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    Treating the prince and princess like they were objects, rather than actual people. All over some prophecy¡ª


    ¡°When you walk into the enemy¡¯s palace at the end of this march, what do you think you¡¯ll encounter?¡± Momo inquired.


    ¡°Well, after our brief skirmish on the border, they¡¯re probably give up and accept their defeat. Perhaps a scattering of nobles, the king, and his heir might turn tail¡­¡±


    ¡°Given all the details in those reports and their history so far, what do you think will happen?¡± Momo pressed.


    ¡°From what I gather, there¡¯s no escape plan brewing in the royal quarters. So, if I barge in, I might just catch them like that.¡±


    Momo nodded.


    But then, she slowly explained, "You know, desperation has a knack for squeezing out more from people than mere surrender, hands up and knees in the dirt. It can brew up a batch of hope when you least expect it."


    "Master¡­ what are you getting at?" Yvain''s confusion was clear, his understanding lagging a few steps behind.


    "Their hope is the arrival of a new princess. When the walls start closing in, what do you think their play will be?" Momo posed the question gently, hinting at the deeper strategies at play.


    Momo''s hinted keywords were reports, history, and desperation.


    Yvain remembered he had read a report stating that all unmarried noble daughters in the kingdom had been gathered and hosted in the palace just yesterday.


    He had initially thought it was an attempt to save them from the war.


    "They''re creating a harem for the young prince, forcing him to sow his royal seed with every noble daughter present. At this point, that will be the sight you encounter, my child," Momo said.


    Yvain was mature for his age, dubbed ''Little Merlin'' for his prodigious intellect. Yet, let¡¯s not forget, he was still a 12-year-old.


    ¡°You¡¯re a king, and you¡¯re the same age as him, if my memory serves me right,¡± Momo pointed out with a slight tilt of her head, ¡°And that¡¯s exactly why you need to be clued in on this mess.¡±


    Yvain felt the air squeeze out of his lungs.


    ¡°In an ideal world, we¡¯d have none of this nonsense¡ªa reality where no child is expected to play grown-up in such an absurdly adult sandbox.¡±


    "A reality where a young child is forced to engage in such activities with multiple partners at once,¡± Momo whispered in shame. ¡°Ain, I am sorry that this is the world you live in."


    Digesting her words, simmering in his mind, Yvain found himself rendered speechless, struck mute by the sheer horror of it all.


    There he was, a preteen king draped in the velvet linings of a nuclear-powered royal carriage¡ªthe hum of atomic energy in the background serving as a bizarre lullaby for his thoughts.


    It was almost ironic, really: here he sat in the lap of advanced, opulent technology, yet grappling with medieval-level barbarism.


    No matter the chatter, Yvain was indeed one of the fortunate ones.


    He could hold his own in a scuffle, had his master now and then¡ªher vanishing acts a test of his self-sufficiency¡ªand was graced with divine blessings, armed with strength and Vision.


    But that other boy? He was nothing more than a marionette, strung along by the desperate hopes of a kingdom, dancing to a tune composed by the fickle fingers of the sinisters. A twisted beacon of hope, indeed.


    Chosen not because of his strength, but his mediocrity¡ªhow utterly tragic. How¡­


    ¡°Will His Majesty save him?¡± Yvain inquired.


    Momo¡¯s eyebrows arched at the question.


    ¡°Caliburn?¡±


    Yvain nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Momo replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. ¡°He¡¯s not exactly the person who would¡­¡±


    Yvain¡¯s gaze fell.


    ¡°But,¡± Momo continued with a reassuring smile, ¡°he¡¯s also not one to take lives unnecessarily. Besides, do you really think it would be wise to save him rather than let him die?¡±


    Yvain, unaware of his own past loop¡¯s decision to order obliteration of everything with his mana, asserted, ¡°It¡¯s not too late to save him, right? No, even if it is, we must try.¡±


    Momo smiled.


    ¡°It will be challenging. It will be a tremendous responsibility. Caliburn, the man responsible for decisions, won¡¯t help you,¡± she cautioned.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Yvain responded firmly. ¡°I am a king too.¡±


    ¡°If His Majesty permits him to live, then I will rescue him¡­ along with his brothers¡­ and all the princes stashed away as mere pawns.¡±

 46 - Early Debut

    Burn was never a gentle man.


    His approach to ruling was simple: practical, pragmatic, and cold. You could call him a tyrant, or if you''re feeling particularly poetic, the Absolute Emperor.


    Yes, a title dripping with enough dread to make even the most hardened villain pause and nod appreciatively.


    Burn was a villain through and through, a man whose heart might have been auctioned off at a yard sale for villains, assuming he ever had one to begin with.


    And his soul? Well, if you believe his middle name, ¡®No Soul¡¯, he probably burned it at the stake a long time ago for a bit of extra warmth. After all, why bother with pesky things like emotions when you can rule with an iron fist and a frozen smirk?


    More than once, Burn volunteered to roll up his sleeves and dive into the dirty work himself.


    Burn seemed like a man who simply couldn''t stand the thought of missing out on a good bloodbath. Why delegate the fun of chaos when you can be the life and soul of the party? After all, no one throws a coup quite like the emperor himself.


    But, the people who knew him personally would know that it was all about accountability, not wanting his loyal minions to shoulder the grim consequences of his commands.


    Before leaving with Yvain, Morgan Le Fay asked him with a singular request: "Consider the future. We''ve been through more than enough to realize¡ªnot to notice the obvious."


    Then, she wrapped Yvain beside her in an embrace, as if to tell Burn her intentions.


    "Do the right thing," her hug seemed to whisper, as if she expected Burn to play the role of a benevolent guardian, rather than a self-serving protagonist.


    Do something good, not something effective¡ªbeneficial only for himself. She wanted him to do good for the future.


    Morgan had a knack for manipulating time to craft the best outcome for herself and her dear companion. Now that she entrusted Burn with the responsibility of saving the world, Burn could only see it as it was her own gamble.


    He didn¡¯t want to have anything to do with that.


    But she was right about one thing, pointing out the pesky butterfly effect. One wrong step, one misstep in the dance of destiny, and¡ªapocalypse.


    The White Dwarf, for example, crashed the party earlier than expected. It was meant to make its grand entrance before the Battle of Wintersin, not now.


    And the reason for that was, mainly, the early death of Benjamin Velaryon.


    Wait, okay. Maybe not directly that.


    In his previous loops, the White Dwarf made its debut after Burn proved to be a threat to the Alliance. The outsiders, fearing that Burn would gain more power over the years of his march, agreed upon the use of the cataclysmic weapon.


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    Well, who wouldn''t be concerned about a power-hungry tyrant gaining more influence over time?


    Coincidentally, at the same time, Burn had just killed two of the outsider''s VIP customers; one of them was Velaryon, who had volunteered himself as the ruler of Edensor under Soulnaught.


    However, Velaryon was doing sloppy work and siding himself more with the outsiders, providing them with intel.


    In this loop, Burn might have proven himself a problem sooner than expected, branding him a great threat.


    It was still unexpected.


    He didn''t know the price of Velaryon''s head was this expensive. Or maybe there were other considerations behind the scenes that he was oblivious to.


    For that matter, Momo could be right about ''doing the right thing.'' Or she could be entirely wrong, and everything would be downhill from now on, no matter what he did. Worse, ''doing the right thing'' might be bad for them.


    Yet...


    Morgan Le Fay''s face, as she pushed him away from danger that day, saving him from death''s trajectory, still haunted his mind.


    Whether she was right or wrong, Burn had confirmed that it was in his best interest. She wasn''t merely using him for her own benefit¡ªto change her own destiny.


    "I don''t want you to die, it''s different if it''s me. I... Caliburn... I..."


    Or those watercolor eyes had started to get to him.


    The air in the tent was thick with tension and anticipation as the strategic meeting led by Burn neared its end. Maps were scattered across the table, dotted with little figurines representing their troops and enemy strongholds.


    The flickering candlelight danced upon the faces of the commanders, highlighting their furrowed brows and clenched jaws.


    Burn stood at the head of the table, his voice, commanding and laced with cold, echoed through the room.


    The commanders nodded solemnly, their minds swimming with thoughts of the impending clash. Some scribbled furiously on parchment, trying to capture every detail of the plan.


    Others exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a grim apprehension.


    "Something like that... exists?" Galahad pondered, contemplating the meaning of life and questioning his life choices.


    The mention of the White Dwarf by the man he had pledged to follow to the ends of the earth had thrown him into a whirlwind of introspection. Oh, the joys of existential crises.


    Burn took a seat and nonchalantly explained his grand plan. "That''s why we opt for this strategy. Defeat, Gather, Evacuate, Run, and then, Defeat again."


    "Just follow the predetermined route, march in a delightful circle, and keep a safe distance. Easy, right?"


    Galahad couldn''t hide his concern. "And Your Majesty, you intend to face this formidable weapon yourself?"


    Burn shrugged. "I''ll be fine."


    But the generals weren''t buying it. They crossed the line.


    "Your Majesty, our empress isn''t here to be placated. You can drop the act and tell us the truth."


    "Please, think about our empress. You''re not even married yet... Think of all the fun you''ll be missing out on!"


    "I can just imagine her now, begging you to reconsider this madness if she were here."


    "Your Majesty... Her Majesty awaits your return at home. Remember that cozy castle and warm bed?"


    Oh, the subtle sarcasm and not-so-subtle hints. The generals were laying it on thick, desperately trying to convince their leader to change his mind.


    But Burn¡ª"Why does everyone keep shipping me with that cursed bi¡ªwitch?!"


    "Well, isn''t it just glaringly obvious that she''s the only one who can match your illustrious imperial blood?" Galahad muttered with a hint of exasperation. "Once we''re done here, Sir, please do consider making her our empress."


    Burn scoffed, unable to fathom the idea. "Do you realize how ancient that witch is? She''s practically immortal¡ª"


    "Which means she''s perpetually ageless, Sir, if I may respectfully interject," Galahad countered.


    ¡®That is actually a good argument,¡¯ the unexpected logic gave Burn pause. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the moments when Vlad had treated him like a baby. "She doesn¡¯t see me as a child, does she?"


    ¡®Sir, you kissed her multiple times in front of us¡­¡¯ was what crossed the minds of the generals, including Galahad, but they failed to voice it, fearing Burn''s wrath.


    ¡°Forget that. Do what I say and you¡¯ll be good. No more gossip.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sir.¡±


    The early debut of the White Dwarf, huh? Well, bring it on.

 47 - Evacuating the Capital

    Defeat, Gather, Evacuate, Run, and Defeat.


    First, they would charge forward, their swords clashing with every obstacle in their path, like a herd of determined wildebeests stampeding through.


    Oh, the Elysian capital didn''t know what was coming for them. The Soulnaught Army had their sights ordered on conquest, ready to snatch the crown like a greedy child grabbing for the last piece of cake at a birthday party.


    Once victory was secured, it was time for the grand gathering. They would snatch up everything and everyone in their path.


    The royal family? Check. The common folk and their precious belongings? Check. Nothing valuable would be left behind. They still had time after all, so, take away everything.


    With their newly acquired entourage and resources in tow, the army would then embark on a great escape, like fugitives running from the law.


    As they fled, they would leave a trail of defeated foes in their wake, as if they were playing an elaborate game of "Whack-a-Mole" with their enemies. Noble houses, military fortresses, military posts¡ªevery single thing.


    And let''s not forget the predestined route, carefully crafted through Burn''s past loop experiences.


    They would traverse the capital, the northern border, and westward, through rugged landscapes and treacherous valleys, until finally looping back to the starting point to the south, in the west of the capital.


    Along the way, Burn would always keep a watchful eye on his merry band of marauders through his trusty team of mages. They were to be on high alert for any sign of outsiders and the White Dwarf, both Burn and the other end.


    Their break and loot strategy resembled more of a bandit''s playbook than a disciplined military operation. Like a rowdy gang of miscreants, they would swoop down upon unsuspecting cities, pillaging their precious resources, and then swiftly move on to the next target.


    It would be a never-ending cycle of chaos, like a never-ending buffet of mayhem.


    But fear not, for this pattern had been carefully crafted. They would traverse the kingdom in a grand circle, visiting the big cities like tourists on a particularly aggressive sightseeing spree.


    And all of this would be accomplished without so much as a wink of rest for two to three whole weeks. Who needs sleep when you can conquer and loot to your heart''s content, right?


    With their pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance¡ªthe advanced technology from those outsiders. those gadgets and gizmos, and the added bonus of their Force and Vision, the Soulnaught Army was practically unstoppable.


    And Burn?


    He would accompany his army just until they reached the capital. After all, there were important matters that needed his attention.


    In the previous loops, Burn and his army were swift and efficient in their assault on Elysian. This meant that the poor crown prince didn''t have to endure the royal seed insemination plan.


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    But alas, the young prince and his father, along with a multitude of nobles, were instead condemned to a life of slavery. Whether this was a better fate or a worse one, well, that''s a topic open for debate.


    Now, however, even though Burn had taken over command and returned to being practical, a significant amount of time had been lost. The young prince might be...


    As Burn''s presence graced the threshold of the Elysian palace, he effortlessly swung open the giant door with a single hand, causing a resounding echo to ripple through the empty halls.


    Oh, how fitting it was that the capital was being gleefully pillaged by his rambunctious Soulnaught Army while he strolled through the seemingly empty palace.


    With each thud of his metal heels against the polished floors, it was as if the very foundation of the palace trembled in fear. The grandeur that once adorned these halls now stood as a haunting reminder of the power that Burn wielded.


    The opulent tapestries and ornate chandeliers remained mere witnesses to the chaos unfolding beyond the palace walls. Horrifying, horrifying sight.


    The emptiness surrounding Burn felt palpable, like a ghostly presence watching his every move. The whispers of the wind carried the faint echoes of laughter and muffled screams, a symphony of triumph and terror orchestrated by his own army.


    It was a scene that would make even the most hardened souls shudder with a mix of awe and dread.


    Burn pressed forward, tracing the very halls that Yvain had ventured down to find the horror of human hope. It didn''t take him long to reach it. How convenient.


    It was eerily quiet for such activity to be happening behind the door right in front of Burn.


    However, as he opened the door and beheld a line of women¡ªadults, young, and even younger¡ªsurrounding a young boy in the middle of the hall, he finally understood.


    This was what Yvain had witnessed¡ªor perhaps even worse. The boy king had encountered it approximately a week later from today. And surely, after a week, the boy prince in the middle would have been a mere shell of himself.


    Gasps echoed through the room, triggering a frenzied scramble as women desperately clung to their garments, seeking cover.


    Amidst the chaos, everyone attempted to flee, but Burn simply stood, knowing they couldn''t escape the capital with his army lurking nearby.


    The only two who remained were the boy prince himself and an old woman. The boy lay naked on the floor, devoid of expression, while the old woman, taken aback by Burn''s intrusion, was on the verge of screaming at him.


    "Duchess Delone, I presume?"


    Burn inquired with a hint of sarcasm, his voice echoing through the depths of the palace.


    Shielded from the commotion in the capital, they remained oblivious to the chaos unfolding outside. And as for anyone attempting to report the situation to the palace, Burn''s cunning subordinates had intercepted them.


    "The king is here as well, isn''t he? Summon him," Burn commanded.


    Perhaps, much like the boy, the king himself had also been instructed to engage in procreation in a separate chamber. However, being an adult, he didn''t require any supervision.


    With a panicked expression, the old woman hastily departed, despite her advanced age proving no hindrance to her ability to flee.


    Unperturbed by her departure, Burn approached the naked boy lying on the floor. Resting atop a fur blanket, its dark color might have masked its filth, but the putrid odor alone revealed its true nature.


    Pulling his armor cape, Burn draped it over the boy, providing him with some semblance of modesty. Carefully, he gathered the child in his arms, noticing the vacant look in the boy''s eyes, an indication of the loss of his innocence.


    And in that moment, Burn''s gaze fell upon the familiar figure of the old woman, trailed by the disheveled king, still fumbling to clothe himself properly.


    "You are¡ª"


    "Alright," Burn interrupted. "Join the masses and follow them. My army is evacuating the capital."


    "What¡ª" the king started to question, his confusion evident.


    Without missing a beat, Burn pivoted on his heels, his expression flat and cold. "I want the capital empty by dawn.¡±

 48 - Careless and Prepared

    What happened when Burn faced off against the White Dwarf, you ask?


    It was after he''d gobbled up Luminus into his ever-burgeoning empire and right before his frosty march to Wintersin.


    Ever the gracious host, Burn had managed to irk the intergalactic community by offing a couple of their most cherished VIPs.


    Enter the White Dwarf, a weapon so paradoxically mighty yet mini, it could¡¯ve been a tall teenager¡¯s overzealous science project. The mini part, not the apocalyptically mighty part.


    Despite its compact size, the thing weighed a ton¡ªthink of it as a cosmic dumbbell. And the handling? Let¡¯s just say it wasn¡¯t exactly user-friendly.


    This petite powerhouse packed the punch of a stellar core, turning "unlimited laser beams in a box" from sci-fi fantasy into a terrifying reality.


    To wield it, you needed the finesse of a spaceship gunner and the brawn of a mech warrior, all while clad in special armor and flanked by a personal army¡ªbecause apparently, operating a handheld apocalypse was a team sport.


    So, when Burn took on the White Dwarf, it was less of a duel and more of an absurd dance with destiny, armed with a weapon that was essentially a star trapped in metal, looking for an excuse to explode. Needless to say, it was anything but a discreet affair.


    But.


    Its use on the ground was RARE.


    It required special authorization from the faceless higher-ups residing millions of light-years away from this world. Obtaining the necessary permit would undoubtedly take a considerable amount of time.


    Burn couldn''t help but suspect that the request to employ this resource on the ground, coinciding with the day before his march to Wintersin, had been meticulously processed long ago, awaiting the perfect excuse to surface.


    And what better timing than the elimination of their esteemed VIP customers? It was simply too convenient.


    But this fast? Oh, they must be bending the rules somehow. Who needed permits anyway, right?


    So, it seemed that someone, in their infinite wisdom, decided to play the covert card and unleash the big gun without waiting for the official stamp of approval.


    Now, let''s not go overboard with it. One or two shots fired, tops. They wouldn''t want to obliterate too many resources or draw too much attention.


    Though, Burn couldn¡¯t help but wonder if someone with grand authority had a hand in orchestrating this spectacle. They must be the mastermind behind it all, pulling the strings from their cushy throne.


    That was precisely why Burn was super confident he could handle it himself. Even with permits, they wouldn''t be able to go overboard with the weapon, for fear of accidentally destroying the planet.


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    But, they were the type of people who would use the weapon illegally anyway, so there was no guarantee they wouldn¡¯t go overboard.


    In previous loops, Burn''s fights were quite quick.


    This time, however, Burn knew they would wait until he let his guard down¡ªsince previously, they attacked just after Burn and Momo had calmed Yvain down.


    Thus, he told his generals and aides to spread the information that he wanted the capital emptied for his ''me time.''


    Because nothing says ''relaxing alone'' like evicting thousands and turning a bustling metropolis into a ghost town. Clearly, Burn¡¯s idea of self-care involved less bubble baths and more strategic vacuums.


    Here he was, drinking wine, wearing a luxurious house robe, sitting on the open balcony of the palace, overlooking the city below¡ªalone. He had been waiting for almost half a day.


    "Should I jerk off?" he muttered, thinking of the most vulnerable, careless state he could be seen in.


    But as he thought about jerking off, a face crossed his mind instead. He looked down and narrowed his eyes at his crotch. "So this is what it feels like to have a brain in one''s pants."


    Morgan Le Fay¡¯s face, huh?


    Once again, he spoke to his rebellious anatomy¡ª¡°That¡¯s your type?¡±


    One of these days, his dick would scream that it wasn¡¯t its fault, and Burn would understand himself a bit more instead of shutting it up.


    Speaking of self-awareness, it might be a normal reaction toward the memory of a woman he had kissed almost non-stop for 48 hours inside his claustrophobic chariot.


    Not to mention how pretty she was.


    "Momo¡­ Empress, huh?"


    Bzzzt¡ª


    Burn¡¯s pupil shrunk.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    Right on cue.


    Who would have thought that it would come at him just as Burn was navigating the treacherous waters of self-reflection and anatomical betrayal?


    He was actually a bit off guard.


    From the horizon, with a love note attached in the form of a deadly laser, came the White Dwarf''s greeting. The shot was not just a casual hello; it was aimed with the precision of a scorned lover, directly at the palace, with Burn as its heartthrob.


    Pure white.


    The blast was an overachiever. The kind of spectacle that wouldn''t just settle for a loud bang¡ªit craved a full-on light show. The heat was immediate, a sweltering embrace that could melt the resolve of any.


    The light was the kind of brilliant that had anyone questioning their life choices, illuminating every corner of his now-not-so-cozy balcony. It swallowed the space like a starved celestial being, leaving nothing in its wake but a memory of what once was.


    When the light and heat finally receded, like party guests who realized they were at the wrong address, the devastation was clear.


    The palace now resembled a field of ashes¡ªnothing but a huge crater with fine dust. And Burn was nowhere to be seen.


    For that specific second.


    ¡°Found ya.¡±


    Thanks to that first shot, he was able to pinpoint the direction of the source. With his house robe and the trusty sword he summoned, he kicked the air and flew straight at it.


    But one mustn¡¯t forget that the White Dwarf didn¡¯t have a cooldown period.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    With its unlimited reserves of energy and a complete disregard for cooldown, it defied the laws of thermodynamics, possessing a self-sustaining cooling mechanism, drawing from its own boundless energy source.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    Shot after shot, it spared no expense, knowing no limits. Like a child with an infinite supply of fireworks, it reveled in its unyielding arsenal.


    BLAST! BLAAAAASTT!


    As the White Dwarf discharged its energy, it converted the excess into a cooling mechanism. This self-sustaining system ensured that the weapon could maintain its furious assault without pause.


    With the greatest technology ever created, it defied the very principles of thermodynamic equilibrium, as if possessing a perpetual air conditioner in the depths of space.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTT!


    Even so, the user remained an ordinary human.


    Would a special suit designed for the White Dwarf''s user make a difference? It could only go so far. Technology may have its limits, but what about the user themselves?


    Would they possess the skill and precision necessary to aim and take down Emperor Burn, who was consciously prepared for such an attack?


    The answer was simple: No.

 49 - A Revival

    Today, the scene at the edge of the crumbling cityscape was nothing short of cinematic. The user of the White Dwarf couldn''t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Seriously, a house robe? Is it pajama day and nobody told me?" he quipped, eyeing Burn''s luxurious attire with amusement.


    And he didn¡¯t get hit at all!


    Burn, clad in his silk robe which fluttered dramatically with every nimble dodge, looked like he had mistaken an apocalyptic showdown for a spa day. His sword gleamed under the flickering lights of the ruined buildings. Yet, despite the seemingly mismatched ensemble, Burn moved with the grace and precision of a seasoned warrior, effortlessly evading the relentless barrage of attacks.


    ¡°Fuck this.¡±


    The user of the White Dwarf, not one to be underestimated, manipulated the cosmic powers of his device with a smirk. Energy pulsed from the White Dwarf, casting eerie shadows as it charged for another attack. "Let''s see if your robe has superpowers too," the user taunted, unleashing a wave of condensed starlight straight at Burn.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!


    ¡°COMMANDER! HE¡¯S CLOSING IN!¡±


    ¡°Shut up.¡±


    Well, Burn, with a flick of his wrist and a well-timed roll, avoided every shot as if he were dancing through raindrops without getting wet.


    As the fight escalated, the user of the White Dwarf couldn''t help but admire Burn''s audacity and skill. So this was the man who single handedly stopped the first wave, huh.


    "This sucks," he commented dryly, even as he prepared another powerful blast.


    Burn, in response, simply flashed a daring grin and adjusted his robe like a cape. With a swift motion, he lunged forward, his blade singing through the air.


    ¡°Defense!¡± ¡®Commander¡¯ yelled, ¡°The closer he is, the easier for us to hit him!¡±


    Burn, seemingly unfazed by the tactical shift, merely tightened the sash of his robe¡ªa gesture that somehow managed to convey both supreme confidence and a touch of sarcasm. "Easier to hit, you say? I suppose we''ll see about that," he murmured, almost to himself, as he spiraled closer into the heart of the enemy''s formation.


    The user of the White Dwarf snorted in amusement, watching Burn''s audacious approach. "Well, folks, here he comes," he commented to his comrades.


    As Burn drew nearer, the soldiers adjusted their aim, weapons trained with deadly precision. Yet, Burn moved like a shadow, his steps unpredictably rhythmic, dodging bullets and energy blasts as if partaking in some deadly dance. "Remarkable," the White Dwarf user admitted begrudgingly. "He dodges bullets better than the trainer AI."


    Unleashing another surge of white-hot starlight, the user aimed directly at Burn, who not only evaded but managed to deflect the attack using the flat of his blade. The deflected energy bolt careened off into the night, illuminating the ruined cityscape like a fleeting comet.


    ¡°Probably shouldn¡¯t do it more than that,¡± Burn muttered, thinking of preserving the life of his blade.


    The Commander, growing increasingly frustrated, signaled for a tighter circle. "Encircle him with your attack! He can''t dodge all of us!" he ordered.


    The soldiers aimed in, creating a ring of laser and firepower around Burn. The user of the White Dwarf watched, a smirk playing on his lips. "Now, this I have to see. A battle mage in a bathrobe, trapped in a ring of death. What will he do next? Output 0,0005%!"


    Burn, center stage in the lethal arena, paused midair in a split second and seemed to assess his situation. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he lifted his sword high. "If it''s a show you want, it''s a show you''ll get," he declared. In a blur of silk and steel, Burn launched forward.


    ¡°What?!¡± the user widened his eyes seeing how Burn lunged right into the attack. He couldn¡¯t dodge or deflect it anymore¡ª


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    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTTT!!!


    ¡°The thing is¡­¡±


    Burn also wasn¡¯t the man he was in the original timeline.


    Pointing his sword in front of him, toward the blast, just before it entered his space¡ªhe absorbed it.


    ¡°Twenty eight? ¡­No, nine? Quite heavy.¡±


    Burn recalled the delightful memory of those ten, count ''em, TEN, consecutive blasts from the 20 latest version mech armors of Velaryon. Felt about as heavy as a marshmallow on a diet.


    The shot from the White Dwarf, well this one packed quite a punch, like twenty nine equivalent of the ten consecutive blasts, all rolled up in a neat little cosmic package.


    It was just another sunny souvenir¡ªanother creation of a star.


    The White Dwarf, a remnant of a stellar core, was just a leftover from a celestial cookout. And today, Burn gathered up all that stellar dross, brandishing a condensed, reassembled, super-dense star on his sword tip.


    Revival.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t get paid enough for this¡­¡± the user grumbled under his breath.


    You know, a bit of wisdom in the warrior''s manual is knowing when to fold ''em, when to say "no thank you" to imminent danger. Our friend, the White Dwarf user, was a commander with an uncanny talent for reading the room...or the battlefield, as it were.


    Always seemed to know just when to swap his sword for sneakers.


    ¡°We must run.¡±


    Up in the great blue yonder, there floated a man, swathed in a robe that was billowing in the wind, raised his sword straight up the top of his head.


    He held aloft a sword with a miniature pea-sized sun on its tip, a little DIY project he''d revived from a white dwarf''s leftover stellar core. It gleamed in the sky, putting Nethermere''s solar system''s sun to shame with its VIP access to proximity and luminescence.


    He was¡ª¡°So, this is Apex Two, huh?¡±


    But before they could run, they had to shoot¡ªfaster than him, with a higher output, the best they could handle. ¡°We will clear our way out with 2% output now.¡±


    ¡°But sir, that¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Yes, we can possibly decimate this planet, but do you want to die?¡±


    So, you''re wondering how the White Dwarf was cooked up? Well, sit tight, because this tale involved modern technology on steroids, mythical accessories, and a whole lot of heat.


    First off, the makers harnessed the core of stellar remnants, using its heat energy to whip up the kind of power that could make the apocalypse look like a minor inconvenience.


    The catch? No fusion energy left in that starry carcass. It had become a white dwarf after all. It was all heat, baby, a cosmic space heater that didn''t quit until the core went cold turkey.


    Now, creating the White Dwarf wasn''t as simple as putting a pot on the stove. The technology of the modern civilization was supercharged by the Heart of *****, a mythical gem rumored to be the last twinkling tear of a dying deity.


    This little trinket had the power to fortify the function of any device it was plugged into. And when one said "fortify," one might mean "turn into a weapon of mass destruction."


    Then came the fun part: turning this stellar core remnant into a weapon. It was like trying to turn a rabid rhino into a house pet. The Heart of ***** amplified the energy harvesting process, condensing the heat from the core into a manageable form.


    This was then channeled into a weapon casing made from Etlequarzite, an ancient metal harder than a calculus problem and rarer than a quiet politician.


    Channeling the heat energy of the core through the Etlequarzite casing created a contained, directed weapon of unimaginable power. The result? The White Dwarf. A weapon that could make even the hardest of intergalactic warlords wet their space pants.


    And there you have it. The creation of the White Dwarf: a cosmic cocktail of science, myth, and a dash of suicidal bravery¡ªthat used to be impossible to wield on the ground.


    Only 1% of its power could decimate any ground, nonetheless.


    But still, to kill this man¡ªno. To merely run away from this man, they needed to use double that!


    Burn sighed. Come to think of all that, in the previous loop, he allowed them to hit him when he was off guard. He wondered if he¡¯d die by that surprise attack if Momo didn¡¯t push him out of the way.


    The answer, maybe he¡¯d survive.


    But not unscathed.


    He was vigilant and serious now, using a hundred percent of his power, so they wouldn¡¯t be able to catch him off guard again. But would he survive 2% output of the weapon?


    The answer would be, no. It seemed that they had overestimated him.


    But at that crucial time, rather than being afraid, Burn was seen grinning. 2% of the power of a dying sun, huh? How exciting. How exciting!


    Now that he couldn¡¯t die anyway, would he be able to face that absolute destruction head on without consequence?


    ¡°FIRE!¡± Burn was burning with curiosity. ¡°Fire it with everything you got!¡±


    2% might be the limit for them. To disable Burn and to let them run away scott free. But with this provocation, Burn might find his own limit, and the ground use of the White Dwarf.


    ¡°But well, that woman would be mad at me.¡±


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSTTT!!!

 50 - The Top of the Hill

    It was lonely.


    Well, loneliness was indeed the constant companion of the so-called genius of the century, Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon.


    He was the bonus child of Soulnaught Kingdom''s royal line, a little extra curtsy in the family waltz.


    Illegitimate bastard.


    Yet, he was doted upon more than the official heir. Why, you ask? Well, the lad had a knack for tyranny and ruthlessness that made Machiavelli look like a boy scout. He didn''t suffer from bullying; he was the bully.


    You''d think an extra kid in a royal family would be treated like an unsightly stain on the royal tapestry, but Caliburn? Oh, he was the designer''s favorite.


    From the get-go, he swept through life''s obstacles like a tornado on a mission. He wielded his power like a sledgehammer at a pi?ata party, smashing anyone foolhardy enough to cross him. But, let''s not forget, it was a lonely gig.


    Sure, he was a kid navigating a shark tank, a lamb in a lion''s den, but by some cosmic joke, he was tougher than a two-coin steak.


    How did he become so formidable? Oh, the usual way. He disassembled and reconstructed his body more times than an overzealous mechanic. He smashed his own limits into oblivion and then danced on their graves.


    He outwitted, outplayed, and outlasted anyone who dared to challenge him. And then one day, the challengers stopped coming.


    By his tenth birthday, he was hailed as the prodigy Prince of Soulnaught. His father started to shower him with affection, the nobility fawned over him, and his legitimate brother? Well, he was relegated to the shadows, a forgotten echo of what could have been.


    It was a shadow puppet show, really, with Caliburn pulling all the strings. And all the while, loneliness stood by, the silent audience in his one-man show.


    Being on the very top could get pretty lonely. So, when the extraterrestrial riff-raff decided to drop by for a visit invasion, Caliburn hoped he had finally found some worthy adversaries.


    Aliens, the final frontier, a chance to flex his muscles and push his limits. But alas, it was like squashing bugs. Had the intergalactic invaders sent their junior varsity team? It seemed they were less "War of the Worlds" and more "Mars Attacks!"


    And then they tried to play dirty. How adorable¡ªand convenient!


    This provided the perfect excuse for a good old-fashioned war. Before the outsiders could stick a flag in his turf, Caliburn planned to unite the realm under his iron fist.


    And then, oh boy, he''d have a surprise for them. He''d be like an angry landlord, evicting them through that celestial crack they snuck in from¡­ and with the excuse of paying them back, he would go after them and invade their realms too!


    Until Morgan Le Fay strutted onto the scene.


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    It was the first time for Burn, not being able to destroy his way into things. A curveball Burn wasn''t expecting. She utterly defeated him with her absolute time magic. And she claimed it wasn''t even her A-game.


    ¡°The spell wasn¡¯t perfect,¡± she said.


    For the first time, Caliburn found himself on the backfoot. Suddenly, the top of the hill didn''t feel so lonely anymore.


    Thus¡­


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSST!


    He couldn¡¯t sit on his limit anymore. He needed to find a taller hill. A much steeper and much slipperier than before.


    After that, a cliff, and a mighty mountain.


    ¡°HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!¡±


    Staring down the business end of the White Dwarf''s power output, a mere 2% of its fury being unleashed by the user and his cheerleading squad of warriors, Burn stood.


    He used his Force to shield and soak up as much of the blast as possible, like a sponge, then recycled it into an energy smoothie for his defense mechanism.


    His arms felt like they were auditioning for a candle''s role, melting under the heat, and his sword''s tip started to crack and dull like an overused pencil.


    But with a little help from his Force, he kept bouncing back like a determined rubber ball. Regeneration, the power that kept on giving, again, and again, and again.


    The heat was like an open invitation to a hellish barbecue, the kind of heat that makes you believe in those stories about hell being a living, breathing beast. And there Burn was, having a face-to-face meet and greet with the beast.


    Why didn''t he dodge or deflect? Simple. The realm of Nethermere might have been a magical powerhouse, but it was still as vulnerable as a sandcastle against a tidal wave named the White Dwarf.


    So, Burn played the sacrificial lamb, trying to absorb every bit of the blast, making sure not even a whiff of it escaped to punch a hole in the sky.


    But it was pure heat he was up against, and even Burn wasn''t a bottomless pit. In the midst of this cosmic chaos, time had a funny way of stretching itself out. A split second felt like a lifetime, and Burn was getting a crash course in pain management.


    His flesh was ripped apart, revealing bone blackened and exposed. Quite a day at the office, wouldn''t you say?


    This was nothing compared to what he had been through.


    Like always, he just had to stay firm.


    2%? One day, he would go and take on a 100%, or even a 1000%!


    Wait.


    He clearly heard them using 2%, but wasn¡¯t this a bit¡­


    Had his Force enhanced hearing failed him earlier?


    ¡°GODDAMNIT, IT¡¯S 3%, ISN¡¯T IT!?¡±


    ¡°No way, is he also good at math?¡± the White Dwarf¡¯s user muttered as he heard Burn¡¯s scream in the middle of the blast. Even in that situation, his Force enhanced voice rang in his and his subordinates¡¯ ears.


    ¡°Commander, our ship has¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Wait, if we can hear his voice, does it means he can also hear our¡ª¡±


    Burn¡¯s Force spread around the vicinity¡ªand nothing could escape his surveillance.


    And in that second, Burn deflected a portion of the blast to a certain direction.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    Out of nowhere, an invisible spaceship that had been creeping closer got a rude awakening. A stray blast, courtesy of Burn''s deflection, caught it square in the crosshairs.


    Imagine a pile of leaves, meticulously gathered by a gardener after a diligent lawn cleanup, being caught in a hurricane. That''s how quickly the spaceship crumbled into cosmic dust.


    It didn''t stand a chance, not even a fighting one. And then, as if the universe hadn''t had its fill of fireworks, a massive explosion erupted.


    The spaceship''s cloak of invisibility shattered like a broken mirror, scattering shards of unseen energy.


    And the gardener, who had meticulously gathered the leaves in the perfect spot, now turned to face the hurricane. They hadn''t realized that each of their arms had been severed. Not to mention, the White Dwarf had been swept up by the same hurricane.


    Burn stood before their faces of horror, his body slowly regenerating after facing the deadly blast. His face was still hollow, with only his eyeballs staring at them in absolute disdain.


    Sadly, the man had lost his cheek to grin and snarkily announce his victory¡ªor so they thought.


    Using his Force, he manipulated the sound coming out of his throat to form words, even though his throat was left with only chunks of flesh and matter.


    "Don''t worry. Our physicians can reattach your limbs."


    Burn pointed his intact sword forward, towards the commander''s throat. "I like you. We should have a talk."

 51 - Worry

    It had been quite a while.


    Burn had been playing hopscotch on the line between life and death more times than he could count since popping into existence. Just another Tuesday, really.


    Absorbing 3% energy of a dying sun was one such adventure. But the recovery, now that was the real kicker. He had lost a whopping 50% of his bodily mass. That''s right, half his body had decided to take an unscheduled vacation. Talk about a radical weight loss program!


    But for appearance sake, he focused on healing his face completely and slowly recovered the rest of his body. After swaddling himself in enough bandages to make a mummy blush, he slipped into his trusty enchanted armor.


    All set, he rejoined his entourage, strutting back like nothing had happened after wrapping up his to-dos. A sun-scorched, half-disintegrated, bandaged marvel, making a stylish comeback without showing the damage he absorbed.


    "I''ll be taking a day off. Tell everyone to prep their reports for the day after tomorrow. And what about the outsiders?" Burn casually asked Galahad, who was keeping pace with him.


    "We''ve got them under more locks and keys than a high-security prison. That includes the White Dwarf too, sir," Galahad replied.


    "Good," Burn nodded, as he ascended the steps of the Edensor palace.


    As he entered the door, he turned his face forward, and the first thing he noticed was¡ª


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡±


    Suddenly, Yvain launched herself at him, arms outstretched like a missile with a hug for a warhead. Before Burn could even process the flying tackle of affection, Morgan joined the hugathon, practically sprinting towards him.


    It was like being ambushed by a well-coordinated team of professional huggers.


    Or maybe it was just him moving at the speed of a sedated snail today.


    "You must be truly worn out if you''re not shoving us away," Morgan observed, her voice barely above a whisper.


    Her hand roved up to his neck, fingers gently exploring the texture of the bandage hiding shyly beneath his armor. She pulled back after gently stroking his cheek, her eyes completely emotionless.


    ¡°Ain, let¡¯s allow His Majesty to rest.¡±


    Looking down, Yvain was clinging to his waist like a barnacle to a ship, his face buried deep in the unforgiving chest plate of Burn''s armor.


    Come to think of it, the boy¡¯s father never came home.


    ¡°Sure!¡± Yvain raised his face after a long pause, a grin spreading across his face like a sunrise. "Don''t worry, Your Majesty, I''ll help Galahad sort out the mess!"


    Yvain, the miniature whirlwind, spun around to Galahad, and tugged the man¡¯s hand away from Burn and Morgan. A tactical retreat, leaving the adults alone.


    Silence hung heavy between Burn and Morgan.


    "What do you want?" Burn finally broke the silence, noting Morgan''s inscrutable stare. "I''m wiped out right now¡ª"


    "I was planning to accompany you to bed," Morgan said.


    "What?" Burn''s eyebrows shot up.


    "Escort. I meant, escort," Morgan quickly corrected, her gaze straying to the bandage peeking from his neck. "Are you able to walk?"


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    "I walked here, didn''t I?" Burn retorted.


    Morgan just nodded, "Fine."


    Burn, seeing the conversation was going nowhere, turned to head to his room. But oddly enough, Morgan tailed him through the corridors, all the way until he reached his room.


    He was finally ready to embrace the sweet siren call of rest and recovery when Morgan¡¯s hand lodged itself in the door, preventing him from closing it.


    ¡°What again?¡± Burn asked impatiently.


    ¡°Can you take off your armor yourself?¡±


    ¡°I put it on myself. I¡¯d say that¡¯s harder than taking it off.¡±


    Morgan stared at him for a solid second before nodding and withdrawing her hand from the door. She nodded and said, ¡°Sleep tight.¡±


    But weirdly, Burn didn¡¯t immediately close the door. He widened the gap instead. Before opening his mouth, he asked himself why, but blurted it out anyway.


    ¡°Do you need a kiss?¡±


    Morgan blinked at him, momentarily confused. But then, a subtle glint appeared in her eyes. She nodded.


    ¡°Mm-hm.¡±


    ***


    Rising from the bed the next day was a Herculean task. But he had to, given that he had somehow managed to misplace a whopping 50% of his body mass.


    Mere Force wasn¡¯t going to cut it, he needed to embark on an all-you-can-eat adventure.


    Enter Galahad, his faithful servant, who, with years of experience in Burn''s peculiarities, had already anticipated his needs.


    And so, Galahad had conjured up a feast that would make even the most gluttonous Roman emperor blush. There was an obscene amount of food, thoughtfully balanced between healthy and heavenly.


    Mountains of roast chicken, rivers of vegetable stew, forests of crisp green salads, and skyscrapers of freshly baked bread. Then, meat. Lots and lots of meat.


    The table groaned under the weight of this gastronomic spectacle. If it was possible for food to feel fear, they''d all be quaking in their plates.


    A feast of biblical proportions lay sprawled before him, far exceeding what any mere mortal could possibly consume.


    "Woah!"


    Yvain''s jaw was practically scraping the floor. "You''re going to eat all this?" He stared at Burn, who had cleverly disguised his decimated physique under his loose-fitted clothes. "Can I have just a bit?"


    Burn sneered. Oh, bless his little cotton socks. The boy had finally remembered he was a child and acted his age now.


    "Take as much as you can," Burn said as he initiated his breakfast... or lunch, depending on how you viewed the ticking clock. Nonchalantly, he queried the boy, noticing the conspicuous absence of the usual suspect, "Where''s your Master?"


    "Master?" Yvain was making a beeline for a chicken thigh when Burn''s question halted him mid-reach. "Oh, she mentioned something about an errand. But, before she left, she put me on ''His-Majesty-watch'' duty."


    "Hmm, she''s not running away, is she?" Burn mused aloud, then leveled a pointed look at the lad. "You, stick around until she shows up."


    "Ah, back to being a hostage, am I?" Yvain sighed wearily. "Master will be back. She was in front of your door, guarding till the crack of dawn. You were probably too busy impersonating a log to notice."


    Huh.


    Was she fretting over his potential demise? Well, they''d all respawn at the checkpoint if he croaked.


    "Isn''t it nice to know someone''s losing sleep over you?" Yvain flashed an innocent grin. "I worry too, you know!"


    Worried?


    Burn found himself retracing his steps, back to when Yvain had nearly tackled him in a bear hug upon sight.


    He recalled Morgan tailing him to his room, her concern thinly veiled under the pretense of ensuring he could still walk and manage his armor.


    The image of her slender fingers clutching the door, her face half-concealed by the sliver of space, her gaze fixed on him... could it have been worry etched in her eyes?


    Burn observed this with an almost detached curiosity.


    Hmm.


    He couldn''t remember ever being on the receiving end of a worried glance before, so he couldn¡¯t be sure.


    She had kissed him, then stepped back to let him close the door. Whether or not she had drained his Force, he wasn¡¯t sure; he had been too spent to perceive much of anything, his Force sputtering and sparking like an overworked generator, straining to keep him alive.


    But she seemed fine.


    "Did she use her Vision energy to recover much quicker?" Burn mused aloud.


    "Master said, when you return, you''ll be a complete mess, so she has to be ready to step into your shoes and protect everyone," Yvain explained. "You did kick off a war, remember?"


    "Oh."


    Burn prodded at his temples. Right, the next hurdle was the Inkia Kingdom. It was a significant thing in his memory bank, so Morgan might¡ª


    Hold on.


    When had he started considering these two as part of his people?

 52 - Slave Number 578

    The procession through the Elysian Kingdom was an extravagant affair, punctuated by giant circles that the Soulnaught Army had pompously drawn across the maps.


    The displaced populace, like innocent lambs, trailed behind the army, all the way to the Soulnaught Capital. There, they were registered as if they were parcels in a delivery office, offered some aid¡ªthough it was more for the Soulnaught''s public relations than out of any genuine kindness¡ªand then shipped back to their homeland.


    Only now, they were rebranded with a new status, as if someone had slapped a clearance sticker on them.


    The commoners didn''t see much change. After all, when you''re at the bottom of the social ladder, there''s not much room to fall. But the nobles, ah, the nobles! They were in for a real treat. They, like the high-born from other fallen kingdoms before them, were subjected to a most entertaining change.


    Now, if you''re imagining a rags-to-riches story here, stop right there. This was more of a riches-to-rags situation. The nobles, once adorned in silks and satins, found themselves swapping their velvet robes for cotton tunics.


    Their status, once as elevated as the tower spires they lived in, plummeted faster than a lead balloon.


    Their living quarters, once sprawling mansions filled with servants and luxury, were now quaint, compact spaces. Think of it as downsizing, but with an extra pinch of humiliation.


    They had traded their fine dining for bread lines, their horse-drawn carriages for common carts, their perfumed hankies for labor-worn hands.


    And the best part? They couldn''t do a darn thing about it. That''s the beauty of losing a war. It''s a great leveler. It takes a noble, strips away the veneer of aristocracy, and reveals the ordinary human underneath, just as susceptible to loss and change.


    And let''s be honest, there''s something truly delightful about seeing the high and mighty brought down a peg or two, isn''t there?


    Including Duchess Delone.


    ¡°That one.¡±


    A delicate finger pointed toward one of the chained slaves. An old woman. ¡°Bring her to me.¡±


    Duchess Delone was a favored daughter of the Elysian Royal Family.


    Now, it''s worth noting that daughters from the royal bloodline were scarcer than hen''s teeth at the time, but somehow her parents managed to defy the odds and produce not one, but two daughters.


    Yet, as life''s twisted humor would have it, her sister snagged the queen title, leaving our dear Duchess in the dust.


    Why? Well, the prevailing wisdom of the time was that her sister had the edge in the health department. Yes, they both had the same intellect and beauty¡ªimagine two peacocks of equal plumage¡ªbut her sister was just a smidge more robust.


    Contrary to the gossiping tongues of the court, Duchess Delone didn''t resent her sister for it. She went ahead and married Duke Delone in a dutiful fashion, ready to carve out her own slice of a beautiful life.


    Then, in a strange plot twist, her sister, the queen, kicked the bucket young after giving birth to a single son.


    Enter the young prince, who was instantly eyed with suspicion, despite¡ªor perhaps because of¡ªhis aptitude for literature and magic. The whispers of him becoming a tyrant prince began to flutter around the kingdom, like bats in a belfry.


    So, what did our Duchess do? She concocted a plan to marry the prince off to an obedient, smart noble daughter as soon as humanly possible, and then, of course, to get them popping out offspring at the earliest convenience.


    And boy, did they pop. A son was born. Then another. And another.


    It seemed the Duchess had inherited the ''no-girl'' curse herself. Was this a hex on their royal family? Why wasn''t the original saint reborn? When and where would she show up?


    Sure, there was no solid proof or prophecy that she''d be reborn again after her seventeenth incarnation, but she had managed to pull it off seventeen times into the same royal family. Why not an eighteenth?


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    Especially now, when she''d be treated like a goddess, not like she was hundreds of years ago! What if she had cursed the Elysian Kingdom because of this? What if¡­


    Yes, our Duchess Delone was a true believer, clinging to the prophecy with all her heart.


    And so, Duchess Delone took on a grand quest - a life mission, if you will - to ''manufacture'' the original saint.


    Meanwhile, the royal family¡¯s male descendants were kept at arm''s length. She picked them out with the precision of a hawk swooping for its prey, always selecting the most ordinary and obedient to be the next in line.


    And let''s not forget, pushing them to sire a female heir.


    As for the male heirs? Well, they were pushed aside faster than yesterday''s news.


    And then, as if to throw spice into an already simmering pot, the rumblings of war were on the horizon.


    Patience, once a virtue, was now a luxury Duchess Delone could ill afford. She needed a girl, the saint, and she needed her yesterday!


    So, she summoned the noble women of the kingdom, as if calling in troops for a special mission. Their assignment? To have the dubious honor of receiving the royal seed into their wombs.


    It was like some twisted fertility program, where the stakes were not just personal but involved the very survival of the kingdom itself.


    The Duchess''s logic was simple, if somewhat desperate. Even if the kingdom did fall, and the odds were not in their favor, if the saint was reborn from one of these noble women and the royal seed, then surely the Elysian Kingdom would rise again!


    It was like a phoenix from the ashes, only with a lot more birth pangs involved.


    Ah, what lengths the desperate will go to for a glimmer of hope!


    ¡°Slave number 578, come.¡±


    Without warning, her chains were yanked in a direction contrary to the human tide of fellow slaves. Just like that, she was plucked from the sea of downtrodden ex-nobles, like a single weed singled out for special attention from a garden of despair.


    As she shuffled forward, her aged bones protesting every movement, her eyes fell upon a sight that seemed out of place in their grim reality: a carriage.


    It was elegant and luxurious, yet in a plain, understated sort of way. The door was invitingly open, and inside sat a woman in black.


    Her entire figure was shrouded, not a hint of skin on display. A round hat sat atop her head, and a veil of black lace concealed her face.


    "This one, my lady?" The man who had been her chain-dragging chaperone offered the question to the veiled woman, who responded with a slow, deliberate nod.


    Even in her advanced years, the once "Duchess" Delone had the wisdom not to lift her gaze and demand clarification. She was a slave now, a survivor of the brutal lottery that was war.


    Especially after being forced to walk for miles and miles¡ªwitnessing the destruction the army had wrought upon the land of Elysian.


    Demanding explanations was a luxury she no longer possessed, a relic of a life that now seemed as distant as a half-remembered dream.


    "The original saint."


    Delone''s ears twitched at the utterance. She hadn''t misheard, had she? The veiled woman ensconced in the carriage was suggesting...


    "Did you try to reincarnate her back into the Elysian Royal Family?" the veiled woman queried, her voice a soothing blend of dream and allure.


    It was at this moment that Delone failed to adhere to her self-imposed rule of keeping her gaze lowered. Her eyes, as if drawn by a magnetic force, locked onto the woman inside the carriage.


    When her gaze met the woman''s, the black veil had been lifted, revealing a face of such beauty, it was like a punch in the gut, a face Delone couldn''t forget even if she tried.


    "O...original saint...!" Delone gasped, sounding like she''d just discovered buried treasure.


    The woman in the carriage responded with a gentle smile. "How did you recognize my face?"


    "O-of course I''d know! Y-you''ve always been..." Delone stuttered, her frail hand retrieving a locket from around her neck. She opened it and presented it to the woman in the carriage as if offering a priceless artifact.


    "This is the only picture of you that''s left! We, the daughters of the royal family, are duty-bound to memorize your face, so that when you return, we could spot you in a crowd faster than a hawk spots a mouse!" Delone was teetering on the brink of tears.


    "I see," the woman sighed, a wave of relief washing over her. "Aside from you, are there others who know of this picture and have committed my visage to memory?"


    "S-sadly, today, I am the last vestige of that memory. Others may have seen this picture, but I doubt they took the time to etch your face into their minds, Your Majesty!" Delone confessed, her voice quivering like a leaf in the wind.


    "Are you certain of that? Not even the last descendants of the royal family?"


    "They are men! Who knows what they might do to you?! I couldn''t even show this picture to my own sons!" Delone protested.


    "Alright," the woman conceded, accepting the locket and studying it for a moment.


    "Your Majesty, we''ve been waiting for you for an eternity! Please...! Please rescue us from this reign of terror...! This tyranny!" Delone pleaded, her voice on the verge of breaking into a wail.


    But the woman in the carriage simply smiled and nodded. She gestured for Delone to draw nearer, then placed her index finger on the old woman''s worn, creased forehead.


    "And who will save the children from your tyranny?" Morgan questioned, her smile evaporating like mist under the morning sun.


    "Y-Your Majesty...?" Delone asked, a look of pure puzzlement crossing her face.


    Morgan pressed her finger against Delone''s forehead, her voice firm. "Forget about me. Forget my face. Forget the original saint. In fact, forget everything, as a senile old woman ought to."


    Days later, the once formidable Duchess Delone was deemed unfit for slave labor due to severe dementia, and discarded into an unmarked pit somewhere, as one might toss out yesterday''s garbage.

 53 - Lower Realm

    Dirk Marshall hailed from the humble abode of a lower realm. This young, expansive world was home to your run-of-the-mill folks, with the exception of stronger gravity compared to the average planet.


    Then the Alliance strolled in, heralding an era of apocalypse. His people had no choice but to wave the white flag of surrender.


    That little episode unfolded a century ago.


    Dirk was birthed into nobility¡ªor, to be more accurate, a wealthy clan that had essentially purchased a VIP pass to the aristocracy.


    He''d had ''huge potential'' stamped across his forehead from a young age, with the career path of an Alliance officer not appearing too far-fetched.


    Except he flunked.


    After years of meandering through the vastness of space, Dirk swapped his failed dreams for the gig of a mercenary. Every mission sharpened his skills and bolstered his strength.


    Being a native of a planet with Herculean-like gravity, he boasted a physical density that gave him a leg up in the space-brawl department.


    Then, a week ago, some high-and-mighty from the Alliance summoned him and his motley crew. They threw a White Dwarf at him, with the catch being, he had to kill someone.


    Apex Two.


    The nitty-gritty of the mission wasn''t crucial. He simply had to obliterate his target with this ludicrously overpowered weapon¡ªhang on a second.


    "Seriously? We''re using the White Dwarf? In this lower, Nether-whatchamacallit realm? Just to off one guy? I mean, sure, this realm''s got some hocus-pocus magic and shit, but really?"


    And it was at this moment Dirk realized why they''d handed him the celestial equivalent of a sledgehammer to crack a nut.


    There they were, Dirk and his band, shackled in an irksome blend of technologically advanced cuffs and irritable magic. They traipsed through a grand palace corridor, the name of which they didn¡¯t know.


    The palace itself was an architectural wonder, shifting between medieval grandeur and futuristic improvement with an ease that was unnerving.


    The palace folks, a bevy of busy bees, buzzed about in a serene frenzy, their eyes ignited with a determination that would put a marathon runner to shame.


    Dirk''s group had pegged this as a lower realm, but their convictions crumbled faster than a cookie in hot tea.


    ¡°Your Majesty, here arrive the ones you requested,¡± an aide announced, ushering them into a room.


    Upon entering the room, their eyes feasted on a banquet that could make a glutton weep. This wasn''t a sophisticated alien soir¨¦e with a side of quantum physics. No, sir. This was a blowout of epic proportions.


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    Mountains of roasted meats, rivers of decadent sauces, and a rainforest of colorful veggies sprawled across the table.


    At the heart of this culinary circus was Emperor Burn, alias Apex Two¡ªthe man they were supposed to send to the afterlife.


    He gnawed on a lamb thigh with a nonchalant menace, grumbling at a boy nearby who was busy decimating a pile of potato fries.


    "When''s she coming back? You sure she hasn''t done a runner?" Burn asked.


    The boy retorted, "My master won¡¯t abandon me!"


    "Your Majesty," Galahad chimed in, hoping to jog Burn''s memory about the guests currently enjoying the palace''s ''handcuff hospitality''. Burn swiveled around, bestowed a fleeting glance upon them, and promptly refocused on demolishing his meal and venting at Yvain.


    "She''s been missing since yesterday morning, hasn''t she? That''s more than 24 hours alr¡ª"


    "Aw, come on!" Yvain cut in. "All you''ve done since your return is to stuff your face! This is the third feast you''ve single-handedly devoured, and it''s not as if you''ve instructed your people to search for her. If you''re intent on waiting, then just wait!"


    His son?


    His little brother?


    They didn¡¯t look alike, but they were¡­ similar.


    ¡°But you¡¯re helping me, don¡¯t you?¡± Burn sneered.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡ªI¡¯m not gonna give them back!¡± Yvain protected his starchy treasures as if they were the crown jewels.


    Then, they resumed their feasting with the casual air of two blokes downing pints at a pub.


    The last time Dirk and his crew saw Burn, he resembled a skeleton that had been given a nasty sunburn, courtesy of the White Dwarf.


    They had figured him for a lone wolf, kicking back in an opulent, but deserted, palace after a successful war. Little did they know that even stripped to his bare bones, Burn still managed to toss them around like ragdolls in a hurricane.


    Post the brawl, Burn summoned his people, and Dirk and his crew were patched up, limbs reattached, and promptly shackled.


    Burn, meanwhile, draped his charred frame in a fresh, plush house robe, a twin to the one he had donned before the fight.


    They had expected the man to be laid up for a lifetime, nursing his wounds. But, there he was, tucking into his meal like a man possessed, looking almost...normal.


    Well, as normal as a man who had just been on the business end of a cosmic smackdown could look.


    Burn''s short white hair was a bit unruly. His golden eyes were a captivating blend of brilliance and madness. His physique, while not exactly a bodybuilder''s dream, was solid and athletic. He was thinner now, but there was no doubt that underneath that robe, his muscles were coiled like springs, ready for action.


    It was clear, his magic was no joke, and the title Apex Two wasn''t some random moniker plucked out of a hat. And then, it clicked.


    Wasn''t this the same lunatic from the backwater realm of Nethermere who had fought off the Alliance''s first wave single-handedly and emerged victorious? If rumors were to be believed, then yes, yes, it was.


    "We don¡¯t know anything," Dirk finally said, breaking the silence like a rock through a glass window.


    Catching wind of Dirk''s declaration, Burn pushed his half-devoured plate away. A servant swooped in, hastily reassembling the food like a jigsaw puzzle, while Burn shifted his gaze to them.


    "Of course, you wouldn''t know. You''re not card-carrying members of the Alliance, are you?" Burn drawled, dabbing at his mouth with the nonchalance of a man without a care in the world. "That''s precisely why you were handpicked."


    "And now," Burn sneered, "You''re more valuable to them dead."


    Because they failed.

 54 - Let Them Be My Hostage Instead

    "You''re more valuable to them dead."


    Apex Two had a point sharp enough to slice through their hopes. They were essentially cannon fodder, ready to be tossed aside at the first sign of failure.


    But, oh, if they triumphed, they''d be basking in the glow of a hefty reward. Perhaps even a golden ticket to a long-term gig with the Alliance. A tempting carrot, no doubt.


    After failing, they had pretty much resigned themselves to becoming one with the ground. Even if they somehow managed to run, they''d quickly find themselves in the Alliance''s crosshairs, accused of stealing the White Dwarf.


    The end result? A swift execution.


    Whether they die in Burn¡¯s hand or the Alliance¡¯s hand, it was the end when they failed. Even though at the time, they thought dying in the hand of this monster was scarier than the Alliance¡ª


    Well.


    This time, the Alliance didn''t have a leg to stand on. They couldn''t justify whipping out the White Dwarf on the ground like they did in previous loops. Thus, Burn noticed the changing of the user.


    In his previous loops, the users were straight-laced military types. This loop, however, had mercenaries on the front line, their combat style clearly non-military disciplined.


    And yet, it was better.


    Indeed, these faceless space guns-for-hire put the officially appointed military personnel of the previous loops to shame.


    Maybe it was the pressure of having to take out Burn without the bigwigs noticing the White Dwarf was missing from its cosmic cradle. And yet, they outshone even the Alliance''s White Dwarf operators.


    It was thanks to them that the planet wasn''t reduced to space dust, even though they were wielding 3% of a condensed sun''s power.


    What mastery.


    "Do you have loved ones?" Burn asked abruptly, veering the conversation into a new direction. "Folks waiting for you back home?"


    "If we do, they''re well aware of our line of work," Dirk replied coldly, before stating a fact. "They know there''s a chance we might walk out the door one day and never return. It''s not like you can hunt them down or anything."


    The crack in the sky was just a one way portal without the proper technology.


    "I was about to extend an offer of refuge, but never mind," Burn retorted, his words tinged with a hint of sarcasm.


    "Shouldn''t your concern be the Alliance, now that you''ve let them down? Those people you hold dear..." Burn shook his head, as if lamenting their folly. "If they found out you''re alive and kicking, here in my company, sans the White Dwarf..."


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    The prospect of the Alliance setting their sights on them wasn''t lost on Dirk and his crew. They were painfully aware of the crosshairs potentially aimed at their backs. And their families.


    "What''s your game?" Dirk demanded, his patience wearing thin.


    "Let them be my hostage instead," Burn suggested, his voice as smooth as silk. "Your spaceship isn¡¯t completely totaled, is it?"


    In their minds, they vehemently disagreed. The ship was a wreck, barely holding together.


    "Use your communication device to call your family here. There must be a sneaky way for them to slip through that tear in the sky, right?" Burn queried, his golden eyes glittering with anticipation.


    "Bring the tech that can navigate through that rift, and then we can have a proper chat."


    This was quite the long shot.


    Burn wanted all of them, lock, stock, and barrel. Not just their lives, but their loved ones too. And the technology to traverse the portal. Right now, they were backed into a corner with no escape.


    Their options were grim. They could die here, or their family could be targeted by the Alliance. But if they accepted Burn''s proposal, there was a glimmer of hope. They could survive, albeit in this realm, under the thumb of this ruthless tyrant.


    Emperor Burn¡ªApex Two.


    ¡°After that¡­ What chat?¡± Dirk asked.


    ¡°Employment,¡± Burn shrugged as he leaned back on his chair. ¡°You¡¯re mercenary, right?¡±


    What? He was simply¡­


    KA-CLACK! BAM!


    Suddenly, the door was flung open.


    "Caliburn!"


    A voice, beautiful yet nagging, echoed through the room.


    "You''ve reduced them to slavery? Those children¡ªeven the prince?!"


    A breathtakingly beautiful woman stormed through the door, charging fearlessly towards the monstrous bastard. "You¡¯ve seen what they¡¯ve endured, and still¡ª"


    "The Elysian Kingdom didn¡¯t resist, but they didn¡¯t exactly surrender either. They¡¯re still nobles from a conquered nation, and you expect them to retain their titles? Be real," Burn retorted.


    "Is there any chance you¡¯ll spare them?" Momo inquired.


    "No," Burn responded, his tone final.


    With that, Momo spun on her heels, preparing to storm out.


    "Hey. Hey, hey!" Burn caught her wrist, but she resisted. "You disappear for a day without a word, then waltz back in just to berate me for doing my job superbly?"


    "We are to talk," Burn demanded.


    "I don¡¯t want to talk!" Momo shot back.


    Burn might have been injured, but his physical strength was still superior to most men. Seeing Momo try to pull away, he drew her towards him, trapping her in his lap.


    "Ah!"


    Now, he held her firmly, refusing to let her go.


    "Where are you going?" Burn wasn''t playing around. Everyone in the room knew that.


    "To buy their freedom," Morgan answered, realizing she couldn¡¯t free herself.


    "You¡¯re not going anywhere," Burn declared, his hand behind Morgan gesturing for Galahad to usher everyone out. He then turned to stare at Yvain, who was doing his best to blend into the background, hoping he could stay and watch.


    In the end, he was reluctantly ushered out along with the rest of the crowd ¡ª the servants, aides, and prisoners. As they exited, the melodious yet nagging voice of the woman could be heard echoing, "Caliburn¡­"


    And Burn''s firm reply, "No."


    A few strides away from the room, Dirk murmured to himself, "Who was that absolute bombshell?"


    "Rude!" Yvain exclaimed. "That''s my master!"


    "And who''s this little guy?"


    Yvain sighed, preparing to snap his fingers. "So it''s the same everywhere, huh? Children are always treated like this, even outsiders like you¡­"


    SNAP!


    At the sound, the group felt a sudden, crushing weight from their handcuffs. Not the futuristic kind, but the magical kind. In an instant, they were sent sprawling forward, their hands pinned to the floor.


    SLAM! CRACKLE!


    "UGH!"


    "URK!"


    Dirk clenched his teeth. This was even heavier than the gravity on his home planet¡ª


    "Be careful. Our physicians worked hard to reattach those valuable limbs. You don''t want to rip them off again, do you?"


    Yvain stood before them, his hair and eyes a stark black, casting a dark shadow over his presence.


    This¡­ little tyrant¡­

 55 - Demand

    "I assume you''ve accepted His Majesty''s offer. How could you not? It''s your only lifeline, the last shot you have," Yvain stated. "But do you know who will now hold your reins?¡±


    Yvain had already experienced his share of betrayal, and no one would be as picky about it as the young king himself. Dealing with these outsiders was a task Burn graciously passed onto Yvain.


    "Your Majesty, should we commence their interrogation now?" Galahad inquired, earning a nod from Yvain. Then the man announced, "His Majesty, Yvain Edensworn, King of Edensor, will personally interview each and every one of you. A bit of compliance would be appreciated."


    So, they had a boy-king too¡ªwith magical prowess that could rival an old, seasoned wizard?


    Talk about a classic high fantasy world.


    "Ah, right. Before that, Galahad," Yvain raised his face towards the man, curiosity tinging his tone, "Those kids my master asked about earlier, can we purchase their freedom?¡±


    "Anything for you and the Empre¡ªI mean, the Miss. But His Majesty the Emperor seemed pretty adamant about not releasing them, so unless he gives them up for sale, they''ll remain slaves, sir," Galahad explained.


    Yvain looked disheartened. "Really? We can¡¯t buy them out?¡±


    "Oh, dear. Don¡¯t wear that long face, Your Majesty. Under His Majesty the Emperor¡¯s rule, even slaves have a fighting chance to buy their way out of slavery," Galahad assured him.


    "Huh?" Yvain blinked in confusion.


    "You see, I am the living proof, sir. I too was a slave until I was about your age. But well, at the time, the law wasn¡¯t quite in place yet, so it was His Majesty who generously helped me buy my freedom," the man explained.


    "You mean¡­ His Majesty enacted a law in Soulnaught that allows slaves to free themselves?" the young king asked.


    "Under special conditions, of course," Galahad clarified. "But everyone has an equal shot at it!"


    The pair walked away, leaving Dirk and his men still struggling to lift their arms off the ground. The guards escorting them had begun to prod them, forcing them to follow.


    Well, who could they blame, really? They had provoked a VIP. And they could do nothing but struggle.


    But even Galahad and the boy king''s conversation was intriguing to the prisoners. Slaves could buy their own freedom here? Talk about a fascinating world.


    Or perhaps¡­ it was just the monarch who was fascinating?


    Caliburn Pendragon¡­ Well, isn''t that something? Perhaps it wasn''t such an atrocious decision to take up his offer. And apparently, Dirk wasn''t the only one having this epiphany¡ªhis men seemed to be riding the same thought train.


    This world? Maybe it wouldn''t be so dreadful to call it home.


    ***


    The blue of the sky was a bit muted today.


    "I said no, but I''m sure you''ll find a way to help them, right? Did the boy promise something after you told him what happened?" Burn asked the woman on his lap, his voice bouncing off the opulent walls of the room.


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    "They are around his age. How do you expect Yvain would react?" she replied.


    "Is this just how you are? Kind, saintly, righteous, and just?" Burn asked then, his words suffused with the muted light of an approaching noon.


    "What do you mean by that?" the woman asked, her confusion intermingling with the faint rustle of the late morning breeze that slipped through the slightly ajar window.


    A short silence after the question, as Burn tried to phrase his next question in his mind, the meat of the talk. But when he saw her turning her blue eyes at him, he decided to just provide his raw thoughts without cooking it.


    "All of this, just to torture me?" Burn asked, his voice a rich blend of sarcasm and a peculiar solemnity. "This kind of selfless revenge doesn''t make sense. At least, not to me."


    Burn found himself in an unusual state of helplessness. The man had never strained his brain this hard trying to understand someone else''s thought processes. Usually, a mere glance was enough to decipher the riddle of human desires.


    Humans were simple, or so he thought. They were driven by desires, desires that could be manipulated and exploited as easily as a puppeteer controlling his marionettes.


    But this woman, who could easily pass off as an angel¡ªno, scratch that, who might actually be one¡ª


    And Burn loathed it. He loathed it with every fiber of his being, with an intensity that could outshine the sun.


    He took everything away from her.


    Her world as she knew it, her disciple, and countless little things he might''ve not noticed were things she deeply appreciated.


    But she jumped to save him. She offered her soul to redo time. She waited for him¡ªworried for him.


    She kissed him.


    "I think, after seven loops and one death, we''re even now," she suddenly said. "I think, now that you''ve saved my Yvain and brought me back to life, compromising with my¡­ terms, it is enough."


    But it was he who created those misfortunes¡ª


    "You''re saying that''s enough after I''ve driven you to suicide each and every time?" Burn asked.


    "If you ask the Morgan from the future, it may not be enough. But the Morgan today, who only knew the future from your perspective after reading your mind¡­ no. Even the Morgan from the future would agree that this is enough," Morgan said.


    It surely wasn¡¯t¡ª


    "Why?" Burn stared at the bluest of blue, the eyes that had haunted him for years.


    She didn¡¯t kill him because she also needed him, true. She needed his power to change the course of time, correct. Now that he knew she was weak, even he had the advantage to force her to use her abilities¡ª


    Sigh.


    Burn raised his eyebrows.


    Siiiiiigh¡­


    Morgan was sighing long and heavily. "Sure, let''s go with your thoughts. I am using your power to change the course of time, whatever. And you will use my ability to have checkpoints for immortality¡­"


    This again.


    If she kept being this saintly, with nothing to demand¡ªif she kept being the way she was, just wanting him to fix the timeline the way she wanted it while keeping his own selfish goal¡ª


    "Then, do you want me to demand more?" Morgan asked.


    Burn blinked.


    "Which is it, that you don''t believe a person can be this kind and just, or that you feel bad you have the absolute advantage over the kind and just me?"


    Aside from the memories tied to her, Morgan was left in the dark. Once again, it was his mental stronghold, his begrudging consent, and her limited mastery of the spell that kept her at bay.


    Sure, she could erase her existence from Duchess Delone¡¯s memory, leaving the woman completely senile. But comparing Duchess Delone to Burn was like comparing a housecat to a tiger¡ªtwo entirely different existences.


    Like Burn, Morgan also wondered what kind of life created this kind of man.


    What was inside that void?


    "My dear villain, are you ready for the kind of demand I will place on you?" Morgan placed both of her hands on his cheeks. "Or are you afraid the voice of righteousness will one day reach your soul through me?"


    Usually, it was the devil who tempted the angel.


    But when the angel was this seductive¡ªwhen she, the right one, was so manipulative, the stone-cold devil felt the chill¡ª

 56 - Infinite Soul

    "What do you think happened to the original timeline?" Morgan asked, her voice bouncing off the high ceilings.


    Morgan and Burn sauntered down the grand corridor of the Edensor palace.


    Morgan was still in her black dress, adorned with intricate lace and subtle black jewels. Burn, on the other hand, was clad in an oversized robe that did a good job of hiding his injuries and thinner build.


    Burn furrowed his eyebrows, a look that typically signaled his confusion or irritation. It was the former this time. "The time before you cursed me?"


    "Yes," Morgan nodded, her affirmation coinciding with the occasional soft clinking of Morgan''s dress adornments and the rustle of Burn''s oversized robe. "What do you think happened after I killed myself?"


    "Nothing happened," Burn said, his voice echoing the nothingness he spoke of.


    "Nothing happened, yes," Morgan agreed, nodding twice for emphasis. "The world looped back to three years prior. To the exact point in time I had chosen, before you started the war."


    It wasn''t that the timeline continued on its own without Burn and Morgan. It didn''t disappear or discontinue like a forgotten tale. That timeline simply became the past, and this timeline became the present.


    "I bent time. I forced time to run in a circle," Morgan stated.


    "Caliburn, I didn''t curse you, I cursed time," Morgan clarified. "I did it under your name."


    She had screamed his name before sacrificing herself.


    Burn was never the target of her revenge. He was simply a tool she used to rewrite time¡ªa suitable, fitting tool.


    "My soul is infinite, so it isn''t difficult for me to sustain a few loops without killing my mortal body,¡± she said. "I, for one, could sustain ten more loops if you continued to be so stubborn."


    "A three-year loop?" Burn asked.


    "If it was less than three years, I''d be able to sustain even more," Morgan explained, her tone as casual as one discussing the weather.


    "And if you can''t?" Burn raised his eyebrows, a silent challenge etched into his features, "What will happen if you die?"


    "Only my mortal body will die, my soul will still hang around," Morgan said, her words as light as a feather but carrying the weight of eternity.


    She was¡­ an actual immortal being.


    So, the act of sacrificing her mortal body could trigger the time loop, and if the body at the start of the loop died because her soul couldn¡¯t sustain it anymore, her soul would... huh?


    "Pfft..." Morgan giggled, the sound echoing down the corridor like a playful ghost. "Don''t think too much about what would happen to me when my mortal body dies. The loop will still happen nonetheless."


    Morgan''s mortal body took one for the team, so to speak, because her soul energy dissipated after footing the hefty bill for the time loops. But she regained her soul energy through her experienced Vision art training and the nature of her infinite soul.


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    ¡°I think it might be my lungs? The organ that failed the last time¡­?¡± Morgan mused, remembering that she lost her breathing at the time. ¡°It could be my heart next time, or my brain. Or perhaps even a slow and painful killer, like my kidneys or liver¡­¡±


    ¡°Come to think of it, how did you recover so quickly this time?¡± Burn asked, his curiosity peeked its head out.


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t squander the Force energy you bestowed upon me like a prodigal child," Morgan retorted. "I might not be the poster child for Force art, but your Force is strong and pure, I¡¯d manage if you give me a little bit of time¡ªah!¡±


    And just like that, she tripped and fell.


    Burn couldn¡¯t stifle his grin, the sight of Momo''s stumble teasing a smirk onto his usually stoic face. Ah, muscle atrophy, her unwelcome companion, had made its appearance again.


    Momo, of course, slowly picked herself up. Her legs wobbled a bit, like a newborn fawn trying to find its footing. From a Force user''s perspective, she handled the fall like a seasoned professional.


    Yet, there was a certain charm in seeing this formidable Vision user in a state of temporary helplessness. Like watching an eagle walk instead of fly, it was a spectacle indeed.


    "Why don''t you ask for more kisses? Aren''t you tired of being so weak?" Burn sighed, grabbing her arms to steady her.


    "Do I look like someone who would beg a dying man for his Force?" she shot back.


    "Yesterday, you did," the man reminded her.


    "Huh?" Momo tilted her head, a picture of innocence. She whispered under her breath, "Oh... you didn''t notice..."


    "Notice?" Burn blinked in a frown.


    "Didn''t I tell you..." Momo tilted her head, and suddenly, a smile bloomed on her face. A radiant, beaming smile that made Burn narrow his eyes, like sunlight breaking through a stormy cloud. "...nothing."


    "What?" Burn demanded, his voice echoing down the corridor. But the witch maintained her elegant silence, latching her arms onto his as they resumed their journey through the palace''s veins.


    What the fuck was that kiss, then?


    "Anyways, if you die, you''ll be the one who pays for the loops, so~!" Momo declared, pulling a locket necklace from her dress pocket with the casual flair of a magician revealing their final trick. "I prepared this for you."


    Burn accepted the necklace, his fingers closing around the locket, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Momo''s words.


    With a gentle push of his thumb, he opened it. Inside, a small painting of the woman beside him smiled back. The painting and the locket itself looked a little worn, like a beloved book read one too many times.


    Yet, something about it stirred a sense of familiarity in Burn.


    "This looks like¡­" his own painting.


    "See? Even my face is in it. If you wear this, even if you die, I''ll still be the one who''ll pay for the loop," Momo said. "Don''t be afraid of bringing it to deadly battles, I''ve enchanted it to be indestructible too."


    Indeed, the style of the painting bore a striking resemblance to his own, but it was too... tender, like a lullaby compared to his customary battle cry.


    Burn was a warrior, and his brush strokes carried the weight of a thousand wars, a potency that was conspicuously absent in this delicate depiction.


    Contrasting the two, he was unsure which image was a more faithful rendition of the beauty that was Morgan.


    No, wait.


    Burn had painted the future Morgan. He painted the woman who had lost everything. This painting, though... in this one, Morgan was...


    Momo.


    Hmm...


    How to put this?


    It was as if this Morgan and that Morgan were two completely different people. This painting was more Momo than Morgan, like comparing a morning''s gentle dew to an afternoon storm.


    Upon reaching the grand entrance of the palace, they were greeted by a motley crew of individuals. They spanned across various ages, some teetering on the brink of old age, while others were just beginning their journey into adolescence.


    These weren''t just any random folks. They were the male descendants of the Elysian royal family.


    The moment they spotted Momo, ambling towards them with her characteristic grace, their faces lit up. And then, in a chorus that would put any choir to shame, they hailed her¡ª"Fairy Godmother!"


    Right.


    The name Morgan Le Fay wasn''t something that just popped up out of nowhere. It had roots that went back some hundred years or so. Very few knew that it had originated from these persecuted princes from a time long, long ago, fondly addressing her as their ''Fairy''.

 57 - This Timeline

    In retrospect, there was a banquet of details Burn had overlooked in the previous loops.


    Yes, he had conquered Elysian quicker than this loop, and in the process, managed to save the lackluster crown prince from the rather unappetizing fate of the royal insemination operation, courtesy of Duchess Delone.


    But, the prince''s problems didn''t vanish into thin air.


    Sure, the king and the crown prince ended up in slavery, like today, but Duchess Delone''s insemination plan had the resilience of a cockroach in a nuclear fallout. It simply continued in their slave days.


    Duchess Delone, ever the persistent schemer, squeezed out the last drops of her power and influence, ensuring the plan went ahead.


    Sometime later, Burn came across a report that the boy had chosen the permanent solution to his problem and committed suicide.


    Well, not that Burn cared.


    "I understand," Morgan said calmly, her voice as soothing as the breeze. "After what you''ve been through, your wariness of women is understandable."


    She gently disentangled her hand from Burn''s arm and walked slowly towards the boy who had arrived with the other male descendants of the royal family. Her pace was measured and careful; she didn''t want to frighten the boy.


    "Prince Ronald Elle, I apologize for my tardiness," Morgan said, bowing slowly and kneeling. "I regret that circumstances prevented me from saving you too."


    The boy was indeed wary, but he had heard from his cousins and distant relatives about a secret Fairy Godmother who protected the male descendants of the royal family.


    After the trauma he had endured, he was now unable to speak... but if he could, he would have said¡ª


    "It''s okay. You don''t have to force yourself to speak right now. I promise I''ll take care of everything," Morgan said.


    Oddly enough, it was exactly what he had wanted to tell her. He was grateful she had protected the persecuted males of the royal family. He was relieved that, even after all they had endured, someone was still secretly helping them.


    "Your Majesty, give them a chance to free themselves from slavery," Morgan said, turning to Burn. "I heard that you have a law allowing slaves to buy themselves out of slavery."


    Burn hummed in response, a small grin on his face. "As long as they prove more useful to my empire than the average slave, then yes."


    ¡°Surely, they are,¡± Morgan smiled back.


    And just like that, the male descendants of the Elysian kingdom, in a stunning display of familial unity or perhaps well-rehearsed choreography, raised their hands in unison.


    The air crackled with anticipation, a tangible electricity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like attentive soldiers.


    From the tips of their outstretched fingers, a spectacle of fire magic began to bloom. It was as if someone had tapped into the core of the sun and let its essence spill forth through their hands.


    Flames flickered and danced, painting the air with strokes of brilliant orange and red, a living, breathing canvas of light and heat. It was a sight to behold, a mesmerizing display that would make any pyromaniac green with envy.


    All of them, that is, except the crown prince. Poor chap, he stood there amidst this radiant spectacle, as bereft of magic as a fish out of water. Well, he would soon learn too.


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    Because the secret behind this incendiary spectacle was Morgan''s clandestine lessons in the Vision art. Yes, she had teached these royal descendants how to harness the power within them and transform it into a spectacle that could rival the northern lights.


    She was their ¡®Fairy Godmother¡¯ after all.


    ¡°Yvain will collect their proof of alliance later under a magical contract. Will this be sufficient, Your Majesty?¡±


    Morgan Le Fay¡­ to think that this was the outcome¡­


    The people who were practically only reduced to slaves and hid away their powers before had stepped up and offered their service¡ª


    No matter how he looked at it, this timeline was more interesting than his previous loops.


    ***


    Two kingdoms. Edensor and Elysian.


    In a matter of mere months, Soulnaught had managed to bring them to their knees. It was a performance that would have left even the most accomplished conquerors feeling a tad bit inadequate.


    By this time, the whispered rumors of Soulnaught''s triumphs would have tickled the ears of the folks at Inkia, Luminus, and even the frosty denizens of Wintersin.


    Their conversations, previously filled with mundane topics like the weather or the latest fashion, now revolved around this formidable player on the chessboard of kingdoms. A sense of unease had started to permeate the air, much like the faint smell of burnt toast insinuating an impending disaster.


    Now, let''s delve into the recesses of Burn''s memory of the past loops. You see, Inkia was not the type to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble. Oh no, they were more the ''grit your teeth and hang on for dear life'' kind.


    They would pull every trick in the book, play dirty, scheme, plot, and pretty much sell their grandmother if they had to, just to avoid uttering the dreaded ''S'' word.


    Yes, surrender was a dish best served last in Inkia, always squeezed into the eleventh hour, much like the last guest who turns up just as the party is winding down.


    And Burn respected that.


    Inkia might not have had an army that scared anyone, but their King, His Shrewd Majesty Rafaye Inkor, was as sharp as a tack.


    He may have been an old fossil, but he had more connections than a switchboard operator on speed dial. Backed by allies from every nook and cranny of the continent, His Majesty''s network was as solid as a bouncer at a biker bar.


    Now, militarily, he had Wintersin backing him up. Their economy was as robust as a weightlifter on steroids, thanks to their geographical gift of being a main trade route.


    Education? Well, they were as brainy as a basket of owls. With the establishment of Saint Lucia Academy and several other institutions, the kingdom was practically brimming with knowledge, like a library after a book fair.


    And let''s not forget the political world in the kingdom. It was as stimulated as a caffeine addict in a coffee shop.


    However, as is often the case with seemingly perfect societies, there was a dark underbelly. Beneath the shiny facade of prosperity and education, the shadows were teeming with things that would give morality itself a heart attack.


    Human trafficking, both legal and illegal, was as common as daisies in a meadow. The gap between the rich and poor, the noble and common, the strong and weak was wider than the Grand Canyon.


    If the second prince of Wintersin had been born as the prince of Inkia, he would have been like a kid in a candy store.


    Inkia would have been the perfect playground for him. It¡¯s like a well-oiled machine designed to keep the dirt under the rug, or in this case, the prince''s ''extreme interests'' well away from prying eyes.


    You see, in Wintersin, his antics were as conspicuous as a peacock in a penguin colony. But in Inkia? His shenanigans would blend right in, tucked away neatly beneath the veneer of respectability. He could indulge his peculiar passions with the ease of a cat burglar in a dark alley.


    But¡ª


    "Why did you paint me in that pose?!"


    Just as they set foot back in Soulnaught, this certain cat burglar darted in, swiping away his train of thought like a seasoned pickpocket.


    Burn swiveled around, his gaze landing on the astronomical beauty that was Morgan Le Fay. There she stood, a cosmic evening star in human form, posed in front of the painting he''d crafted during his desperate search for her a few months prior.


    Yep, that painting. The one that now seemed as inadequate as a stick figure drawing next to the Mona Lisa. It couldn''t capture the essence of her beauty. How could oil on canvas compete with the living, breathing, radiant entity that was Morgan?


    Momo, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes at him, a hint of suspicion creeping into her gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

 58 - Later

    "Why are you looking at me like that?" Momo, planted before Burn, couldn''t help but notice his eyes on her more frequently of late.


    "Desensitization. I need to get used to your face already," came Burn''s reply. It was as emotionless as a voice-mail greeting, but it did the job.


    "Ah! Good job," winked Momo, flashing him a thumbs-up. It was a gesture as innocent as a Sunday school teacher, but with her doing it, even the birds in the sky might fall to the ground from a momentary loss of focus.


    There she was, the celestial beauty, able to distract and disorientate with a mere thumbs-up. It was as if she had a secret code to the universe''s laws of gravity. And Burn blurred his vision on purpose, focusing it on the object behind her.


    ¡°Oh, your eyes look empty again,¡± Momo waved her hand in front of his expressionless face, noticing that would sometimes happen when he stared at her.


    ¡°If you hate my face so much, should I cover it with a veil? I usually did anyway. I still have the dress and hood Vlad gave me along with the veil and everything,¡± Momo said.


    "You sweat easily, aren''t you?" Burn recalled. "Those clothes were fashioned for the frosty north, not for our balmy climate. Perhaps it''s time you tell Galahad to whip up something more weather-appropriate. You wouldn''t want to melt now, would you?"


    ¡°It¡¯s because your body temperature is high and that cursed chariot of yours¡ª¡±


    ¡°The chariot is gone. And it wasn¡¯t designed for two people anyway.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said!¡±


    What was he thinking earlier?


    He forgot.


    Well, no matter. He was back home now, after what felt like a lifetime. He would come back to it later.


    ***


    In the afternoon, Yvain arrived. Edensor''s unfinished affairs had him trailing behind Burn and Morgan, but now he was here, sauntering down the grand hallways of the Soulnaught palace for the first time.


    He had Galahad trailing behind him like a faithful shadow, the picture of royal loyalty.


    "A victory welcome party?" Yvain asked.


    "Yes, Your Majesty. Would you like to attend?" Galahad offered, like he was proposing a casual tea party with a bunch of gossiping housewives, instead of a grand, all-out victory bash.


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    "But aren''t I kinda a nuisance? I''m just a kid too," came Yvain''s response, a genuine question stemming from his past experiences of being the youngest attendee at grown-up parties.


    "Orange juice and mocktails are popular here, sir," Galahad replied, a chuckle escaping his lips. "We, the knights and generals, have been waiting to spend more time with you too."


    It kinda felt like he''d just invited Yvain to a sleepover.


    Yvain blinked at him, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Okay, if you insist."


    "Thank you, sir," Galahad responded, probably mentally adding ''party planning'' to his knightly duties.


    Meanwhile, the palace of Soulnaught was a hive of aristocratic bees buzzing with activity. It was as if someone had switched on their turbo mode.


    A victory party was on the horizon, and the palace was being spruced up like a debutante for her first ball. The kitchens resembled a whirlwind of culinary chaos, with white-hatted chefs churning out dishes so divine, they could make Zeus himself swoon.


    The banquet hall was being transformed into an opulent wonderland, draped in the most luxurious silks and glimmering chandeliers, ready to play host to the empire''s upper crust.


    The knights were busy buffing their armors to mirror-like perfection, eager to parade around like proud roosters in a henhouse.


    Down in the city, the air was similarly electrified with anticipation. The common folk were just as eager to let their hair down and bask in the glow of victory.


    The cobblers were mending shoes for a night of dancing, the tailors were measuring for suits and gowns, and the taverns were stocking up on ale and cider for a night of merry toasting.


    They were ready to laugh, cry, and celebrate the dual emotions of survival and loss. The soldiers, from high-ranking generals to the greenest of grunts, were all prepared to let loose, to swap their swords for goblets, and their battle cries for hearty laughter.


    In both the palace and the city, the atmosphere was thick with a heady mix of relief and celebration. Victory was in the air, and it was infectious.


    From the haughtiest noble to the humblest commoner, everyone shared the same goal: to throw caution to the wind and celebrate like there was no tomorrow.


    Because for some, there almost wasn''t.


    The fallen foe might be mourned, but tonight, life was to be celebrated. Because, as they say, laughter is the best medicine, especially when served with a side of victorious revelry.


    "Don''t forget, okay?"


    "I won''t."


    Two figures swathed in the shadows, dressed in the most unremarkable of attire, the kind that would make a wallflower feel like a tropical bird, lurked in a neglected corner of the palace.


    They exchanged an object, their hands moving with the speed of a pickpocket on a caffeine high. What the item was, remained as mysterious as the dark side of the moon. A jewel, a scroll, a vial of unicorn tears? Well, your guess is as good as mine.


    In the gilded world of the palace, where every corner was aglow with celebration, this dim pocket was like a secret chapter in an otherwise open book.


    The atmosphere was as tense as a tightrope walker with vertigo. The energy was palpable, a stark contrast to the bubbly merriment that frothed in the other parts of the palace.


    The two figures seemed to be orchestrating something as dangerous as juggling flaming swords while riding a unicycle. From their shadowy hideout, they could hear the distant laughter and clinking of glasses, the sounds of a kingdom celebrating victory.


    But here, in this clandestine corner, they were plotting a different kind of victory. Or defeat, depending on which side of the chessboard you were on.


    ¡°Go.¡±


    One of them offered a curt nod, the universal language for a deal sealed. As smooth as practiced dancers, they drifted apart, each taking a different path, the shadows swallowing them whole. No backward glances, no lingering goodbyes.

 59 - Curated Noblewomen

    It wouldn¡¯t be a formal event.


    Burn had about as much fondness for formal soirees as a cat has for water. It didn¡¯t have much use with the way he ruled the empire anyway.


    While the empire''s glitterati continued to swan around in their palaces and mansions, playing the game of pleasantries and formalities, Burn swam against the tide, much like a salmon with an attitude problem.


    The parties he hosted were less champagne and caviar, and more ale and bawdy singalongs. They were mainly for his men. They were grand, no doubt. The kind of grandeur that doesn''t need a three-piece suit or a string of pearls to validate it. More... well, let''s call it ''liberated casual''.


    And there he was, Burn himself, sauntering into the banquet hall in his dark, opulent silk house robe, the embodiment of devil-may-care insouciance. He was probably the only one with the audacity (or the authority) to wear pajamas in a palace banquet.


    Yet, despite Burn''s disdain for formality, the hall was still filled to the brim with the empire''s traditional nobility. They were like a flock of peacocks in a barnyard, each with their own hidden agendas tucked neatly under their ornate robes.


    No sooner had Burn set foot in the banquet hall than he was swarmed by an eager gaggle of opportunists. They buzzed around him like flies to a honey pot, each one vying for his attention.


    The topics were as diverse as a rainbow ¨C from the predictability of the weather to the unpredictability of their family¡¯s daughters.


    Politics, economics, social affairs, the discourse swung back and forth like a pendulum on caffeine. And finance, oh dear, so much finance it could make a banker blush. Was there a veiled hint of an engagement offer thrown in there? Who knows?


    Burn, however, was as unresponsive as a statue in a park. He gave them a cursory glance that could freeze lava, and flicked them off like annoying flies.


    "Send your requests to the imperial court," he intoned, his voice as cold as his gaze. It was as if he was ordering a cup of coffee, not brushing off the cream of the empire''s nobility.


    Because, surely, in this time of war, his courtiers could handle these trivial matters, couldn''t they? They were, after all, well versed in the art of bureaucracy, a talent as useful as a chocolate teapot in a war.


    But then, who was Burn to deny them their moment of glory? And so, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he left the opportunists to their own devices, their mouths agape like fish out of water.


    Burn claimed his spot in a corner, a vantage point from where he could survey the entire hall. It was a swirling kaleidoscope of entertainers, the entertained, and those who seemed to be on a mission to entertain. It was like watching a live performance of a social epic, complete with all the trimmings.


    But, oh yes, amidst this riot of colors and sounds, there were clear demarcation lines, as obvious as chalk lines on a blackboard. It''s almost as if an invisible wall separated the socializing crowd from the celebrating masses.


    On one side, you had the social butterflies, fluttering from one conversation to another, their laughter as light as champagne bubbles. On the other, the reveling throng, people who were there to soak up the festive spirit, their joy as infectious as a viral dance craze.


    The emperor sat like an artist, observing his creation, sipping his wine, and letting the evening unfold at its own pace. It was his party, after all.


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    Burn had barely raised his hand to pour himself a goblet of wine when two fluttering noblewomen swooped in like hawks to a mouse, relieving him of the arduous task. Then came two more.


    Ah, there they were.


    The empire''s surplus of unmarried noble daughters was legendary, but only those delicately balanced on the social ladder ¨C high enough for prestige but not so high to be above wine-pouring duties ¨C would flit to his side like moths to a flame.


    Burn let them. Why not? It was convenient.


    Their presence was as helpful as a pocket on a shirt. Not that they''d dare to start anything untoward. Their role was primarily to keep him entertained and prevent the dreaded boredom from setting in.


    They chattered around him like birds on a wire, discussing the latest happenings in the empire. It was like listening to a live radio broadcast, complete with the occasional laughter and the constant hum of chatter.


    Burn, however, had a knack for selective hearing. His brain would sift through the chatter like a gold miner panning for gold, separating the rumors from the truth, the gossip from the facts.


    Listening to the ladies'' talk was a pleasant distraction, a soothing background noise that was as relaxing as a babbling brook. Burn would tune in and out of the conversation as he pleased, participating when the mood struck him, or simply enjoying the ambient noise when it didn''t.


    It was like having his own personal soundtrack, curated to his tastes.


    Yes.


    He knew these women curated themselves. Like algorithms matched for his interest. How talented.


    "My, so you do know how to enjoy yourself."


    Burn''s eyes flickered at the sound of the enchanting voice, his gaze naturally trailing towards its source.


    "Hi, Your Majesty!" Yvain chimed, appearing at his master''s side. "This seat is vacant, Master. I''ll fetch you a drink."


    "Oh, sweet Yvain, why don''t you head off with Galahad and have a good time," the master, Morgan, suggested as she gracefully sank into the offered seat. Her face, hidden behind a veil, tilted upward, offering a nod of reassurance.


    "Alright then. Master, Your Majesty, please savor the evening!" Yvain didn''t hesitate to rush off.


    Morgan''s soft chuckle rippled through the air, and Burn finally understood. The woman who had claimed the empty seat, a stone''s throw away yet within their shared seating space, was wearing a veil.


    No wonder there was no uproar, enchanted stares and blastful commotions following her tonight.


    Clad in a modest blue dress, she was no less resplendent than the other noble ladies. However, the dress, with its careful tailoring, accentuated her figure in such a way that she looked deliciously tempting, despite its conservative cut.


    Simply scrumptious.


    Her veil, a canopy of lace, stretched from her forehead to her chest, a strict barrier to her face. Her hair, styled in a neat bun, added to her allure, and the pale white ears peeking from behind the veil were the only hint of her hidden beauty.


    What did she say the last time they talked? Ah, yes.


    "I''ll certainly find a way to break the curse. It''s more like an unfinished spell than an imperfect one... but my soul energy hasn''t fully recovered yet. It will soon, but for now, I''m managing. I won''t be threatening you with my life."


    Fair.


    If it weren''t for the loops, he might have faced death once. Well, not really.


    The crux of the matter was that even without the spell, he wouldn''t die. The spell itself had created the scenario for his demise. So, in a twisted way, the spell was still a problem.


    "But after the white dwarf, wouldn''t it be wise to keep the curse for now?"


    "Why are you worrying so much? Who do you think I am?"


    Burn had retorted. But even so, the spell was somewhat convenient for him to keep.


    It allowed him to push his limits without the fear of death looming over him, like a safety net that made the high-wire act less daunting¡ª


    CLINK!


    "I''m truly sorry, but His Majesty has prohibited anyone from partaking wine from the same bottle as him."


    One of the women around him had swiftly snatched the wine bottle Morgan reached out to, and poured more for Burn¡¯s glass. Morgan¡¯s hand was still floating in the air when she tilted her head.


    ¡°Sorry, Your Majesty,¡± she calmly said.


    Putting the wine bottle back to its spot, the woman said in a sweet, soothing, annoyingly curated voice, ¡°Please forgive her, Your Majesty.¡±

 60 - I’m Gonna Take It Down

    ¡°Please forgive her, Your Majesty.¡±


    The noblewoman''s words, carefully enunciated, hung in the air like a delicate zephyr, the underlying sarcasm as subtle as a cat on the prowl. However, the courtesy in the tone skillfully masked the bite, making it more of a playful scratch at Burn than a full-fledged attack at Morgan.


    "Pfft."


    Burn''s gaze snapped back towards Morgan, who was seemingly harnessing every iota of her strength to suppress a laugh. The urge to hurl his glass at her was almost overpowering.


    It was a mismatch, a jarring clash of tones. His gruff demeanor was as out of place amidst these women''s theatrics as a wolf among prancing deer. The contrast was so stark, it would have been comical if it weren''t so frustrating.


    Forget that.


    ¡°Have you seen the White Dwarf?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°GASP!¡± Morgan gasped at his words, ready for his topic, ¡°It¡¯s amazing, what the cosmic fuck?¡±


    Burn sneered, ¡°3%. 3 percent output¡ª¡±


    ¡°Absolute bollocks¡ª!¡± Momo leaned forward in amazement.


    ¡°I absorbed a bit more than 2%,¡± Burn cocked his chin with pride.


    Momo almost squealed as she asked, ¡°Can you¡ª¡±


    ¡°No. Nah,¡± Burn shook his head.


    ¡°Can I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nuh-uh, Miss Momo. Nuh-uh,¡± Burn firmly declared.


    ¡°But how can I study it if I don¡¯t¡ªI wanna see it!¡± Momo demanded when Burn raised his index finger and showed her a miniature ball of condensed heat. It immediately bent the light around it from the extreme temperature, causing Momo to sigh in awe and frustration, "Aw fuuuuuuuuuck..."


    ¡°What are you gonna do about it?¡± Burn teased.


    ¡°Are you expecting me to harvest a random White Dwarf and make a weapon out of it?¡± Momo hummed, ¡°Eeeeeh, I don¡¯t know, what methods would be perfect¡­¡±


    ¡°But nope, especially not for you or just to prove to you that I can,¡± Momo gestured elegantly sideways, her hand framing her chin under the veil, her elbow leaning on the hand rest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just buy more when they¡¯re on sale, then,¡± Burn sipped his wine.


    ¡°What? The White Dwarf?!¡± Momo flinched.


    ¡°Silly,¡± Burn smiled, his eyes subtly warmed at her innocence. ¡°Everything¡¯s on sale if you know where to buy it.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty, are you going to bloody destroy¡ª¡±


    "I''m sorry, Your Majesty. Please forgive her. I''m not sure why there''s an influx of rudeness and profanity around you today. Rest assured, I''ll educate them appropriately," the woman who had previously prevented Morgan from sharing Burn''s wine interjected, a note of disapproval in her voice.


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    Burn''s brows furrowed at this surprising rebuke. However, before he could manage a response, Morgan was on her feet. She casually gestured towards the exit door with her thumb, announcing, "Your Majesty, I''mma dip."


    Burn''s eye twitched at her audacity, an unspoken irritation simmering beneath his stoic facade. Morgan was clearly leaving him to deal with the fallout, exiting the scene as smoothly as she had entered it.


    Her departure, devoid of any formal permission from him or anyone else, not only irked him but also offended the noblewomen present.


    "W-who does she think she is?!" another noblewoman chimed in, her voice a mixture of astonishment and indignation.


    "Marissa, you''re so considerate. You stopped her before she could embarrass herself further," another woman commented. Meanwhile, Marissa remained composed, continuing to pour Burn''s wine with practiced grace.


    "And what was she wearing? This isn''t some masquerade..." a voice murmured.


    "Her dress is so last season too~!" another added, the gossip now in full swing.


    "Pffft¡­ hahahah¡­"


    Their chatter came to an abrupt halt when Burn chuckled to himself. The world of women''s politics was something he had never quite understood. But just when he was about to feel a twinge of sympathy for Morgan, her departure had given him a glimpse into the minds of these women.


    What a dog-eat-dog world they lived in.


    ***


    "Hehehehehe¡­" Momo''s laughter echoed softly in the corridor as she sauntered away from the hall. It was only fitting, she mused, for monarchs like Burn to be surrounded by a gaggle of women, each vying for his attention.


    Yet, it seemed Burn himself wasn''t the one doing the gathering. No, the women themselves clustered around him of their own volition.


    Considering the wine he''d consumed, Burn would surely need a veritable army of these women to guide his possibly inebriated self back to his chambers once the festivities concluded.


    Momo couldn''t help the wry smile that tugged at her lips as she envisioned the scene. ''Good luck, ladies,'' she thought. ''May the best woman win. Amen.''


    As Momo meandered through the corridor, she once again stumbled upon the painting.


    Ah, this painting.


    Upon seeing it again, she could discern that it was a different Morgan. It was Morgan Le Fay from a future three years hence.


    The painting revealed a version of Morgan that was simultaneously ruthless and cold, yet elegant and breathtakingly beautiful.


    Her features were etched with an icy determination, a sharp contrast to the radiant elegance that highlighted her beauty. It was a paradox that somehow worked, a testament to Burn''s artistic skills.


    Her pose, a dynamic blend of weightlessness and strength, created an aura of invincibility and grace. It was as if she was suspended in time, a celestial being whose power was as immense as it was captivating.


    Despite the striking depiction of her future self, Morgan couldn''t shake off a sense of shyness. It was somewhat jarring to see this version of her displayed so prominently in the corridor. It was like a mirror to a future she was yet to live, a visual prophecy that left her feeling exposed and oddly vulnerable.


    "I''m gonna take it down," fuck Burn, Momo thought.


    She reached out and gently tugged at the frame, testing its weight and pondering the feasibility of a one-woman heist. Yes, she could probably manage it. After all, how hard could it be to¡ª


    "What are you doing?!"


    The sudden exclamation from behind her was like a bucket of ice-cold water, halting her rebellious escapade mid-action. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, she couldn''t even contemplate painting theft in peace.


    Momo turned, only to find the quartet of noblewomen who had been near Burn now standing behind her. In the middle stood the most radiant of them all, adorned with exquisite jewels that spoke volumes about her family''s wealth and influence.


    "Marissa, look at this," one of them exclaimed. "Just when you were about to graciously educate her, she''s on the verge of another act of stupidity!"


    "Don''t you think she''s beyond redemption?" another chimed in. "Perhaps you should advise His Majesty to administer punishment instead."


    Once the two women had finished their commentary, a silence descended. The trio of women waited expectantly for the calm and elegant Marissa to speak, their expressions mirroring the anticipation one feels when watching a drama about to reach its climax.


    But before Momo could explain herself, Marissa broke the silence, her voice as soft as it was chilling.


    "Do you know what that painting is?"

 61 - A Maiden’s Heart

    "Do you know what that painting is?"


    Marissa Lombardi, the golden child of a marquis, posed the question. Blessed with a complexion that would make alabaster jealous, and the kind of blue eyes and blonde hair that poets would wax lyrical about, she was often touted as the continent''s resident beauty queen.


    She was a Vision and Force Art Mage, a title she earned from Saint Lucia Academy. Although her magical prowess was fairly average, she had a convenient excuse. After all, juggling politics, social events, and the economy was no easy feat, even for a multitasking prodigy like her.


    As the eldest of five siblings and the most eligible bachelorette in Soulnaught, expectations hung around her like a heavy cloak. But Marissa, ever the perfectionist, wore it with grace.


    Perfection, calmness, elegance - they were not just qualities expected of her, they were her armor. And with time, she had polished this armor to a dazzling shine. So much so, that it was easy to forget it was just that - an armor.


    That was until the Marquis dropped the bombshell. Marissa was appointed as Emperor Burn''s "chatting friend."


    Yes, it was a thing.


    The emperor, for his part, hadn''t asked for a gaggle of social butterflies to flutter around him. But the dearth of social events helmed by him had left the nobility in a lurch.


    They were starved for a window into the life of the enigmatic emperor, a man whose love for order and efficiency bordered on neurotic.


    And in these times of drastic changes, brought about by pesky space invaders, it was paramount to have a man like him at the helm. Predictably, he elevated his kingdom to an empire status and set about conquering the continent, aiming to unite the world under one banner.


    Before His Majesty ascended too high into the realm of power, the nobility needed to anchor him. Hence, Marissa and her merry band of noblewomen were chosen as this anchor.


    It was a task as nerve-wracking as walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. Burn was a monarch to be feared, not trifled with. One small misstep, and it was off with their heads.


    After all, what could one expect from an emperor who shielded the world from extraterrestrial attacks and had no qualms about fratricide?


    And so, Marissa climbed the social ladder, firmly establishing herself as the emperor''s favorite chatmate. After all, she was the perfect blend of intellectual stimulation and visual delight, a combination that seemed to suit the emperor''s refined tastes.


    Everything went swimmingly, until one day, the emperor woke up with a sudden desire to dabble in the fine arts. He demanded painting supplies, a request as shocking as it was baffling. No one knew the emperor had an artistic bone in his body, let alone the ability to wield a paintbrush.


    A week later, a new painting was unveiled, and uproar ensued. The emperor, it turned out, wasn''t just a ruler and a warrior; he was an artist too.


    And the subject of his painting was a woman of otherworldly beauty.


    Captivating blue eyes, golden blonde locks¡ª


    The moment the painting was revealed, all eyes swiveled towards Marissa, who possessed similar features. Sure, she wasn''t as breathtakingly beautiful as the woman in the painting, but then again, who was?


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    But you know how men are, right? They always paint the women they fancy in a more flattering light.


    Despite the glaring mismatch in their facial features, Marissa suddenly became the belle of the ball. Not only was she now considered prime empress material, she also found herself the hot topic amongst the chattering classes.


    The emperor, in his quest to find the woman he''d painted, had dispatched his men far and wide. Rumor even had it that he''d embarked on a solo expedition to locate her, adding a dash of romance to the already tantalizing tale.


    Sure, it was becoming increasingly clear that Marissa wasn''t the woman in question. But why shouldn''t it be Marissa? If the emperor couldn''t find his mystery muse, wouldn''t he eventually settle for a replacement?


    After all, he held the whole world in his hands, ripe with potential substitutes.


    Since the unveiling of the painting, it had become a permanent fixture in the palace. And there was a unanimous consensus among all who saw it.


    The woman in the painting was the yet-to-be-named empress.


    And the day the emperor decided to christen her, it would be the equivalent of announcing the name of his future companion.


    "Do YOU know what that painting is?" Marissa''s voice echoed through the hall as she repeated herself.


    Momo simply tilted her head, perplexed. "This painting? Yeah I¡ª"


    ¡°If you know, then you must¡¯ve grasped its importance. But you dare to try and sabotage it, right here in the emperor''s palace? How audacious can one be?!¡± Marissa seethed.


    Momo shrugged nonchalantly, ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t see why he still keeps it on display. It''s not like it serves any purpose anymore, does it?¡±


    In a fit of rage, Marissa lunged forward, yanking off Momo¡¯s veil with a swift, brutal pull. ¡°How presumptuous¡­!¡±


    There was a collective gasp.


    The woman in the painting was portrayed as an astronomical beauty. Folks assumed no living being could rival the stunning woman they presumed was a figment of the emperor''s imagination.


    Little did they know that the breathing, living version was almost a thousand times more enchanting than the rendition on canvas.


    As Momo''s veil was ripped away, her neatly tied bun unraveled, letting her hair tumble down in a cascade of enticing disarray.


    Who else but her could boast of such thick, long blonde lashes? And those delicately arched eyebrows¡ªit was the emperor''s painting that paled in comparison.


    What kind of blue were those? The blue in her eyes made every other blue hue in the world seem counterfeit. And that sculpted face? Why did even the tales of elvish and fairy beauty fall short of describing her?


    Standing next to the painting, it seemed ludicrous to suggest that the woman depicted was anyone else. However, it did look like the real Momo was the prettier sister of her painted counterpart, making the whole situation downright unbelievable.


    "Wh¡ªwhat sorcery is this?! You dare contort your face to resemble¡ª"


    No.


    Even Marissa, in her disbelief, couldn''t detect a hint of transformation or disguise magic on Momo''s stunning face. Consumed by frustration, she stormed off, her entourage of sycophants trailing behind her, leaving a bewildered Momo in their wake.


    "...my veil..." Momo started to protest, but thought better and let Marissa go.


    Upon further reflection, Momo recalled how numerous young noblewomen at the banquet had magically dyed their hair blonde. Even the other three other than Marissa. She cast a glance at the painting behind her, and¡ª


    "What the¡ªpfffft¡ªfu¡ªhahahah!"


    She burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Poor Caliburn..." Momo managed to say, clutching her stomach as waves of laughter overtook her. This amusing misunderstanding was bound to add quite the spice to his romantic life later.


    "All the more reason to... pffft¡ªtake this down..." Momo, still shaking with mirth, mustered her strength once again to remove the painting.


    But her hands gradually came to a halt.


    Still wearing remnants of her laughter on her face, Momo felt a warmth spread across her cheeks. Her striking blue eyes softened, and her smile delicately trembled. So this was how people interpreted Burn''s search for her?


    Indeed, it was a misunderstanding, and the truth would certainly stun them. Yet...


    A maiden¡¯s heart is sometimes easily swayed.

 62 - Nuisance

    ¡°Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!¡±


    The painting was almost a carbon copy of Morgan, as seen through Burn''s eyes, right before she cried his name. Evidently, this was the most indelible image he could conjure up of her.


    And now, confronted with a painted echo of herself, Morgan couldn''t help but wonder what had been coursing through her mind in that frozen moment.


    "You had the power to kill him," Morgan mused under her breath, "Yet, you chose not to."


    After everything that happened, Morgan had made the decision not to forsake the world¡ªor him. For if she had, she would be bereft of any purpose in this world.


    Yvain was no more, and the world had lost its luster, especially after what happened that day...


    As the memory of the sky tearing open invaded her thoughts, Morgan clenched her eyes shut. Her face riddled with sorrow and rage.


    But¡­


    "You have seen with your own two eyes what the world will be three years in the future," Morgan sighed, lifting her head to face the painting again. "The world Caliburn created."


    Morgan today had seen it too, as she read through Burn¡¯s mind. The world after he took it over was¡­


    Not bad.


    "You didn''t kill him because you had seen it from your own perspective, and then watched him finish it all by himself?" she asked.


    The man standing alone on that battlefield that day, after defeating and killing everything in sight, painted as the ultimate villain of every soul¡¯s life¡­


    Was lonely.


    Even though what he did¡ªevery single thing, was¡­ necessary?


    "You stood in front of him, with hatred seething in your heart, yet you saw how he would fix this world," Morgan murmured. "And you sent him back to me to help him perfect it."


    A man stained with sin, and she baptized him anew. Simply because she could, and out of sheer spite.


    Morgan suddenly smiled, crossed her arms and cocked her head sideway. ¡°Ck, ck,¡± she hummed, ¡°I¡¯m proud of the shit I do.¡±


    But most importantly¡­


    In the future, on that same battlefield, wouldn''t it be a hoot if she could spot them huddled around that lonely man?


    On that battlefield, where the only color in the palette seemed to be shades of carnage¡ªit''d be just peachy if he was grinning arrogantly like he was always, and not a soul would call him a villain.


    Morgan chuckled, "...even though he might deserve it."


    To be called a villain.


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    Suddenly, Morgan felt the urge to return to the banquet hall and chat with him again. She couldn''t deny how much fun she had discussing seemingly mundane things with him.


    Not that the White Dwarf and the future of the war were mundane, but... she giggled again.


    Wait a minute.


    She had lost her veil, hadn''t she?


    Immediately, she stopped. Her awkward pose, stopping mid-step as she sighed helplessly, looked quite silly, but in no way did it diminish her beauty.


    She scratched the back of her head. ¡°He did tell me that I am too distracting¡­¡±


    The dress and the veil had been prepared by Galahad because she couldn''t access her own treasures yet, and her personal belongings were gone at some point.


    "Hmm, I didn''t even get to drink anything," she murmured. But then, she shrugged. "Oh, well¡­"


    She turned in the opposite direction and raised her hand as if holding a wine glass. "Well, a toast to myself, for saving the people of Edensor and Elysian from Burn the Villain."


    Though most of the unlucky ones ended up as slaves¡­


    On that thought, Morgan lowered her imaginary glass, wearing a weary smile. But at least, they were alive! Haha¡­


    As she ambled down the grand corridor, Morgan considered retreating to the solace of her room.


    The ornate, towering doors and flickering wall sconces cast a hypnotic dance of shadows that guided her path. The banquet''s past echoes were now replaced with a hushed silence, wrapping the castle in a comforting blanket of tranquility.


    Just as the thought of her cozy room began to lure her, something curious caught her eye near Burn''s chamber.


    She decided to indulge her curiosity, pressing her boot lightly against the room''s slightly ajar door. The room was dim, save for the moonlight that filtered in through the window¡ªand her face morphed from casual curiosity to shock in an instant.


    ***


    Burn decided to grace the party with his fleeting presence, offering up a toast to his loyal men. It was a strategic move, really. A sprinkle of charisma here, a dash of camaraderie there, and voila¡ªhe''d successfully stoked the embers of their loyalty, all while ensuring they didn''t feel like neglected houseplants.


    He surveyed the room, his gaze falling on each of his knights in turn. Even Yvain seemed to be relishing his moment, drinking his own orange juice on the table in front of him. Nothing was out of order when it hit him. Morgan was yet to return.


    Perhaps that was for the best.


    Even with her face entirely hidden and modestly dressed, her striking presence was undeniable. Amid the lively music, carefree laughter, and grand pomp of the party, her voice remained distinct, melodious, and smooth.


    The way she carried her words was impeccably graceful, even when she spouted words like ''bollocks'' or ''fuck'', or her casual exit line, "I''mma dip."


    "Pfft," Burn masked his laughter with a sip of his wine.


    He pulled his wine glass away from his face, his thoughts turning to the fact that she hadn''t even had a drink yet. Burn raised his eyebrows, but shrugged it off just like that. Maybe she¡ª


    Oh.


    That''s when he spotted the noblewoman who had been accompanying him, reappearing in the hall carrying a cloth awfully similar to Morgan''s veil.


    Burn strolled back to his former seat, pouring himself another glass of wine. As the noblewoman cheerfully settled back down beside him, the cloth was nowhere to be seen. It could''ve been discarded somewhere on the dance floor between the entrance and his seat.


    Morgan didn''t return because of him.


    Even when she stood there merely sipping her tea, she would divert the attention of the men delivering reports for him. Even when she sat there simply admiring the flowers, the servants and the gardener would gather and watch her from a distance, abandoning their duties.


    She was a fucking nuisance. And the worst part was, it wasn''t even her fault.


    Now, with her veil snatched away, she might have opted to retreat to her room instead of returning here. He should have appointed someone who could provide her with a replacement veil in such situations.


    "A maid... no, a lady in waiting would be more suitable," Burn muttered.


    Marissa raised her eyebrows at Burn''s sudden, unprompted words. "...For what, Your Majesty?"


    "For our little Miss Momo," Burn sneered. She wasn''t even capable of finding a new veil herself. Not that Burn would want her to wear a tablecloth on her face.


    As he teased Marissa''s chin, pulling her closer and delighting in her puzzled response, he hummed. His voice was low, dark, and thick like black honey, "You are perfect. From now on, you will be her servant."

 63 - Settle

    Morning tiptoed into the grand hall, a reluctant witness to the fallout from Burn''s nocturnal extravaganza. The once lively room was now a tableau of debauchery''s leftovers, a sprawl of Burn''s men entwined in a dance of drunken slumber.


    The air, thick with the aroma of stale ale, sweat, and the ghost of perfumes past, seemed to hold its breath, as if trying to forget the sins of the night before. The first light of day, unapologetically harsh, nosed its way through the dirt-streaked windows, casting a judgemental glow over the remnants of the night''s excesses.


    Burn, the puppet master of the night''s revelries, was an island of satisfaction amidst a sea of unconscious bodies. His men¡¯s snores provided the baseline to a symphony of occasional groans, muffled snorts, and the rhythmic drip-drip of an unclosed keg that someone had left as a monument to their inebriation.


    The women, strewn across him were as motionless as discarded marionettes, their stillness broken only by an occasional twitch or sigh. The quiet was a palpable entity, a silent testament to the headaches-in-waiting and the memories that would be better off drowned in a sea of forgetfulness.


    Marissa''s eyelids fluttered open, her body wedged between a noblewoman and the man himself, Burn. They were draped over him like a pair of well-worn shawls, the centerpiece of this tableau of debauched decadence.


    It was a familiar scene, the kind of morning-after that could only occur after nights fuelled by Burn''s legendary hospitality.


    Occasionally, a particularly adventurous¡ªor perhaps fortunate¡ªdamsel would manage to weave her way into Burn''s bed, becoming his paramour for the night. Yes, Burn was nothing if not a generous host.


    Burn treated his women with a courteous detachment. He would ensure they were well compensated for their time, allow them to bask in the afterglow of his attention until they wearied of the game... mostly because the game held little appeal for him.


    To Burn, they were like butterflies¡ªbeautiful to behold, but ultimately, fleeting distractions. His interest in them was as temporary as their presence in his bed, a mutual understanding that suited everyone involved.


    Marissa remembered what he told her last night.


    ¡°Be her servant.¡±


    The man told Marissa to become that woman¡¯s servant.


    At times, Marissa found herself pondering a great "what if". Would Burn ever find a reason to settle down? Would there ever be a woman he''d treat differently? Not some fleeting bedfellow, but someone he would want to keep by his side for more than an intoxicated night or two.


    Or at least, someone he would utilize differently?


    It was then that she noticed a small locket nestled against Burn''s chest. With nothing better to do¡ªand perhaps a dash of curiosity stoked by the morning''s revelations¡ªshe reached out, her fingers brushing lightly over the locket before gently prying it open.


    What she saw inside made her eyes widen.


    It was that woman. Not just any woman, but a woman whose portrait seemed to be painted with a warmth and affection wholly uncharacteristic of Burn. This wasn''t just another face in the crowd; this was a face that held a place of honor in a locket close to Burn''s heart.


    It was painful to acknowledge, like a punch to the gut, that there might be more to Burn''s relationships than she had thought.


    Who the hell was this Miss Momo? Who was this celestial beauty that had seemingly captured the interest of the untamed Emperor Burn? Was she the one? The one who had cultivated a seed of love in Burn''s otherwise barren heart? The one who had brought light into his life?


    And then, the light entered.


    No, not that self-righteous ball of gas one call the sun, who''d already passed its hungover judgment on the scene¡ªit was the other light, Morgan Le Fay.


    She slipped through the protesting hall door, a box cradled in her arms. It was filled with bottles, each radiating a glow that put even the gaudiest of disco balls to shame. The liquid within each bottle swirled and glittered like magic.


    Her steps silent, she navigated the battlefield of inebriated warriors, arriving at the side of young Yvain.


    The only child present, Yvain had been part of the night''s festivities, surrounded by Burn''s elite. The boy had been staying up past his bedtime, a rare treat, and was now lost in a sleep as deep as the ocean.


    As his guardian, Morgan couldn''t help but feel a twinge of concern, but then again, what''s childhood without a little rule-breaking?


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The boy, Yvain, had remained on the safer shores of non-alcoholic beverages last night, so he wouldn''t need anything more rejuvenating than a warm bath, a hearty breakfast, and a few more hours of sleep.


    His greatest challenge would probably be scrubbing off the sticky residue of sugary drinks and the odd wayward streamer tangled in his hair.


    Burn, on the other hand, well... Burn might require a dash more attention¡ª


    Navigating the post-party debris with the grace of a gazelle in a china shop, Morgan finally arrived at her destination.


    She deposited her box of miracles on the low table in front of Burn, pushing aside the empty soldiers of a war waged on sobriety to make room. With a sigh of stoic resignation, she perched herself on the table, taking a moment to assess the scene before her.


    There, in the eye of the Hurricane Burn, was the man himself. Caliburn, the monarch, sprawled out in slumber amongst a bouquet of noblewomen who framed his young and robust form like a classical painting¡ªalbeit one that would make a nun blush.


    They lay in tangled repose, seemingly undisturbed since the night''s shenanigans, their peaceful slumber a testament to the hedonistic merriment that had unfolded. Quite the party, indeed.


    Morgan''s gaze drifted down to Burn''s knees, and she gave his funny bone a light knock, eliciting a small jolt.


    "Ugh, what?" Burn grumbled, rousing from his alcohol-laden slumber. His words froze in his throat as he found himself face-to-face with an ethereal beauty, her smile radiant against the room''s morning light. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he had crossed over to the other side¡ªheaven.


    But it was just Morgan.


    "Here," she said, her voice as smooth as the potion she retrieved from her box. Uncorking the bottle, she handed it to him. "Mana potion."


    "Why?" His voice was a gravelly echo of its usual self, but he accepted the bottle nonetheless.


    "You don¡¯t share your liquor as a precaution against poison, right?" Morgan sifted through the empty wine bottles, fishing out one that was completely drained. She held it up, sniffing its hollow interior. "Hmm, you even finished it."


    "I''m not footing the bill if some fool decided to steal a swig and died," Burn retorted, his eyes narrowing at the potion Morgan had offered him.


    She knew a run-of-the-mill antidote wouldn''t do him any good, so she had procured mana potions instead. And not just any mana potion, but one of the rarest and most costly on the market...


    Burn downed the potion in a single gulp, not giving it a moment''s thought.


    "So this is your secret?" He asked, wiping a trace of the potion from his lips. "You don''t need my kisses anymore now that you have these?"


    With a sigh, Morgan reached into her box and brought out another potion. "I managed to acquire these when we returned to Edensor. Yvain brought even more for me when he got here¡ª" but Burn cut her off, placing a hand over hers.


    "I''m fine. You should drink these yourself. Recover quickly," he said.


    "Hey, you just ingested a fair amount of poison last night. I can easily produce more of these," Morgan countered, her brows furrowing in concern. "What possessed you to drink them in the first place?"


    "Standard liquor barely makes me tipsy, okay? These poisoned ones at least add a dash of... excitement," Burn retorted, his words eliciting a stifled laugh from Morgan.


    "You can concoct high-grade mana potions?" Burn asked.


    "Who do you think I am?" Morgan replied.


    "Point taken."


    "Here."


    "Fine," Burn conceded, reaching out to take the proffered potion. In the end, he drank more, despite his initial resistance. But right after that, he became a bit suspicious, so he asked, ¡°What''s with this random kindness in the morning? What do you want?¡±


    Morgan blinked, a subtle spark of mischief glimmering in her eyes.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± Burn prodded, pulling her jaw to face him when she looked elsewhere, feigning ignorance.


    ¡°I read through your library,¡± Momo muttered with her moist, red lips.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°The library near your chamber,¡± Morgan confessed, her words barely more than a whisper, her eyes closed in anticipation of his reaction.


    Burn narrowed his eyes again in confusion. ¡°And?¡±


    "I read all of it, okay! Your books, the ones you collected from outsiders... they were so fascinating, I couldn''t help myself. I''m sorry!" Morgan''s voice was a mix of excitement and apprehension, her tone rising even if her volume didn''t.


    Burn blinked. ¡°Okay?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not angry? You¡¯re not hiding them?¡± Morgan meekly asked, her regretful expression so beautiful and adorable Burn wanted to squeeze it.


    ¡°You think I need to hide something? Silly, they¡¯re just normal cultural material¡ª¡±


    ¡°Even the weird ones?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, weird ones? I don¡¯t have weird taste¡ªpfft¡ª¡±


    Morgan burst into a fit of giggles as Burn attempted to stifle his own laughter. "It''s okay, on second thought, they weren''t that weird," she teased, her whispers punctuated by bouts of laughter.


    ¡°They¡¯re not weird at all, Miss Momo,¡± Burn countered, feigning indignation.


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re not,¡± she teased.


    ¡°You said they¡¯re exciting, so you¡¯re just as weird as me.¡±


    "It''s not about preference, it''s research. I love learning about new things."


    ¡°Sure. So, did you sneak out last night and read until morning?"


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Pffft¡ª¡±


    Maybe it was because he was in a great mood. Whether it was the lingering effects of the wine, or perhaps the poison, Burn found himself surprisingly inclined to laughter that morning.


    Oh, absolutely. Because what better way to keep the rumor mill quiet than to engage in flirtatious banter amidst a crowd of people who, at some point, had regained consciousness?


    It was a flawless plan, truly. After all, who would possibly want to spoil such a delightful moment of shared amusement with the minor inconvenience of spreading scandalous whispers? No, not a soul. Bravo, you two. Bravo.


    Augh, you know, not that they cared.

 64 - Stagger

    There was a reason why Yvain had let all of his doubts about Burn fall by the wayside.


    It wasn''t just that Burn had achieved the impossible by bringing his master back, a monumental feat no one else had ever accomplished. It was more than that¡ªhe had never seen his master, the Infinite Witch, display such genuine warmth and rapport with anyone else.


    The Infinite Witch wasn''t cold by any means, but neither was she prone to offering open displays of affection, particularly to those unfamiliar to her.


    She was a figure shrouded in beauty so absolute it was almost a curse. No matter how subtly she attempted to blend into the crowd, her luminous presence was impossible to miss.


    She was a visionary of unparalleled genius, a figure whose insight and wisdom comparable to even the legendary Merlin.


    Holding an equal conversation with her was a daunting task, for few could truly comprehend the depths of her mind or the essence of who she was. Her intellect created an invisible barrier that separated her from the rest of the world¡ªeven from the rest of the Vision users.


    But Burn was different.


    He didn''t need to laboriously climb up to reach the flower perched on the high cliff. He was already standing atop his own towering cliff, matching her in stature and grandeur.


    And the flower, instead of staying distant and aloof, seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, reaching out in an unspoken bond of mutual understanding and respect.


    Burn was one of the few who could meet her gaze on an equal footing, an exception to the norm, a beacon that called out to her in the vast sea of faces.


    This shared high ground they occupied was a testament to their unique connection, a connection that Yvain could not help but acknowledge and respect as her disciple.


    So, when Yvain witnessed them chatting in the mundane, a sense of relief washed over him.


    He had feared that Morgan would spend her infinite lifespan in solitude, a goddess forever confined to her own world. But perhaps Morgan wouldn''t have to bear her eternal existence alone. At least, not for a while.


    Yvain blinked, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He slowly rose from his chair, his gaze sweeping across the room in search of Galahad. But his search was in vain; Galahad was nowhere to be found.


    It seemed that, for the moment, he would have to content himself with the reassuring sight of Morgan and Burn until¡ª


    CLACK! SLAM!!


    The hall door decided to put on a dramatic performance. It slammed open with a flourish, disrupting the tranquility like an overzealous actor entering stage right.


    In charged Galahad, a grim expression etched onto his face, flanked by a group of guards. They were dragging behind them two unfortunate souls, a man and a woman, who, by the look of their attire, were servants.


    The guards, in a display of chivalry that would make any etiquette coach weep, saw fit to force these two to kneel by giving their legs a swift, none-too-gentle kick.


    The hall erupted into a symphony of gasps and stunned silence, the shock value of this spectacle effectively jolting the still half-drunk party goers into sobriety.


    Eyes, previously glazed over with the after-effects of the night''s indulgence, widened in surprise. The hangover remedy of the century, ladies and gentlemen. No need for strong coffee or a greasy breakfast. A dash of unexpected drama in the morning does the trick just fine.


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    "As you ordered, Your Majesty," Galahad announced with as much flourish as a man could muster while leading a pair of terrified servants into a room full of hungover nobility.


    Morgan, in her infinite wisdom, decided to step aside and let the show unfold. Burn, however, seemed to be in no hurry. He rose from his seat with the languid grace of a man who had all the time in the world, causing the noblewomen clinging to him to hastily follow suit.


    As Burn sauntered down to the center of the hall, a hush fell over the crowd. The spectacle was too enticing to ignore, and every pair of eyes followed his progress. The whispers died down and the room was swallowed by an expectant silence.


    "Speak," Burn commanded, his voice breaking the tension like a sharp blade.


    The two servants looked as if they had seen a ghost. Their faces were pallid, their eyes wide with fear. They fumbled for words, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water.


    Finally, the woman managed to squeak out, "T-this is a mistake, Your Majesty! I''m wrongly accused!"


    Burn turned his gaze to Galahad, who seemed to have been waiting for just such a cue. He unsheathed his sword¡ª


    SLASH! ...THUD!


    The woman''s head rolled on the ground, painting a grotesque picture in scarlet. The crowd gasped, a ripple of shock sweeping through the room.


    Blood spattered across the polished floor and only a select few, those accustomed to such brutal executions, remained unmoved, their faces impassive amidst the gasps and cries.


    The other servant, a man, had his eyes stretched wide open at the grisly sight before him. It was the kind of scene that would induce nightmares for weeks.


    Yet, quite unexpectedly, a sense of calm seemed to wash over him. His trembling ceased and his fa?ade, like a poorly worn mask, dropped.


    Burn noticed this change. The man''s newfound serenity intrigued him, a stark contrast to the terror he''d exhibited moments earlier. Perhaps this one had a bit more spine.


    So, in the stillness that followed the horrifying spectacle, Burn issued the same command, "Speak."


    The man tilted his face upwards, his gaze meeting Burn''s. He seemed to completely disregard the fact that he was standing in a room full of nobility, dressed in a servant''s attire, ankle-deep in a pool of his comrade''s blood.


    The rules of decorum? Ha! They might as well have been written in invisible ink for all he cared. He addressed Burn with a directness that would have made a diplomat faint.


    "You''re still alive despite drinking all of that poison," he stated matter-of-factly, as if commenting on the weather. The room fell into a stunned silence, shock hanging thick in the air like a dense fog.


    He continued, an air of disappointment in his tone, "I guess our effort is never destined to bear fruit." As if he were lamenting a botched batch of apple pie, not an attempted regicide.


    It was the kind of understatement that could only be pulled off with a certain flair, a certain... panache.


    Burn knew about the poison and had drunk it anyway. He''d even directed Galahad to round up the culprits¡ªthe very pair who''d smuggled the poisoned wine into the palace. He was alive even after that, but more so, he knew who wanted him dead.


    The servant tried to rally, a desperate cry escaping his lips, "Long live Inkia¡ª!"


    SLAP!


    Galahad silenced him with a swift hand. He turned to Burn, a sly smile on his face, "With this, even Wintersin wouldn¡¯t be able to refute our decision to invade Inkia, Your Majesty."


    Burn simply shrugged nonchalantly. "It''s not like I need Wintersin¡¯s opinion about what I am going to do, but how convenient. Inkia next, ready our arms and we¡¯ll march next week."


    Here he was, brushing off an assassination attempt as if it were a pesky fly at a picnic. Survive poison, check. Expose traitors, check. Plan invasion, in progress. Just another day in the life of an emperor, folks.


    But just when everyone thought the show had fizzled out, the servant decided to pull a last trick. He tapped into his hidden Force energy and with a surprising agility, he swiped a sword from one of the guards and sprinted towards Burn, all the while bellowing, "Long live Inkia!"


    Risking it all.


    The cry echoed around the room, his voice infused with an adrenaline-fueled desperation.


    Burn watched the scene unfold as if it were a slow-motion. The man''s charge, the terrified faces of the spectators, the gleaming sword aimed at his heart. It was all so... slow.


    Everyone, including Burn, knew he could easily dodge the attack. After all, he was far stronger and had the advantage of not being a servant trying to stage a one-man rebellion.


    ¡°Ugh¡ª¡±


    But then, as if the universe had a perverse sense of humor, a sharp pain exploded in Burn''s chest. It was as if someone had set off a firework inside him. The pain was so intense, so unexpected, it stole his focus just as the servant lunged.


    STAB!


    And then, just like that, the sword found its mark. It pierced Burn''s heart, the irony of the situation as sharp as the blade itself. A servant had managed to do what poison couldn''t.


    To make Emperor Burn stagger.

 65 - It Hurts

    It was far from the first time Burn had a blade, or for that matter, any other dinnerware shoved through his heart.


    His chest had been transformed into a pin cushion, stabbed with everything from broadswords to butter knives, and had been on the receiving end of every magic spell imaginable.


    You name it, he''s had it through the heart. Swords, arrows, a pitchfork once, and even an ill-aimed unicorn horn. His heart had seen more metal than a scrapyard magnet and had absorbed more magic than a fairy godmother''s wand.


    But Burn, oh our dear, indestructible Burn, always managed to survive, every single time. He had a knack for heartbreak, literally.


    It was as if he was playing a never-ending game of ''how many things can I survive getting stabbed with?'' and spoiler alert: he was winning.


    Still, none of that held a candle to the pain he felt today.


    "Ugh¡ª"


    What in the seven hells was that¡ª


    "Your Majesty!"


    Someone shouted, and immediately the hall erupted in chaos. It was as if someone had dropped a firecracker in a chicken coop. Guards, led by Galahad, scrambled in a flurry of armor and clanging weapons.


    Even the half-drunk party-goers sobered up enough to gawk at the scene.


    But among the screams and shouts, one voice stood out.


    "Master!"


    It was Yvain, who, instead of joining the frenzied mass of people rushing to his aid, decided to leap in the opposite direction like a rabbit on steroids.


    He wasn''t interested in helping to apprehend the audacious servant who had just stabbed Burn. Instead, as Burn followed his movements with his eyes, he saw Yvain running towards his master, Morgan Le Fay.


    Marissa and the other noblewoman, who was unfortunate enough to have front-row seats to the spectacle, let out screams that could have shattered glass.


    One part of their terror was straightforward enough: they had just witnessed Burn, their emperor, get impaled violently. But the second part of their horror was a tad more... unexpected.


    At the same time as the sword made itself at home in Burn''s heart, Morgan vomited blood.


    "COUGH!"


    Morgan''s normally elegant demeanor was replaced with a violent, bloody interruption. And boy, did it send another wave of pain surging through Burn''s chest, where the sword was still lodged.


    Burn reached out to Morgan. Pain¡ª


    "Mor...gan..." The name came out as a raspy whisper, like sandpaper on his vocal cords.


    Morgan lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes full of a sadness so deep, it could have drowned the capital.


    "It hurts..." Burn''s words were gritted out through clenched teeth in pain. "Are we going to die together?"


    Cursing time demanded an upfront payment, like when they returned to their checkpoint after Morgan''s organ failure in the vampire church basement. She paid the price then, and a new loop began right from that moment.


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    And now, Burn was left wondering what loomed in his future that was bad enough to kill him. The pain he was feeling was like someone had reached into his chest, grabbed a chunk of his soul, and yanked it out with a blade that was not only red-hot but also serrated and dull.


    "Don''t speak... Caliburn..." Morgan reached up to him, propping him up as best as she could. "I''ll take your pain away... kiss me."


    Burn, despite his current predicament, managed to voice his question. "Did you share with me your soul between our kisses...?"


    "Of course I did¡ªThat''s the only way to keep you alive!" Morgan blurted out, frustration making her eyes glisten with unshed tears.


    Just like how Burn had shared his Force through their kisses, Morgan had shared her Vision¡ªno, she had shared her very soul with him.


    She had begun this soul-sharing business from the very start, bit by bit, with every kiss they shared, all to prepare for a moment like this. A moment when the curse might demand Caliburn''s soul as its toll fee.


    But as it turned out, this time, even the locket necklace and the fragments of her soul she''d shared weren''t enough. It looked like they were headed towards a tragic ending: dying together.


    "Kneel and lower your heads!" Galahad commanded, his voice cutting through the room like a sword. His order fell at the same time as Burn and Morgan''s lips met.


    Immediately, every soul in the room, except for the pair in the middle, hit their knees. Heads bowed low, their bodies became monuments to fear, and not a single person dared to lift their gaze. Their hearts were jittery rabbits, thumping wildly in their chests.


    They had never heard their mighty emperor utter the words, ''It hurts.'' The very concept was alien, unthinkable.


    This was the man who had laughed in the face of a dozen spears skewering him, who had continued to battle his adversaries as if it was just another Tuesday. The emperor who had chased after his own severed limbs to reattach them himself.


    Emperor Burn had never been one to complain about pain.


    "Painful... Morgan... COUGH!" Burn''s words were punctuated by a violent cough, spattering the floor with blood. The sight of it was enough to drain the color from every face in the room.


    They had never seen him bleed this much before¡ª


    CLANK!


    As she kissed him, she gently tugged the sword from his chest, letting it fall to the floor with all the grace of a drunken swan. And then, she used her right hand to plug the suddenly vacant hole in his chest.


    Healing it? Oh, that was as easy as stealing candy from a baby. Or from a fully grown, sword-wielding warrior, same difference. But the real kicker, the real cherry on top of this misery sundae, was trying to shove more soul energy into the man to quell his pain.


    ¡°Mor¡­ gan¡­¡±


    Pain!


    Imagine being served a five-course meal of pain, each dish more excruciating than the last. That''s what Burn was experiencing. First up, a delectable appetizer of white-hot pokers being jammed into every joint. Divine.


    The main course? An exquisite blend of molten lava cascading over exposed nerves, garnished with a generous sprinkling of electric shocks. A culinary masterpiece of torment.


    The palate cleanser was a refreshing glass of acid, chased down by a swarm of furious hornets stinging from the inside. Dessert, you ask? A delightful platter of your worst migraine, multiplied by the equivalent of root canal, served on a bed of shattered glass shards.


    And for the pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance, a digestif of existential despair, a soul-deep agony that makes the physical torment seem like a tickle fight. Bon app¨¦tit, Burn.


    Pain never tasted so¡­ painful.


    ¡°Fuck¡ª¡±


    "Sssh..." Morgan whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby, "It doesn''t hurt anymore, right?"


    It was still¡­ wait, what sorcery was this?


    As if obeying her command, the pain began to fade like a reluctant star at dawn.


    "Ha¡ª" Burn expelled a sigh of relief. Sweat trickled down his forehead. His knees threatened to buckle, but then he sensed Morgan, her strength waning, about to join him in a knee-meeting-floor maneuver.


    With a fortitude that would impress a granite statue, he stiffened his body, became her pillar, and pulled her close in an embrace.


    A flood of memories hit him, like a cruel tide dragging in shards of broken glass. Like him, her soul must have been shredded by the curse, each episode more brutal than the last, until there was nothing left but scraps.


    And now, she was not only paying the price for the curse, but she was also playing handyman to his battered soul.


    "I''m all good now, heal yourself, Morgan Le Fay!" Burn declared urgently. "Morgan¡ª!"


    His call echoed through the room, but as he was mid-yell, he felt her hand grace his chest. She pried her eyes open, the effort visible, as if she were lifting two fortress gates.


    "Where... is the locket... I gave you...?" she asked with a voice so beautifully weak it tore on everyone present.


    Especially Marissa.

 66 - Relapse

    Morgan Le Fay¡ª


    Emperor Burn just called her Morgan Le Fay, the legendary Infinite Witch!


    "The locket..." Burn''s eyebrows creased. He pointed at Marissa, who was still kneeling like everyone present. "It fell on the ground. This girl picked it up for me."


    As soon as the words left his mouth, a chill ran down Marissa''s spine that would put the Arctic to shame. She had stolen that locket from him earlier, before Morgan showed up and before Burn had awoken¡ªor was it?


    Burn might¡¯ve been awake after all.


    Raising her face, she met a pair of glares so intense they could have melted steel beams. Burn''s stare was bad enough, but it was his merciful narrative¡ªthat she had simply picked the locket up for him¡ªthat made her feel like a balloon at the mercy of a pin.


    Morgan wasn''t about to be fooled by such a charmingly naive tale, though. She stared down at Marissa with an intensity that made Burn''s glare look like a friendly invitation.


    "Didn''t I tell you, you have to wear it always, so I can protect your soul, Caliburn?¡± She was half-angry, half-frustrated, a tear escaping the custody of her bottom eyelash. ¡°You wouldn''t feel as much pain if you wore it..."


    ¡°I¡¯m fine now,¡± Burn grasped her head to his chest, but the force of her glare could have outshone the sun. It was hotter, scarier, downright apocalyptic.


    Without uttering a word, Marissa pulled the locket from her sleeve and offered it to Burn, who snatched it up faster than a seagull would a hot chip. Immediately, she prostrated herself, her entire body shaking uncontrollably.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Burn whispered to Morgan, checking her pale, exhausted face.


    "Your Majesty," Galahad said, raising his face. "What should we do with this man?"


    Burn turned to the man who had fainted on the ground, knocked out by Galahad himself. He decided, "Prison. Render him unable to move or speak."


    "Yes, sir."


    "Yvain," Burn called to the boy who was also kneeling, "Come and help your master heal."


    "Yes!" Yvain leapt to his feet when Burn started to lift the woman off the ground. The boy understood what Burn meant and fetched the box of high-grade mana potion from the table.


    "Lots to mull over. I will retreat for today, but tomorrow, gather everyone for the war strategy meeting," Burn said to Galahad and his other men.


    He turned, walking calmly toward the door, and before leaving, he said, "No one is to bother me tonight."


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    Before the party, Burn, of course, had decided to give his usual metal-heeled shoes the day off, but his footfalls still reverberated with an ominous rhythm that bounced off the marble floors. It was a heavy, steady and deep sound.


    The others dared not so much as twitch a nostril until the macabre metronome of his steps disappeared into the echoey abyss of the corridor.


    Galahad was the first to stir, flashing the guards a look that could''ve stripped paint. The message was crystal clear: ''Get rid of the human paperweight and the floor''s morbid decoration, if you please.¡¯


    The woman¡¯s decapitated body and the unconscious man were hastily whisked away. Yet the room''s atmosphere clung to its grim temperament still.


    "Gather the Round Table," Galahad ordered, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room. "The rest can hit the road."


    "And what about the party attendees, sir?" inquired a squire. "Rumors will..."


    "Rumors will bloom like weeds, naturally," Galahad retorted in a conscious threatening tone. "But, we''re all in the loop about their fate, are we not? Be dare. It''s nothing but a mild workout for Soulnaught to prune the chatterboxes."


    The people paled.


    The party-goers, as if on cue, vanished faster than a cake at a kids'' party. You could have heard a pin drop, they were so hushed not a whisper was uttered.


    This included Marissa, who was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane she was propped up by the three other noblewomen.


    Once the room was cleared of the riff-raff, the six members of the Round Table, who happened to be present, drew in like moths to a flame. They were a sight for sore eyes, rumpled and nursing hangovers that could slay dragons.


    Yet, their faces were a study in uniformity - grim as tombstones on a moonless night. Their expressions were as solemn as a tax collector at an audit, being the exclusive connoisseurs of the severity of the state of affairs.


    And even if one of them was batting below average in the understanding department, his face was still etched with a solemnity to rival the others, if not more so.


    "Percival, Bedivere, Morien, Gawain,¡± Galahad announced, turning to the last, freshest-faced fellow, ¡°Tristan."


    The five nodded their heads, echoing, "Galahad."


    "Don¡¯t kick things off just yet. I¡¯ve dispatched my men to round up the others. They''re around the palace... somewhere," Bedivere, the biggest and tallest said. His crew had slipped out with the party-goers earlier, and he had the confidence that they''d be back soon.


    "I feel like I don¡¯t know something," Tristan muttered.


    "Count your lucky stars, lad. Can¡¯t believe I¡¯d see it again," Gawain sighed.


    "Again?" Tristan''s eyes widened. "You¡¯ve seen His Majesty in such a... state? He looked so¡­¡±


    "Weak?" Morien interjected. ¡°Truth be told, never. Not even during his childhood. That''s why this is as screwed up as a soup sandwich.¡±


    Tristan turned to the oldest of the group, Percival. But words escaped him, not even a peep towards Galahad.


    "Let''s cool our heels for the others," Galahad suggested, sinking into a chair and knocking back some leftover hooch on the hall table. His heavy drinking scene looked as out of place as a vegan at a barbecue¡ªnobody had ever seen him hit the bottle so hard before.


    In no time at all, four other knights strolled in.


    SLAM!


    Galahad treated his now empty booze bottle to a table dance. ¡°Park your behinds,¡± he ordered, ¡°Take a seat.¡±


    One of them piped up, ¡°Galahad, Landevale''s not here yet.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, she was with me on the battlefield, so she¡¯s as clued in as I am. I¡¯ll catch her up later,¡± Galahad said, waiting for them to sit facing the same table.


    Ten knights, three vacant seats.


    ¡°What happened?¡± one of the late arrivals, Yvolt, a young woman wielding a rapier, inquired.


    Galahad took a pause before revealing, ¡°Most of you are in the loop on His Majesty''s predicament.¡±


    Their eyes went as wide as saucers.


    "I think he¡¯s having a relapse.¡±

 67 - Soulnaught Syndrome

    The infamous Soulnaught Syndrome.


    Sounded like a terrible punk band, but it was actually named after the first king of Soulnaught, His Majesty Urien Soulnaught Pendragon.


    This poor chap had the rotten luck of being the first officially documented person to contract this terrible, terrible disease.


    You see, this particular ailment made the sufferer into a magical dud. They couldn''t gather or produce Mana with their soul, and thus, they were absolutely hopeless at delving into Vision Art. It was like being a fish allergic to water¡ªsince souls were supposed to actually like Mana.


    But wait, there was more! As if being magically impaired wasn''t bad enough, the disease also took a toll on one''s life expectancy.


    As the years rolled on, the sufferer''s soul got nibbled away bit by bit, like a block of cheese at a rat convention. The life energy dwindled, the body weakened, and before you knew it, they were pushing up daisies at a ripe young age.


    The peculiar thing was, it was usually the offspring of two absurdly powerful parents who ended up with this disease. It was like the universe, upon seeing two such potent forces combined, decided to say, "Nah, let''s throw a spanner in the works."


    But it wasn''t a given. This disease was incredibly rare.


    Then there was Urien of Soulnaught, who defied the odds and lived past 70.


    How did he do it? Well, he became a Force Art Master, that''s how. He managed to coexist with his deadly disease, treating it like an unwelcome roommate who never did the dishes.


    He pumped up his body with Force energy, and even though his soul was eroding faster than a sandcastle at high tide, he managed to hang on into his twilight years.


    His badassery actually kicked off what''s known as the Force Golden Age. Turns out, his power was as contagious as his disease wasn''t, inspiring droves to learn Force Art. But alas, even this magical beefcake met his end at 75, courtesy of his lifelong nemesis, the Soulnaught Syndrome.


    Throughout his life, Urien was a walking, talking testament to suffering.


    He once confessed that the pain caused by the gradual erosion of his soul was so excruciating that he sometimes fantasized about shaking hands with the Grim Reaper just to end the torment.


    But, like a boxer who refuses to throw in the towel, Urien went toe to toe with his affliction. He hammered away at training his body and delving into the mysteries of Force Art until the very end.


    Perhaps he eventually lost the war against the disease, or maybe he just decided he''d had a good life and said his goodbyes.


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    Urien was a force to be reckoned with in the Force Art world. The rumor mill suggested that if not for his pesky disease, he could have clocked up several centuries on his lifespan, given his profound mastery and understanding of Force Art.


    But alas, Urien probably figured that spending hundreds of years in constant agony was about as appealing as a vacation in Hell.


    And this disease¡ªwas the very same that was in Burn''s cards.


    "I think he¡¯s having a relapse.¡±


    Burn was one of the select ''lucky'' few to have won this particular lottery. Because, who wouldn''t want a disease that makes your soul about as effective as a chocolate teapot, right?


    ¡°Soulnaught Syndrome¡­?¡±


    Tristan turned toward one of the Round Table members, Erec, who blurted out the name of the disease, his eyes widened.


    Urien set up his kingdom with one goal in mind: to ensure that the name Soulnaught was associated with a mighty and invincible kingdom, not a horrible disease with no remedy.


    But, oh, the irony! The disease made a comeback tour in the unlikeliest of individuals¡ªthe last, most formidable king, and the first emperor who turned his kingdom into an empire¡ªCaliburn.


    It was like a cruel joke - "You wanted Soulnaught to be remembered as a powerful empire? Here, have your most powerful emperor born with the very disease you were trying to distance yourself from!"


    "It was quite the story back in the day, wasn''t it?" Erec mused, seated between Tristan and Yvolt. "His late Majesty''s illegitimate child having the same disease as the first King of Soulnaught¡ª"


    "Hang on a tick," Tristan interjected, his brow furrowed like a freshly plowed field. "If it''s supposed to be an incurable disease, then how did His Majesty¡­?"


    Percival finally chimed in, "One day, His Majesty arrived home looking like he''d been through a lot. New scars all over him, some still fresh. This was when he was around... 12, right?" He glanced at Galahad for confirmation, who responded with a nod.


    "After that, His Majesty seemed to have recovered from his symptoms of the disease," Galahad added.


    For one long, awkward second, you could hear a pin drop.


    "You mean... he never actually recovered?" Sagramore, perched next to Percival, asked with an air of cautious speculation.


    "At the time, we chalked it up to divine intervention. His Majesty had a knack for pulling miracles out of his hat, after all. We genuinely thought he was somehow cured," Percival explained.


    "But even then, he never... even before his ''recovery'', he never whined about the pain, even when we knew he was in agony," Galahad said.


    "And you''re telling us that today, this morning, he''s in more pain than he ever was...?" The last member of the Round Table to open his mouth, and one of the few members who hadn''t been present in the hall during the incident, Howl, asked.


    His query truly hung in the air, like a balloon waiting to be popped.


    "You all remember that one random morning before the war, don''t you?" Galahad leaned back in his seat, a reflective gleam in his eyes. "Out of the blue, he asked for painting supplies."


    "To hunt for the empre¡ªMiss Morgan Le Fay?" Erec ventured.


    "Exactly," Galahad confirmed. "It was too spontaneous, too out of the blue for someone like His Majesty."


    "You''re suggesting... Miss Morgan had a hand in his condition?" Tristan inquired, a note of uncertainty in his voice.


    Galahad responded with a nod, "Didn''t you catch their exchange?"


    [I''ll take your pain away... kiss me.]


    [Did you share with me your soul between our kisses...?]


    [Of course I did¡ªThat''s the only way to keep you alive!]


    And¡­


    [The locket¡­]


    [Didn''t I tell you, you have to wear it always, so I can protect your soul, Caliburn?]


    [You wouldn''t feel as much pain if you wore it¡­]


    [I¡¯m fine now.]


    "His Majesty was scouring the world for Miss Morgan to help him with his disease," Galahad said.


    Of course. The pieces fell into place.

 68 - Imagination

    The Emperor Burn he knew wasn''t the sort to flip the world on its head just to find the enchantress from his wet dreams.


    Perhaps they''d crossed paths before¡ªin his youth, when she played the white witch to his curse. And so, when the symptoms crashed his party again, he set out to find her.


    Galahad unfurled his theory to the gang.


    "So, you''re implying that he didn''t know her name back when she first worked her magic, so he had to play artist and painted her from his memories?" one asked.


    "And he found her again... the beautiful lady who had been his savior once upon a time..." another mused, eyes distant.


    "What is this, a romantic saga?" another sighed in admiration.


    "But don''t forget, the disease is still incurable. His Majesty required her kisses to live¡ªAnd I heard she needed his kisses too, because she was recovering after her disappearance!" one member exclaimed, his eyes wide.


    "Bloody hell, I''m tearing up," came a gruff voice, choked with emotion.


    ¡°Stop, I¡¯m crying too, fuck,¡± another one whispered.


    "This is fate at its most poignant... And oh, how tragic..." another sighed, lost in the tale''s bittersweet echo.


    Galahad found himself wrestling with a nagging question. Why was Burn pushing himself to the limits these days? First, by choosing the long haul to conquer Edensor, and then daring to square off against the White Dwarf himself.


    At first glance, it was just Burn being Burn.


    Like how he claimed the throne despite his illegitimate birth, how he killed his own brother following his rebellion, and how he single handedly thwarted the outsider''s invasion¡­


    But the reality was¡­


    "His Majesty''s looking out for us."


    Galahad''s statement cut through the murmuring chatter like a hot knife through butter.


    "He always has been, and despite his predicament¡­" Galahad let out a sigh. "He''s always there, standing tall at the front, guiding us. Even this war too¡ª"


    "Because he couldn''t bear to see the world we live in fall so easily to conquest."


    Percival¡¯s words echoed in every heart.


    After a moment of respectful silence, Galahad slowly rose to his feet. He held up an empty wine glass, its hollow body gleaming in the dim light.


    ¡°His Majesty doesn''t know the meaning of surrender¡ªnor has he ever tasted defeat. Regardless of the rumors and whispers, he''s a man of honor and fairness.¡±


    "He was there for Young King Yvain, he shielded the inhabitants of Elysian from the White Dwarf."


    "He brought the legendary Morgan Le Fay to our side. That legendary, compassionate, and righteous Morgan Le Fay¡­"


    "Our emperor¡­" Galahad''s voice was steady, "Is the world''s last hope."


    He turned to meet every pair of eyes, his gaze unwavering. ¡°And we, his loyal knights, must devote ourselves to his cause.¡±


    Witnessing their emperor wrestling with a crippling, incurable disease, while simultaneously leading the charge for their world''s future¡ªthere was no greater honor than to pledge their fidelity at his feet.


    Galahad channeled his Force energy into the empty wine glass, the pure mana shimmering like molten gold. He passed it around, and each member added their own energy. Soon, the previously empty glass was brimming with a radiant liquid gold.


    The holy grail ceremony.


    ¡°Tomorrow, I''ll present this to our lord as a symbol of our unwavering loyalty. Before that, I must find Landevale. The rest of you, ready yourselves for our gathering tomorrow,¡± Galahad instructed.


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    He then turned to Percival, handing him the precious glass. ¡°I entrust this to you. I''ll bring Landevale before nightfall to complete the ceremony.¡±


    Percival accepted it and nodded solemnly.


    The members of the round table had started to disperse when Yvolt''s voice rang out, "Ah, now that I think about it, didn''t His Majesty mention something before the war started...?"


    All eyes turned to her.


    "He said... we had three years to conquer the world¡ªdoes that imply...?" Her voice trailed off, leaving the disturbing implication hanging in the air.


    Their faces darkened.


    "Did he mean that he only had three years left?" Tristan muttered, voicing the dreaded thought.


    Gawain was quick to shut it down. "No. Before that happens, we must find a cure."


    "But what can we do when even the legendary Morgan Le Fay had to resort to share her soul with His Majesty?" Bedivere questioned, despair creeping into his voice.


    "Maybe they''ll find the answer," Galahad interjected, his words sparking a glimmer of hope amongst the despondency. "His Majesty and Miss Morgan will find the cure."


    He concluded, "All we can do is support them, and remain steadfast in our loyalty."


    As the weight of their shared concerns settled around them, the members of the round table took a moment to absorb the gravity of their situation.


    A quiet camaraderie filled the room, a testament to their shared dedication to their emperor and their world''s future. As they left, each carried with them a renewed sense of purpose, their resolve hardened by their shared hope.


    They knew the road ahead would be fraught with uncertainty and peril, but they also knew they would face it together, as one. For their emperor, for their world, they would stand united, their loyalty unwavering, their spirits undeterred.


    The round table might have been empty now, but the echo of their pledge remained, a silent promise hanging in the air, a beacon of hope in the face of the looming unknown.


    ***


    Yeah, no.


    Let''s rewind the tape here, folks. You see, Burn had already given Soulnaught Syndrome the boot when he was a mere lad of twelve. He cured it completely.


    Remember that little incident where a unicorn horn conveniently found its way into his heart?


    Yep.


    Our dear Burn went on a unicorn hunting spree, devouring their flesh raw like some sort of medieval paleo-diet enthusiast.


    Oh, and let''s not forget about that pitchfork that also pierced his heart. In reality, it was the trident of the merfolk king.


    Why, you ask? Well, because Burn had apparently developed a taste for seafood, and not just any seafood. Nope, he had to have the exotic kind, the kind that required him to tick off the King of Merfolks and turn him into a rather unwilling supplier of exotic meat.


    Yeah, hunting mythical creatures and turning them into his personal buffet solely for their mythical benefit. That was how he kicked Soulnaught Syndrome to the curb.


    Dying because of this disease? Not even close. He was as healthy as an ox on steroids. Saving the world? Hardly. Burn was playing a grand game of monopoly, and he wanted all the properties for himself.


    And as for Morgan, sweet, kind-hearted Morgan, saving his life? Ha! If anything, she was the one cursing him.


    So, you see, everything¡ªthe despair, the heroics, the undying loyalty¡ªwas simply a product of his subordinates'' overactive imaginations. They were creating a blockbuster fantasy epic, while Burn was just living his life, one unicorn steak at a time.


    But, oh, don''t be fooled. It''s not like Burn was without his share of problems. In fact, he had a whole laundry list of them¡ªand 99% of these headaches had a name.


    Morgan Le Fay!


    Yes, the same Morgan who was supposedly his kindly soul-sharer. Well, she wasn''t just sharing her soul; she was also sharing a good portion of Burn''s troubles. It''s almost poetic, don''t you think?


    Every hero needs a villain, every story needs a twist, and poor old Burn, he had Morgan Le Fay.


    Wait.


    He was the villain, she was the¡­ hero(ine)?


    "Caliburn¡­ mngh!"


    Burn flopped Morgan onto his bed. Their lips were locked in a passionate tango that left little room for small talk. When they finally broke apart, it was for him to fill his lungs with much-needed air and to share his next course of action.


    "I''m going to rip your dress open."


    No sooner had he said it, than the sound of tearing fabric filled the room. RIIIIIIIP!


    "Oh¡ªmmh!" Morgan let out a sigh of relief. The dress, while not overly tight, had been like a straightjacket on her weakened body.


    They shared more than just longing gazes and passionate kisses. Force energy, Vision energy, even their very souls were exchanged in their intimate dance. But Burn wasn''t done yet.


    With a gesture to his back, a young boy handed him a high-grade mana potion.


    Yvain, the diligent boy he was, had been trailing them, passing potions to Burn whenever his hand beckoned. By the time they reached his room, the potion supply had run dry, having been funneled into Morgan via Burn''s mouth along the way.


    The one he just passed was the last bottle.


    Yvain watched as Burn uncorked it with his teeth, downed the contents, and then funneled most of it into Morgan¡¯s mouth.


    The sight left Yvain on the brink of tears. Would they be okay?


    It was a chilling sight, seeing them on the precipice of death. He wondered when they would share the truth about their deal, and why they were dying together like this. He hated how he was still too small to be trusted with the truth¡ªor it was just too big of a secret even if he was a bit older.


    "Ain," Morgan''s voice broke him from his thoughts.


    "Yes, Master?" Yvain approached, peering around Burn''s broad back. He saw Morgan, looking more fragile than ever, short of breath.


    "Can you leave me with His Majesty?" she asked in a whisper. "I''m okay now. You should rest too."


    "Mm," Yvain nodded, his voice barely a murmur. "Take care, Master, Your Majesty..."


    He closed the door behind him, lingering for a moment before his footsteps faded into the distance.


    Only when the sound of his departure had completely vanished did Burn and Morgan let out a shared sigh of exhaustion¡ª"Fuuuuck."


    Yep, they fucked up.

 69 - Cruel Joke

    "Why did you pick that particular moment in time to rewind to? It''s like choosing the worst time to save the game," Burn quipped as he plopped himself at the edge of the bed, right beside a visibly distressed Morgan.


    "I''m sorry¡­" Morgan mumbled, her face hidden behind her hands. ¡°It wasn¡¯t me, it was Future-Me¡­¡±


    "It''s still you," Burn pointed out.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡±


    Burn understood the complexity of time travel. Morgan couldn''t just pinpoint any old moment like picking a random page from a book to return to. But the moment she did pick was, well... inconvenient.


    ¡°There might be two reasons why I chose this point¡­¡± Morgan began, ¡°First, because this moment might be so important and crucial to the timeline, or¡­¡±


    "Even if that''s true, why not pick a less embarrassing moment? Like yesterday, when it was just us?" Burn sighed, interrupting her.


    ¡°...or, maybe, because I didn¡¯t have enough soul energy to pick a better moment¡ªlike I said, I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    Their words overlapped, yet they understood each other.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re saying,¡± Burn took a deep breath, ¡°that my public humiliation is some sort of pivotal moment?¡±


    ¡°What if it¡¯s because we need to rewind this loop so much, and I was just trying to conserve soul energy? Uuuuggh whyy¡­¡± Morgan groaned, smacking Burn''s forearm repeatedly, a mix of regret and embarrassment punctuating each hit.


    Cute.


    Fucking cute.


    Burn actually didn¡¯t mind.


    He didn¡¯t mind at all, but he didn¡¯t want her to catch him smiling remembering it. He made sure to keep his amusement hidden. No need to fuel Morgan''s guilty conscience with his smirk.


    "I can''t change it," Morgan forced herself to sit up, her eyes brimming with worry as she faced Burn. "Each time, you''re going to feel the pain¡ª"


    Burn''s frown cut her off, causing her to falter. She didn¡¯t actually care about the embarrassment, but she was most regretful for the pain he would have to endure with each cycle of the loop.


    "Forget that," Burn said, his tone oddly calm and completely out of character for him. "We have bigger fish to fry, right?"


    "That''s why, Caliburn," Morgan''s eyes welled up again with tears. "It''s about you¡­"


    They were going to die together.


    Something big was coming. It was big enough to be able to kill them together, and it was impossible to know what it was at this point in time. But they could guess.


    "What do you think will happen?" Morgan questioned, her tone heavy with concern.


    "Nothing in the previous loops could kill me, Morgan," Burn said with an air of nonchalance. "All we have are the endless ''What ifs?'' that come with messing around with timelines."


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    Upon seeing Morgan''s expression shift, Burn was quick to catch on. "What''s up? You got a theory?"


    Looking up at him, her eyes glistening and lashes damp, she admitted, "The timeline you know is gone, Caliburn. Now that I''m here..."


    Burn propped his left hand on the bed next to Morgan''s right thigh, his posture directly face-to-face with her as he leaned in closer. "What are you hinting at? That you¡¯re bound to betray me?"


    The nature of their curse was a bit like a forced, bad marriage¡ªbetrayal was off the table. That''s why Caliburn couldn''t go rogue, and Morgan had no choice but to stick with him.


    Despite being stuck in this cursed spell, they were two separate entities with their distinct ideologies. Morgan was on a mission to save as many souls as possible from him, while Caliburn was busy playing ''I want it all'' on repeat.


    Caliburn had picked up a thing or two from the last loop. For instance, Morgan would jump to her death if it meant saving someone¡ªanyone. He wasn¡¯t special.


    She had saved him, sure, but it made more sense to her to bite the bullet herself than to let him bear the burden of the loops. Plus, she probably wanted to avoid the White Dwarf going on a rampage in the heart of bustling Elysian capital.


    Yvain and the rest of the populace were still there. Better to hit the rewind button than to let things play out and risk more casualties.


    After all, she could.


    So, chances were, in some future scenario, if she saw the body count climbing too high, she''d betray him and caused them to die¡ªforcing the loop to reset.


    But all his mental gymnastics came to an abrupt halt when he noticed the woman in front of him. Her gaze was fixed on him¡ªa look of hurt etched across her features.


    Caliburn figured she would''ve grown accustomed to his cynical nature by now. He was a suspicious and pragmatic guy. It was second nature for him to assume the worst of those around him. Hell, he even had a knack for blatantly voicing his suspicions in a joking ¡®manner¡¯.


    He was mostly joking.


    "Sure."


    "If you interpret my shoving you out of harm''s way as betrayal in the last loop," Morgan let out a soft sigh. She leaned against the bed and turned away. In a whisper, she added, "I might do it again."


    Burn felt bad.


    He couldn¡¯t even speak for a solid five second, his mind blank.


    Her golden blonde hair splayed across the pillow, her face turned away just enough to make it hard to read her fully. But he could. Even in profile, he could see the reflection in her eyes¡ªglossy and vulnerable. Her lips were set in a firm line and her nose had a telltale reddish hue.


    His cruel joke, born out of harsh life lessons, had hurt her¡ªyet again. First, because he couldn''t stand her weakness¡ªher refusal to kill him. Then, because she''d forgiven him so easily, ready to play by his rules.


    And now¡­


    He couldn''t lie to himself, couldn''t pretend he didn''t see the hurt that his words had etched into her.


    "Then, what are you implying?" Burn queried.


    "There''s things in this world that could kill you," she replied, "Killing you doesn''t necessarily mean defeating you. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s harder than that."


    "You''re one of those things that can kill me, aren''t you?" Burn reminded her.


    "But what if it wasn''t about killing you, but we simply perished along with ''it''?" Morgan posed.


    "By ''it'', are you referring to the world?" he asked, because frankly, there was nothing else colossal enough that, upon its destruction, could also kill him.


    "The White Dwarf," Morgan clarified. "It was officially stolen from the Alliance, wasn''t it?"


    The Alliance was probably already on its tail, aware that it was still somewhere on the ground. And the most likely suspect? None other than Burn himself.


    "I''ve thought of the possibilities," Burn stated.


    Morgan shook her head. "There are still too many to count. You haven''t faced this specific situation before."


    What she was implying was that all they could do was to observe and wait. They would need to die and loop back in order to know the future, after all.


    Morgan gave his arm a light tap. "Now that you understand, move aside."


    Her lying there beneath him, waiting patiently for him to move¡ªthis was something he loathed. The vulnerability, the weakness, the agreeability. Yet, in this moment, he was tempted to be bad and simply refuse to move.


    He moved.


    Rising to his feet, he fully expected for her imminent departure from his room. Much to his surprise, instead of getting up, she rolled to the other side of the bed. His gaze dropped at the sight of this cosmical gorgeous being rolling amidst his sheets.


    With the clear intention of settling down for the night, Morgan tugged at his blanket and slipped underneath. She then shot him a sharp, angry glance and said, ¡°You ripped my dress apart. Fetch me a new one.¡±


    Suddenly, his throat felt dry.

 70 - Please

    Burn shut the door to his room, the dress that the servants had procured for him in hand.


    He couldn¡¯t recall what he''d said exactly when he''d asked for it, only that his request had been a garbled mess of, "Get a dress. For sleeping," delivered in the flattest, most uninspired tone he could muster, with an expression to match.


    He couldn¡¯t remember, so when he saw the servants exchanging giggles as they handed him the dress, he felt a bit like a man lost in his own house.


    Once behind closed doors, he froze, the simple task of deciding whether to lock the door or not making his brain work overtime. This simple mental task consumed so much energy that an error message window seemed to infinitely duplicate itself in his mind.


    CLICK!


    In the end, he locked it.


    Adopting an expression dark enough to give the night sky a run for its money, glowing eyes and a body as rigid as a flagpole, he stared at the innocent key in his hand as if it had personally offended him.


    He then removed it from the keyhole and unceremoniously dumped it on a table. There was no turning back now.


    "They got it?"


    The question floated to him on a stream of melodious notes emanating from the bed. As he swiveled around, he found Morgan in a state of near undress, her hand outstretched, awaiting the new garment.


    This woman¡­ was she oblivious to the audible click of the door being locked? It was as if her self-preservation instincts were on an extended vacation, despite being fully aware that she was in a room belonging to a grown ass man¡ªemphasis on man.


    Burn did more than just stare at her. Yes, he handed over the dress, but he also maintained a steady, unblinking gaze. Because, well, why not?


    As she turned towards him to accept the dress, her face still maintained the previous angry look, clearly barely concealing her impatience with his mere presence, let alone his persistent stare.


    "Go change," she commanded, her gaze sliding to his blood-stained house robe. When he remained rooted to his spot, as immovable as a centuries-old oak, she punctuated her command with a sharp, "Now."


    Burn''s eyebrows relaxed their furrowed stance. He shrugged off his robe, making a beeline for the bathroom, with the intention of erasing the bloody trace from his skin. However, he found his acute hearing becoming a curse, as it honed in on the noises emanating from the vicinity of his bed.


    Rustling.


    Typically, he couldn¡¯t care less about having company in his room, but today¡ª


    Emerging once more into his room, he found her seated at his neglected dressing table, running his hairbrush¡ªwhich she had presumably discovered in one of the drawers¡ªthrough her hair.


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    The sight was oddly soothing; it painted an illusory picture that she was always a part of his room. There she was, giving a purpose to a piece of furniture he''d never used, but nonchalantly using one of his items simply because she hadn''t brought her own.


    And then there was the dress¡ªthe servants'' giggles suddenly made sense. The dress was white, yes, but it was that kind of dress.


    A long, pajama dress, the fabric connected here and there by delicate laces. The design was simple, but those laces permitted tantalizing glimpses of the fair skin beneath. The material looked light and thin, yet appeared to be soft.


    Fuck.


    Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, her expression soured. But let''s be honest, an angry beauty is still a beauty, especially when said beauty was of the celestial variety.


    Burn blinked once, internally accepting that this is his life now. He wanted to keep it like this forever.


    "If you read my mind, you''d know that I was joking," Burn said, finally breaking his silence.


    TAP!


    Morgan set his hairbrush down on the table. The sound it made was so sharp and ominous that Burn almost expected to see a crack in the table. Who knew that the act of placing a hairbrush could carry such malicious undertones?


    "Did you?" Morgan retorted, her voice tinged with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Okay, I''ll try to read your mind all the time. As if it matters whether you''re joking or not."


    Because, clearly, deciphering Burn''s sense of humor was at the top of her to-do list. Not that they had the same sense of humor or anything.


    Burn''s chest was a cocktail bar serving up a potent mix of sweet and sour. He was in the wrong, and the guilt of hurting her was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet there was a perverse satisfaction in that guilt, knowing she hadn''t thought of betraying him.


    So, when she stood and burrowed into his bed, he followed suit, pulling the curtain shut behind him. She seemed set on sleeping away the day, yet he had this nagging feeling that allowing things to continue this way was a one-way ticket to Miseryville.


    "You¡¯re right. I was wrong, Morgan. I am sorry," he conceded.


    "Good that you know you¡¯re wrong," Morgan shot back before his words had even fully taken flight.


    Clearly, he still had some groveling to do.


    ¡°I will make it up to you. I¡¯ll call the tailors and merchants tomorrow. Pick whatever you like,¡± Burn offered.


    But Morgan''s eyes flared with offence, and Burn felt like he''d stepped onto a landmine. He was reminded that Morgan wasn''t like the other women he''d entertained.


    Suddenly, he was hit with the alarming realization that he was actually tempted to treat her like one of them¡ª


    Was he beginning to see her as¡ª


    ¡°Forget it. I don¡¯t want anything from you,¡± Morgan cut him off, presenting him with a view of her back.


    Fantastic, he''d reached new heights in pathetic.


    Feeling like the king of Pathetica, he pulled her closer, enveloping her in a hug from behind. He felt wrong, but then again, wasn''t she the one who was truly wrong? In a different sense, of course.


    From a woman as righteous and just as her, everything she did seemed wrong through his skewed lens.


    It was wrong for her to contemplate sacrificing herself for the people¡ªbecause he saw it as a betrayal. It was wrong for her to force him through the loops again, all in the name of fixing things. It was wrong because it was ineffective and unnecessary.


    Everything was wrong. She must have been so frustrated with his inability to appreciate anything she did.


    ¡°Do whatever you want,¡± Burn whispered, tightening his hold on her. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll match your energy and let you do whatever you want, just like you let me do whatever I wanted.¡±


    ¡°Go crazy, or whatever. Kick the bucket, or whatever. Just do your thing,¡± Burn said. ¡°I¡¯ve got your back. Apparently, it¡¯s the only choice left in my playbook.¡±


    Demand.


    Once upon a time, she had asked him if he was prepared for the demands she might make. Well, it seemed he was prepared now.


    "I can do whatever I want?" she whispered.


    "Yeah," Burn confirmed.


    "No take-backs?"


    "None."


    She pivoted to face him again, her blue eyes shimmering like sapphires under the filtered sunlight seeping through the closed curtains.


    Slowly, tantalizingly, her fingers traced his jawline, teasing it until it hit that sweet spot between ticklish and electric, just the perfect amount.


    "Then, can I..."


    "Yes. Please. Let''s do it."

 71 - Divine Blessing

    As the sun peeked over the horizon, it cast its golden gaze upon the palace, bathing the grand edifice in hues of amber and rose. The regal stone walls, usually as welcoming as a tax collector, softened under the morning light, almost managing a cozy vibe.


    In the royal bedchamber, Burn and Morgan had apparently taken the term ''royal entanglement'' quite literally. They were artfully draped in a blanket from the waist down, their bodies doing a convincing impression of a pretzel knot, minus the obnoxious loops.


    Ah, they were as serene as the palace''s treasury during tax season.


    Outside, the palace grounds were waking up. Birds chirped their morning gossip, the castle kitchens clanged with the symphony of breakfast, and the palace staff began their daily dance of duties.


    Yet, within the royal bedchamber, time seemed to be on a coffee break. It was as if the world had taken a collective pause, allowing Burn and Morgan a couple of bonus snooze button hits before the day barged in, with its endless to-do lists and unavoidable obligations.


    So there it was, a new morning, a new beginning. But within the palace, there was a distinct whisper in the air that the status quo had been tweaked, and not so subtly at that. Morning had broken, and apparently, so had a few conventions.


    ¡°Mmh¡ª¡±


    Morgan roused from her slumber, her eyelids weighed down by the remnants of dreams and the lure of sleep.


    Her hair, a river of liquid gold, cascaded around, conveniently doubling as a drape for her upper body that was comfortably nestled against Burn''s chest. Peeks of her alabaster skin played hide and seek from within his embrace, her chest snugly pressed against his.


    It was a scene straight out of a classic painting, minus the fig leaves.


    "Awake?" Burn''s voice, hoarse from sleep or perhaps emotions, nudged her from the edge of consciousness.


    Before her eyes even had the chance to flutter open, she found her slender arms winding their way around his shoulders, pulling herself closer as he shifted to face her.


    Burn had been on the edge of suspicion for a while now. When she didn''t bolt after he locked the door, his eyebrows had twitched in curiosity.


    When she playfully sprawled on his sheets, the suspicion had a slight growth spurt. And when he discovered the absence of undergarments beneath her white lace dress, suspicion graduated to full-blown skepticism.


    He was suspicious, and then¡ª


    "You''re giving me your virginity for a resurrection spell?"


    Now, a resurrection spell wasn''t your run-of-the-mill spell. It held its own special niche in the magical world, accessible only to a select few.


    Priestesses, for instance.


    It was typically used to mend the wounds of those who walked the righteous path ¨C paladins, holy knights and the like. The procedure was sacred, the spell a divine blessing.


    The typical way to carry out this divine transaction was within the sanctity of a church, under the vigilant eyes of priests and steeped in hallowed rituals.


    The offering of virginity was more symbolic than carnal. The wounded man would remain as still as a statue, his eyes closed, oblivious to the world, while the woman would carry out the act of penetration.


    This was no passionate tryst; it was a sacrifice, a solemn pact sealed without the summit of pleasure. They would then sleep side by side until the morning light, bodies close but worlds apart.


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    This sacred ritual was less about the meeting of bodies and more about the merging of souls. It was an act of love, but not in the way one might expect. It was love for duty, love for the divine, love in its purest, most selfless form.


    "But it still worked, right? It¡¯s a good use for this mortal vessel¡¯s virginity," Morgan blinked at him, her blue eyes shimmering with a hint of mischief.


    "You''re not a priestess, you''re a witch. I was the one who... fucked you, and we both found the summit of pleasure. Closing my eyes? I don''t remember even blinking once. And this definitely isn''t a church¡ª"


    "Caliburn," Morgan interjected, nipping his indignant tirade in the bud, her voice a soft but firm counterpoint to his heated assertions.


    It seemed that the traditional rules of the game had been thrown out the window, replaced by a new playbook written by Morgan herself. And to her credit, it appeared to be working just fine.


    They fucked, and climaxed. That wasn¡¯t sacred at all.


    It was anything but sacred!


    "Yes, I''m not a priestess, Caliburn," she said, her voice carrying an undertone of amusement. "But I am a holy woman. I''m a saint. This title has been mine for so long people have forgotten. I must admit, it''s rather convenient at times like these..."


    "Also..." Morgan continued, brushing past Burn''s wide-eyed surprise as if it were an inconsequential detail. "Because I''m a saint, wherever I go becomes holy ground. We don''t need a church."


    Burn regarded her, his gaze searching for further explanation in her eyes. But all he saw was a glow of innocence that made the passionate escapades of the previous day seem like a distant, impossible memory.


    They fucked all day yesterday, lost in each other¡ªyet there she was, looking as if she''d spent the day at a tea party instead.


    "Anddd, actually," Morgan began again, her voice slightly shaky as she cleared her throat. "That vampire church¡­ I founded it a few hundred years ago. Master Vlad''s my cardinal."


    Burn''s forehead furrowed into a deeper frown, the pieces of this complex puzzle starting to fall into place.


    "Those rules you mentioned about the resurrection spell," Morgan''s voice began to fade, her pompousness faltering. "It was me, along with other religious leaders, who established them.¡±


    ¡°They were put in place to enforce order, to prevent young, impulsive individuals from misusing it to satisfy their lustful desires."


    The revelations hit Burn like waves crashing upon a shore, each one more surprising than the last.


    "Actually, also¡ª"


    "What? What again? Is there more?" Burn interrupted in disbelief.


    Morgan¡¯s courage deflated. Her face reddened, and she seemed to shrink in his embrace. ¡°...Never mind.¡±


    Burn felt his veins pop in anger, but not that kind of anger. He grasped her body forcefully, making her squeal in surprise. Her excitement was palpable as she giggled sweetly in his ears. ¡°Miss Momo, tell me.¡±


    ¡°No~!¡± she laughed, her beautiful face twisting in joy as she realized how much she had stirred him. Her laugh was so sweet¡ªso beautiful and crisp¡ªhis deep and low chuckle complimented it perfectly.


    He knew she had done it for him. He suspected it was her intention from the beginning. Even when she was angry at him for accusing her of betrayal, she remained in his room.


    His soul had been ripped apart by the curse, and she had jumped in headfirst to heal him.


    "My... Burn..."


    "...Caliburn..."


    Her voice from yesterday echoed in his mind¡ª


    "Dear Divine, unto Thee¡ªI offer this sacred gift of chastity, a sacrifice of my own purity¡ªHumbly, I beseech Thee... ngghhh!¡±


    Now that he remembered it again¡ªeven he blushed.


    ¡°Extend Thine celestial mercy to heal the soul of my... soul, that lies within mine own¡ªhh¡­ My beloved son of man, Caliburn¡ª!"


    It was only a prayer for the spell¡­ yet¡ª


    KNOCK! KNOCK!


    "Ahem, ahem, Your Majesty, the preparation for the strategy meeting is complete."


    Burn was yanked back into reality like a fish on a hook. He glanced down at the woman nestled in his arms, his brow furrowing. What was this D¨¦j¨¤ Vu?


    It was Galahad¡¯s voice through the door¡ªoh, how nostalgic.


    Burn sighed. He rose from the bed and pulled his house robe to put on. He didn¡¯t realize how Morgan still tried to hold her giggles when he opened the door and saw Galahad stared back at him in complete shock.


    ¡°Y-Your Majesty¡­?!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Burn frowned.


    Galahad pointed at his head in panic, and it prompted Burn to turn to his mirror. The man in the mirror was¡ª


    ¡°Wh¡ª¡±


    Blonde.

 72 - The Holy Grail Ceremony

    That morning, as Emperor Burn stood before the mirror, he found himself face-to-face with a rather divine looking stranger. His usually white hair had taken on a blonde hue, glowing with a celestial light that was all too fitting for a divine judge, not the ruler of an empire.


    His image, typically that of a tall, lean, and muscular man with white hair and golden eyes, had taken an unexpected detour on the heavenly highway. His reflection looked back at him, the radiant hair adding an ironic saintly aura to his devil-may-care attitude.


    ¡®Who the fuck?¡¯ Burn thought wryly, studying his new halo with disbelief. With each turn of his head, the glow remained, steadfast and insistent, like a lighthouse beacon on the foggiest of nights.


    ¡°Pffft¡ª¡±


    Burn turned to the woman hiding under his sheets.


    He, who looked less like the feared Emperor Burn and more like a celestial body who had lost his way from the Milky Way, frowned.


    ¡®Note to self,¡¯ he thought to himself, ¡®next time, ask for the side effects brochure before sleeping with a saint¡ª¡¯


    He wondered if his subjects would now expect miracles on demand, or perhaps a sermon on the virtues of saintly slumber.


    ¡°Miss Momo,¡± he called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Did I catch some divine STD or something?¡±


    Morgan''s response was immediate and uncontrollable.


    ¡°Pff¡ªhahahah¡ªahahah!¡± She was practically convulsing under his blankets, rolling around like a gleeful golden ball amidst the chaotic tangle of white sheets. ¡°You look so¡ªhahahah¡ªhandsome¡ªfuu¡ªhahaha¡ªlike a god or something¡ª¡±


    Burn narrowed his eyes at the mirror, his new celestial glow mocking him with every flicker. Meanwhile, Morgan¡¯s high-pitched, melodious laughter filled the room, serving as the unwelcome theme song to his unexpected transformation.


    "Great," Burn thought sarcastically, "Just what I needed¡ªa divine makeover accompanied by an angelic laugh track."


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t match your image at all¡ªpfffftt¡ªlike the devil dressing up in an angel costume for Halloween¡ª¡± Morgan still couldn¡¯t stop laughing, her fits of giggles echoing through the room.


    ¡°So this was what you refused to tell me before!¡± Burn yelled. He could only sigh as Morgan continued to roll around, her laughter wrapping around him like an infuriatingly joyful blanket. It seemed his night with a saint had come with a bonus round of celestial comedy.


    He turned to Galahad, who just smiled¡ªwait. Why was he smiling? And why did his smile look... sad?


    "Oh, I thank Miss Morgan for helping His Majesty recover," Galahad said, his tone tinged with relief. "Your Majesty, everyone has been waiting for you in the throne hall."


    "Good," Burn replied. He glanced at Morgan, who was still relishing the pain in her stomach from laughing so hard. She was trying to catch her breath, her face flushed with amusement. "What are you going to do today?"


    "Me? Hehe..." Morgan, with a laugh still staining her smile, said, "I¡¯m going to teach the next phase of Vision Art to Yvain and the male descendants of Elysian. It¡¯s been a while."


    Her answer reminded Burn of his own obligations. "I¡¯ll join you after the meeting. Tell Yvain to get ready for Force Art training too."


    "Sure," Morgan answered, her grin unwavering.


    "Eat something before you go," Burn advised as he changed into his pants and slipped on his metal-heeled shoes.


    "Don''t forget to eat too, Caliburn," Morgan said, reclining back on the bed, her eyes following his every move.


    "Hm," Burn responded with a noncommittal hum before leaving. He exited his bedroom, Galahad trailing behind him, still all smiles.


    Burn couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there was more behind Galahad¡¯s smile, but he had a meeting to attend and a kingdom to run. Priorities, after all.


    But suddenly, Galahad said, "I am so happy that His Majesty is finally deciding to settle for a family. We, your subordinates, and the whole empire of Soulnaught had started to get worried."


    "Hm, I¡¯m not sure about that. Morgan is someone of high enough stature to neither need nor want to settle into a family with me¡ªwhat?" Burn ran his mouth without realizing it until it was too late.


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    Galahad chuckled, while Burn paused, taken aback by his own words. Ah, the morning''s events had affected him more than he cared to admit, making him speak aloud thoughts he''d usually keep buried.


    "His Majesty has always been someone who takes whatever he wants. I believe you will claim Miss Morgan¡¯s heart without much difficulty," Galahad, the number one fanboy, said with unwavering confidence.


    Burn stood there, crossing his arms over his chest and humming thoughtfully. "Hmm, right. Why only take her power? Let¡¯s take everything and make it mine."


    Galahad laughed heartily. This emperor of his might not yet realize it, but from the looks of it, he had already taken her everything.


    The most beautiful woman the world had ever seen¡ªthe legendary Infinite Witch, Morgan Le Fay.


    And¡­


    CREAK!


    THUD! THUD-THUD-THUD!


    As Burn strode into the throne hall, the grand doors creaking open with a dramatic flair, he was greeted by an unexpected sight.


    The entire assembly¡ªministers in their opulent robes, knights in gleaming armor, commanders with their polished insignia, and heads of noble houses dressed to the nines¡ªimmediately dropped to their knees.


    Burn raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes scanning the room with a mix of confusion and amusement. Was there a memo he missed? A secret "Kneel Before Burn" day?


    The atmosphere was nothing short of theatrical. Chandeliers above cast a golden glow on the scene, making the room look like a tableau from a Renaissance painting. The rich fabrics of the nobles'' attire and the metallic sheen of the knights'' armor created a dazzling mosaic on the marble floor.


    He walked forward, the sound of his metal-heeled shoes echoing through the hall like the ominous ticking of a clock. The silence was palpable, almost reverent, as if they were collectively holding their breath.


    Galahad followed closely behind, his smile betraying a hint of pride.


    Right under the throne was Percival, waiting with a solemnity that seemed out of place amidst the theatricality of the scene. As Burn was about to pass him, Percival pushed a glass up into his line of vision.


    Behind him, Galahad received Burn¡¯s sword from a woman in knight armor, then immediately kneeled and presented the sword to his emperor.


    Inside the glass was a golden liquid¡ªand Burn knew exactly what it was. A concentration of Force energy, potent and pure.


    There were two ways for subordinates to show their undying loyalty. One was the strict and binding magic contract under the Vision Art spell, and the other one¡­ well, it was the Holy Grail Ceremony.


    The Holy Grail Ceremony was a ritual for knights who chose their master and dedicated their entire existence to them.


    Like the magic contract, it was strict and binding, but there was a crucial difference: while the magic contract was demanded by the master, the Holy Grail Ceremony was something that couldn¡¯t be demanded. It had to be offered.


    Only the purest of intentions and the strongest of knights could make such an offer. It was a sacred vow, and it was considered a grave taboo to deny the pledge.


    This ceremony was precedented by King Soulnaught I, Urien Pendragon. After finding his close friend and the holy Apostle of Nethermere dead at the hands of their enemies, Urien did something both horrific and profound.


    He grabbed a glass and drank the blood dripping from the cross that had been used to bind and kill his friend.


    With the holy apostle''s blood, containing remnants of his Force energy, coursing through Urien''s body, he pledged his loyalty to their shared goal: to create a better world for humanity and all other creatures living in it.


    The story was a grim reminder of the lengths to which loyalty and dedication could stretch. It was a tale of sacrifice and unyielding resolve, setting the precedent for the Holy Grail Ceremony.


    The ceremony wasn''t just a ritual; it was a legacy, a testament to the bond between a sovereign and his most devoted knights. This wasn''t just about accepting loyalty; it was about embodying the very ideals that King Soulnaught I had once fought for.


    For a moment, the sarcasm slipped away, replaced by a deep sense of responsibility.


    But he still had no clue as to why they were offering him their Force energy like this. Yes, because he felt the distinct mix of eleven different Force energies inside the glass.


    And before he could ask why, Galahad raised his voice, filling the grand hall with a resonant authority, ¡°Your Majesty, Emperor Burn, we, the knights of the Round Table, stand before you to pledge our undying loyalty.¡±


    Eh?


    ¡°We have witnessed your indefatigable spirit, your relentless fight, and your unwavering resolve as you shield us from the power of the outsiders who seek to invade our world. You have inspired us through your actions, showing us what it truly means to lead with courage and sacrifice."


    What?


    The eleven knights, each a paragon of strength and honor, stepped forward, their eyes gleaming with determination. Galahad, representing them, continued, ¡°You have kept going, you have kept fighting, and you have kept protecting us, despite the immense challenges you face. You have shown us that true leadership is not just about power, but about heart and resilience."


    Huh?


    Percival lifted the glass higher, the golden liquid swirling within it, a symbol of their combined strength and loyalty. ¡°Today, we offer you our Force energy, not just as a token of our loyalty, but as an embodiment of our faith in you. We have each contributed a part of ourselves to this glass, eleven forces united, to give you the strength to continue your fight.¡±


    ¡°We pledge our lives, our powers, and our very souls to you, Emperor Burn. May our combined Force energy fortify you, may our loyalty empower you, and may our unity be the shield that protects our world."


    As Galahad and Percival finished, the knights knelt in unison, heads bowed in reverence. Burn stood there, the weight of their words sinking in.


    He tilted his head, confusion settling in. Frowning with every bit of his brain cells flaring for an answer, he wanted to ask out loud¡ª


    "Yeah, but why?"

 73 - Specialties

    The grassy courtyard of Soulnaught Empire''s palace was alive with the sounds of nature and the eager anticipation of learning.


    The sun played a coy game with the clouds, ensuring the boys didn''t melt under its heat, while the trees and greenery provided a perfect, dappled shield from direct sunlight.


    A refreshing breeze danced through the air, making the day just about perfect.


    ¡°Vision is the proof of God¡¯s love. Have I told you about this before?¡± Morgan asked, her tone soft and airy.


    Yvain, sitting front and center among the male descendants of Elysian, answered along with them, ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°Good. And what did I tell you?¡± Morgan asked again, her eyes narrowing playfully. ¡°That God created us as¡­?¡±


    ¡°Equals!¡± the boys chimed in unison, their enthusiasm almost making her laugh.


    ¡°Right. That means, it isn¡¯t that you¡¯re talented or chosen when you excel in Vision art, it¡¯s because you strive to know your own soul, the soul God created to become you,¡± Morgan explained.


    The boys nodded, hanging on her every word. By knowing themselves, their identities, and understanding what they were created for, they would grow stronger and stronger. Vision art was the art of knowing one¡¯s truth.


    One of her disciples, Ronald Elle, the former crown prince of Elysian, hesitantly raised his hand. Morgan arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°Yes, Ronald?¡± she nodded at him, bracing for the inevitable question.


    ¡°If we all have our own identities, which will reflect in our mastery of Vision, then why does every Vision user always start with fire type spells?¡± Ronald asked, his frustration evident.


    He was, after all, the only one still unable to unleash his Vision energy despite everyone''s encouragement and teachings.


    Morgan hummed. ¡°Well, Ronald, it¡¯s true that everyone has their own distinct specialties derived from their unique identities. And believe me, when you find that specific thing, you¡¯ll become even stronger than me,¡± she said with a smirk.


    ¡°But there¡¯s a reason why everyone tends to start with fire type spells.¡±


    Morgan raised one of her hands, and a ball of light appeared, hovering above her palm. A small fire ignited within it. "Because fire symbolizes life. Energy in its most primal form. When you think of magic, you¡¯ll think of an energy you draw from deep within."


    The boys watched, mesmerized, as the fire flickered and danced.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it easy to imagine something showing up when you first started? It reflects your emotion, passion, rage,¡± she continued, the fire in her hand growing larger and more vibrant.


    ¡°Something you think you can¡¯t control yet, something hot and dangerous because of your unfamiliarity with it. Something you need, something magical.¡±


    Morgan clenched her hand, and the fire vanished. ¡°And it¡¯s also easier for mages to control fire.¡±


    She let the statement hang in the air, knowing the boys were absorbing every word. Despite its danger, fire was better for beginners precisely because it was dangerous.


    It was almost impossible for beginner Vision users to hurt themselves or others with fire because of their own consciousness and carefulness. It was clearly hot, so when it hurt them, they¡¯d stop using it because of the pain.


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    ¡°Vision magic,¡± Morgan explained, ¡°is deeply connected with one¡¯s soul. Inherently, you¡¯ll have reflexes, instincts, and fear not to hurt yourself. When you feel fear and pain, you¡¯ll immediately stop, because your emotions are also overcome by these feelings.¡±


    The boys nodded, their eyes wide with understanding. But Morgan knew there were always exceptions, her gaze shifting to Yvain.


    When Yvain lost his mind, falling into a rampage, he lost all of his reflexes and instincts. There was no longer pain or fear¡ªcombined with his great mastery of the art, which made him more comfortable using his power.


    Morgan smiled wryly. ¡°But, while fire is an excellent starting point, remember to respect its power. It¡¯s a great teacher, but it can be a harsh one if you let your guard down.¡±


    The wind rustled the leaves around them, adding a touch of serenity to the moment. The lesson was clear: Vision magic was as much about understanding oneself as it was about wielding power.


    The boys sat there, the grass beneath them, and the gentle breeze around them, contemplating the wisdom they had just received.


    ¡°Okay. For those of you who have mastered fire spell control, you can start creating other elements with the mana you can handle. Stick with earth and water for now; don¡¯t try wind yet,¡± Morgan instructed, her tone both firm and encouraging.


    ¡°Yvain,¡± she called.


    ¡°Yes, Master?¡± Yvain flinched, startled by Morgan¡¯s sudden attention.


    Morgan smiled, rubbing the boy¡¯s head affectionately. Yvain leaned into her touch, clearly enjoying the rare moment of warmth. ¡°Caliburn said he¡¯s coming to teach you the next phase of Force Art today.¡±


    Yvain froze. ¡°Eh?!¡±


    ¡°Be good and learn well,¡± Morgan said with a mischievous glint in her eye.


    ¡°W-what about my Vision training?!¡± Yvain¡¯s panicked expression as he tried to think of an escape from Force training amused Morgan to no end.


    ¡°Good boy, I¡¯ve seen you reach your next phase already,¡± Morgan said, her voice filled with pride. ¡°You¡¯ve had an inkling of what your specialty is, right? Now, tell your master.¡±


    Yvain groaned, clearly uncomfortable. ¡°I¡¯m not sure yet, Master¡­ but it feels like I¡¯m standing in the middle.¡±


    ¡°In the middle?¡± Morgan raised her eyebrows, intrigued.


    Yvain hesitated, searching for the right words. ¡°It feels like¡­ I want to stay here, at this very moment, in the middle of everything.¡±


    Morgan tilted her head, curiosity piqued. ¡°Middle¡­ you mean, neutral?¡±


    Something clicked in Yvain¡¯s head. ¡°That! That¡¯s¡ª! That!¡±


    Seeing Yvain so excited, Morgan couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°But that¡¯s such a vast concept. Neutrality?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I mean, Master¡­ My head¡¯s gonna explode!¡± Yvain exclaimed, his excitement mingling with frustration.


    Morgan smiled, her eyes twinkling with understanding. ¡°Neutrality, huh? That¡¯s quite profound for someone your age. It¡¯s a concept that requires a deep understanding of balance and harmony. But don¡¯t worry, Yvain. We¡¯ll take it step by step.¡±


    The other boys watched with a mix of admiration and curiosity. Yvain¡¯s journey was unique, and they were eager to see where it would lead.


    ¡°Remember,¡± Morgan continued, ¡°neutrality doesn¡¯t mean inaction. It means finding the balance, the center point where all forces converge. It¡¯s a powerful place to be if you can master it.¡±


    Yvain nodded, feeling a sense of clarity and purpose. The path ahead might be challenging, but he was ready to embrace it.


    ¡°Okay, Master! Ah! Please don¡¯t tell me to leave yet! I will meditate for a bit, please let me stay!¡± Yvain begged, his eyes wide with urgency.


    Morgan didn¡¯t have the heart to refuse him. She nodded, and Yvain cheered with joy, immediately taking a spot under a tree that the other boys hadn''t claimed yet. He settled into his meditation, a look of peace washing over his face.


    Meanwhile, Morgan walked around the grassy courtyard, observing the boys as they dispersed, each trying their own thing. Her goal was clear: to let them experience as many spells as possible, helping them discover their own specialties.


    Most of the older male descendants had only mastered fire spells in their lives. They had honed their skills so well that fire had become their specialty. But, just like how they couldn''t find their intended core identities¡ªthe unique essence God created them to become¡ªthey never reached their full potential.


    These younger boys, however, still had their chance to find it. They came to Morgan, eager to learn more spells, to explore the depths of their own abilities.


    Morgan moved gracefully among them, offering guidance and encouragement. She knew that each boy had a unique path to follow, and it was her job to help them find it. As she watched them experiment with earth and water spells, she felt a sense of pride and hope.


    But one boy in particular, was still struggling.


    Ronald sat on the ground, facing the sky.

 74 - Will of Life

    ¡°There must be something holding you back,¡± Morgan said, plopping down beside Ronald with a casual grace. The boy flinched, his eyes widening in surprise as she arrived.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Ronald muttered, looking down at his hands. ¡°You see, I¡¯ve never been good at anything.¡±


    Being chosen as the crown prince because of his mediocrity, Ronald knew he was not the best, even among his own siblings. He had no pride, no confidence¡ªjust a gnawing sense of inadequacy.


    ¡°Even the most basic fire spell, I can¡¯t even manifest it¡­¡± he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Morgan hummed thoughtfully, her fingers tapping as if counting something. ¡°How old are you?¡±


    Ronald blinked at her, a bit thrown off by the sudden question. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ almost 12.¡±


    Morgan nodded sagely. ¡°I was able to manifest my first spell when I was 103 years old.¡±


    Ronald¡¯s jaw dropped, practically hitting the ground.


    ¡°Eh¡­?¡±


    ¡°You see, I have many weaknesses. I don¡¯t have Force talent at all, and it was also hard for me to manifest Vision because of my soul¡¯s peculiarities and many other aspects. I was also far too unlucky compared to normal people,¡± Morgan said, her tone matter-of-fact.


    ¡°But¡­ you¡¯re the Infinite Witch¡­¡± Ronald muttered. ¡°People say no matter what spell you cast, you don¡¯t have to stop or rest, you can do it infinitely!¡±


    ¡°Yep, but like other people, I learned spells at a normal pace. I¡¯m not a Vision art genius like Merlin or Yvain,¡± Morgan explained with a casual shrug.


    ¡°Then¡­ is infinity your specialty? That¡¯s the reason you are so strong?¡± Ronald asked, eyes wide with curiosity.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Morgan hummed thoughtfully. ¡°I don¡¯t think infinity is my specialty. I don¡¯t think I even found my specialty yet. I think I got my reputation because I am crazy and stubborn.¡±


    Ronald felt disheartened. ¡°If even someone like you hasn¡¯t found it, and you learn spells like normal people, then what can someone like me do?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard, right?¡± Morgan sighed, her voice tinged with empathy.


    The boy turned to Morgan, wariness in his eyes. He was a bit unnerved by the fact that Morgan didn¡¯t try to cheer him up at all. But somehow, he felt better. There was something comforting in her honesty.


    ¡°How did you start manifesting, Fairy Godmother?¡± Ronald asked.


    Morgan turned to him and smiled, ¡°I got real angry.¡±


    Ronald blinked, taken aback by the bluntness.


    ¡°And sad. And disappointed, betrayed, tired, and frustrated. I think that was how I first manifested that first spell. But weirdly, it wasn¡¯t fire,¡± Morgan muttered, lost in thought.


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    ¡°What¡­ did you manifest?¡± Ronald asked, curiosity piqued once more.


    Morgan leaned back, looking up at the sky. ¡°You know the small patch of ocean near the border of the Luminus Kingdom and the Wintersin Empire that connects the northern and southern ocean?¡±


    Ronald frowned, sensing something monumental was coming. Morgan answered his question in the most shocking way possible.


    ¡°I manifested an ocean.¡±


    The boy widened his eyes. The woman in front of him was indeed the legendary witch, a being beyond comprehension.


    ¡°But it was only possible because of the nature of my soul. It wasn¡¯t because of my specialty, nor mastery. It was pure monstrosity,¡± Morgan muttered, a hint of self-deprecation in her voice.


    It was silent for a solid five seconds, with the breeze filling in the gap.


    ¡°At the end, what started everything wasn¡¯t what I felt at the moment. It was what I wanted,¡± Morgan said, and something clicked in Ronald¡¯s head. ¡°At the time, I wanted to die.¡±


    By drowning herself.


    Morgan reached out with her hand, gesturing for his. When Ronald hesitantly reached back, she asked him, ¡°What do you want?¡±


    The first step was always the hardest. It was the sense of unfamiliarity within one''s soul and its inability to trust its own existence. But once that connection appeared¡­


    ¡°I want¡­ to live.¡±


    BURST!


    A surge of energy exploded from Ronald, an intense light radiating from him as his raw, untapped potential began to manifest. Morgan watched with a proud, knowing smile. The boy had taken his first step, and the journey of self-discovery had truly begun.


    But as the fire diminished from his hand, Ronald¡¯s smile also dimmed¡ªbefore Morgan grasped his hands tightly, surprising him. ¡°No, Ronald. You have to keep that will of life.¡±


    Ronald widened his eyes, taken aback by the intensity and urgency in her voice.


    The reason Morgan wanted her disciples to start with fire was this very thing. She wanted them to live. And as long as their fire continued to be ignited, again and again, she believed they would not lose to anything life threw at them.


    ¡°Fire is life, Ronald,¡± Morgan said softly, her eyes locked onto his. ¡°As long as you keep that flame burning within you, no matter how small it may seem, you will always have the strength to overcome anything.¡±


    Ronald nodded, a new resolve forming within him. He understood now. The fire wasn¡¯t just a spell; it was a symbol of his will to live, to fight, to keep moving forward.


    Morgan released his hands, but the warmth of her touch and the strength of her words remained with him. Ronald felt a renewed sense of purpose, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The lesson had etched itself deeply into his soul, and he knew he would carry it with him always.


    ¡°Thank you, Fairy Godmother¡­ no. Thank you, Master.¡±


    Morgan nodded with a beautiful smile. As the boy joined his peers, showing off his newfound fire, Morgan sat there, alone, a wistful expression crossing her face.


    With the touch of her hand, she had erased parts of Ronald¡¯s memory about the things she said. It was things she wanted to make sure he didn¡¯t have to remember¡ª


    ¡°I manifested an ocean¡ªpure monstrosity¡ªI wanted to die¡­ those are things a boy like him shouldn¡¯t be influenced by. Thank you, Master Vlad, for teaching me mind spells,¡± Morgan muttered to herself.


    In the future, the boy would remember this as a magical moment without any of her negativity. He would recall the burst of energy, the warmth of discovery, and the resolve to live, but the shadows of her past would remain hidden, tucked away where they couldn¡¯t touch him.


    Morgan sighed, watching the boys practice, their laughter and determination filling the air. She knew she had done the right thing. Sometimes, the path to strength and self-discovery needed to be paved with light, free from the burdens of darkness.


    As the wind gently rustled the leaves, Morgan felt a sense of peace. The courtyard, now a place of growth and hope, was a testament to the power of teaching, of guiding the next generation towards a brighter future.


    Except, she didn¡¯t know that it wouldn¡¯t be only her who would remember this moment alone.


    A man stood not too far away, watching in silence.


    His presence was almost ghostly, blending into the shadows cast by the trees. He had seen everything¡ªthe burst of energy, the erasure of memories, the tender yet powerful exchange between master and student.


    Burn felt suspicious.

 75 - Annoyingly Perfect Weather

    ¡°How neat.¡±


    Morgan flinched when she heard a familiar voice from behind her. She turned to face the source, flashing a beautiful, perfect smile, greeting him, ¡°Caliburn.¡±


    She was about to stand when Burn offered her a hand. She reached back and let him pull her up. ¡°Your hair¡¯s back to white,¡± Morgan remarked and Burn just nodded, before hearing her next question, ¡°The meeting¡¯s done?¡±


    ¡°Weird things happened, but it was¡­¡± thanks to Morgan, kinda. In his other loops, he had never experienced the Round Table pledging their allegiance to him with the Holy Grail ceremony, so it was something unexpected.


    ¡°Weird things?¡± Morgan tilted her head, her curiosity piqued.


    Burn just shrugged. He guessed it was because it was the first time they saw him in that much pain. Well, it was painful, and he didn¡¯t want to experience it again if he could. But it frightened them so much they pledged allegiance to him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you about it later,¡± Burn said. ¡°Don¡¯t try to distract me.¡±


    Morgan blinked, feigning ignorance. ¡°Distract you? With my beauty?¡±


    Burn grasped her face, making her yelp. He sighed and said, ¡°You erased that boy¡¯s memory. I felt a trace of the same spell Vlad used. That¡¯s neat, but isn¡¯t that unfair?¡±


    Morgan stopped struggling from his grasp, and he realized her atmosphere had changed completely. He released her face and saw the look of sadness in her eyes.


    Her usual playful demeanor vanished, replaced by a somber expression that made her seem older, more weary. The smile she wore so easily was gone, and in its place was a look of vulnerability rarely seen.


    But she was a bit surprised when Burn suddenly rubbed her lower belly. ¡°Huh? W-why?¡±


    ¡°I came inside you last night, yeah?¡± Burn said, and Morgan''s eyes widened, her jaw practically hitting the ground. ¡°Multiple times¡ª¡±


    ¡°HEY, Your Majesty! Right, right! The weather¡¯s so nice!¡± she yelled in panic, her face a shade of red that could rival a tomato. She immediately pushed the chuckling Burn away from her disciples.


    That certainly shook her out of her complicated feelings.


    ¡°You should delete their memory about what I said too,¡± Burn teased.


    ¡°What were you thinking?!¡± Morgan yelled at him again.


    ¡°Are you going to erase my memory about last night too, if you think it¡¯s neat?¡± Burn asked as he was pushed out of the way.


    Morgan, who was pushing his back away, only looking at his wide back from her perspective, couldn¡¯t properly see what expression he made when he questioned it, just like how he couldn¡¯t see what expression she made.


    But when she looked up, toward the back of his head, somehow¡­


    ¡°It was the first time I came inside someone, you know,¡± Burn said. ¡°And if I proposed marriage to you, would you erase that memory if you feel like you don¡¯t want to marry me?¡±


    ¡°You are¡­?¡± Morgan was speechless.


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay,¡± Burn called her name, ¡°I can somehow guess that you will tell me you¡¯re a monster or something, and I shouldn¡¯t marry someone like you, or something.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the unfair one,¡± Morgan said. ¡°I told you I¡¯m different, right? I¡¯m an immortal being with infinite sou¡ª¡±


    ¡°I can be an immortal too if I want,¡± Burn said, feeling the woman stop pushing him away, though she was still leaning against his back. ¡°And I don¡¯t need offspring if you don¡¯t want to have kids.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a huge commitment for someone like me,¡± Morgan fake laughed.


    ¡°Someone like the legendary Morgan Le Fay?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan leaned her forehead against his back, her entire face blushing red.


    ¡°Or, actually you have a lover, and yesterday was purely for healing me?¡± Burn feigned disappointment.


    Morgan felt her lips lock and her throat catch. She wanted to cry. After a solid silence, she managed to say, ¡°I don¡¯t have a lover, and yesterday¡­¡±


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    ¡°Yesterday?¡± Burn asked, his breath catching in his throat.


    ¡°...was amazing,¡± her small whisper made him smile, and a soft blush landed on his cheek.


    The weather, of course, couldn''t resist being annoyingly perfect that day. The grass under their feet was a lush green carpet, tickling their ankles like nature¡¯s attempt at a foot massage. The wind swirled around them with just the right amount of gentle force, as if it had read the script for the moment.


    Above, the sky flaunted its endless blue expanse, dotted with fluffy clouds that looked like they¡¯d been painted by an overenthusiastic artist.


    The sun beamed down, casting a golden hue over everything, making even the most cynical heart consider that maybe, just maybe, the world wasn¡¯t such a bad place after all.


    ¡°Yvain! No! You¡¯re not running away!¡± Burn suddenly yelled¡ª


    The boy, not too far away, sneaking away from the grassy courtyard, turned to them with a pale expression. "Shucks..."


    Burn¡¯s shout broke the serene atmosphere, causing a flock of birds to take flight from a nearby tree. Yvain, caught in the act, froze like a deer in headlights, his escape plan foiled.


    Morgan sighed, her earlier blush fading as she turned her attention to the hapless boy. She shot Burn¡¯s back a knowing glance as he left her without turning back, probably not used to the romantic atmosphere.


    The day, for all its postcard-perfect weather, was far from over.


    ***


    ¡°They¡¯re dead?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know, sir. But it looks like they are.¡±


    Walls of shimmering metal pulsed with the low hum of advanced machinery, their surfaces adorned with cryptic runes and holographic displays that flickered like some avant-garde art installation. The air was cool and sterile, carrying the faint scent of ozone, a byproduct of the ship¡¯s myriad technological marvels.


    In the center of this architectural wonder stood the man in charge, a figure of authority wrapped in an impeccably tailored uniform that screamed ¡®I¡¯m important, and I know it.¡¯ His brow furrowed as he stared at the underlings before him, their nervous fidgeting betraying their fear of the impending tirade.


    "And the White Dwarf?" he asked, his voice a mixture of exasperation and incredulity.


    "...it''s missing," one of the underlings managed to squeak out, eyes darting to the floor as if hoping it might open up and swallow him whole.


    The commander sighed, a sound that echoed through the hall like the groan of an ancient beast. "And you just told me now?"


    The commander pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about incompetence and the cosmic absurdity of it all. But he knew that it would be hard to report things like this under the higher ups¡¯ surveillance.


    ¡°So, let me get this straight,¡± he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°You¡¯re telling me we need to deploy a planet-destroying amount of energy just to take out one measly person? One. Single. Person.¡±


    ¡°Sir¡­¡± the underling stammered. ¡°But the team on the ground did manage to push the White Dwarf¡¯s potential to its limit.¡±


    ¡°Oh, did they now?¡± The commander¡¯s eyebrow arched in mock surprise. ¡°And what, pray tell, was this ''limit'' they achieved?¡±


    ¡°We detected a burst of power equivalent to 3% of the weapon¡¯s potential,¡± the underling replied, trying not to shrink under the commander¡¯s withering gaze.


    ¡°Three percent,¡± the commander repeated, his voice heavy with disbelief. ¡°So, you''re saying our top-of-the-line, planet-busting weapon managed to cough up a whopping three percent of its potential, but was still unable to kill him? Fantastic. Just fantastic.¡±


    ¡°Sir, please don¡¯t blame them too much,¡± a voice interjected, dripping with icy cynicism. From the shadows emerged a figure clad in the same decorated uniform as the commander. He was younger, his demeanor cold and calculating.


    ¡°You were the one who agreed to their suggestion to illegally deploy the White Dwarf to the ground, after all.¡±


    The commander¡¯s eyes narrowed as he turned to face his counterpart. ¡°Ah, yes, thank you for your timely reminder,¡± he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm. ¡°How could I forget that brilliant decision?¡±


    The younger officer smirked, his gaze unwavering. ¡°Despite knowing the risk of it,¡± he added, his words like daggers.


    The commander sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. ¡°Yes, despite knowing the risk,¡± he conceded, rubbing his temples. ¡°But how would I know a random man from a lower realm would be able to¡­¡±


    The younger officer shrugged, clearly enjoying the commander¡¯s discomfort. ¡°Well, at least we know our weapon can manage a whole three percent on the ground. That¡¯s a record. Too bad the user presumed died.¡±


    The commander shot him a withering look. ¡°Oh, yes, a real achievement. Let¡¯s put that in the victory column.¡±


    Silence hung in the air like an unwelcome guest.


    ¡°Well?¡± the commander prompted the younger officer, who was looking down on him with a smug smile. ¡°Are you not going to contribute to solving this problem?¡±


    ¡°Why should I?¡± the younger officer replied, his tone dripping with casual indifference. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t dare use it from the ground anyway. As long as the one-way portal is intact, they can¡¯t even scratch us.¡±


    The commander¡¯s frustration was palpable. ¡°But an inspector from the Alliance higher-ups is due to audit our resources soon. Rumors say one of the Ten Overlords might come personally.¡±


    The younger officer scoffed, his expression betraying a hint of amusement. ¡°Isn¡¯t that your mess to clean up?¡±


    ¡°Hey, help me out here,¡± the commander insisted, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.


    The younger officer¡¯s smile widened, but he offered no reply, leaving the commander to stew in the silence of the futuristic hall, where the hum of advanced machinery seemed to mock his predicament.


    ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯ll try to help out,¡± the younger officer finally said, his tone still laced with that infuriating nonchalance.


    The commander¡¯s face brightened, hope flickering in his eyes. ¡°Good! What are your suggestions?¡±


    The younger officer shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we try and ask for it back?¡±

 76 - Awareness Extent

    Loving.


    Burn never really understood love. Thanks to a childhood filled with more cold shoulders than warm hugs, the concept was about as foreign to him as a vacation. The closest thing to affection he ever got was a nod of approval and the occasional "well done" from his late father.


    Recognition and respect. That was the full extent.


    Ah, his dear old dad¡ªa great king, a stellar knight, but an absolute disaster in the parenting and spousal departments. Burn had a sneaking suspicion that dear old dad wouldn''t know love if it bit him in the rear end.


    So, when Burn crossed paths with Belezak Qu Edensworn¡ªa man who was so loving that he practically imbued and weaponized it in his Force art¡ªit was nothing short of a revelation. Or, at the very least, an eye-opener.


    "Your father''s sword path was peculiar. I''ve never seen anything like it, before or since," Burn remarked to Yvain.


    The boy was on the ground, pushing a boulder on his back while doing push-ups. Because, apparently, Burn thought regular push-ups just weren''t challenging enough.


    "Every stroke of his sword reflected his Force style. It matched his Force type so perfectly that I was a bit perplexed when I first saw it," Burn continued, with a hint of admiration¡ªor was it confusion?


    "Huff¡ª" Yvain struggled to push himself up. "Why am I back at physical training¡­? Ugh¡ª" he groaned, clearly rethinking all his life choices.


    After that day when Burn mentioned that Yvain should be ready to start Force art training the next day, everything changed. Burn didn''t just say it; he demonstrated it in a way that Yvain would never forget.


    Burn meticulously replicated his father''s movements. That day, Yvain''s eyes widened with amazement at the level of precision Burn achieved.


    He imitated the way Belezak swung his sword, his stance, his timing, his steps, the exact bend of his limbs, his breathing¡ªeven his looks. Heck, Burn managed to mimic Belezak''s posture perfectly, down to the smallest detail.


    For a moment, Yvain felt as though his father was standing before him again, just from Burn''s silhouette.


    Yvain had been too small when Belezak passed away, but he would never forget the way his father stood at the door of his room every night, putting him to bed, making sure he was safe and sound before he drifted off to sleep.


    Then, Burn began to break it down¡ªalmost inch by inch, dissecting every movement with excruciating detail.


    "W-wait! This is information overload¡ªyou can''t teach someone like this!"


    That was what Yvain said in protest that day.


    Burn hummed thoughtfully, then casually remarked, "Maybe it''s too hard for you, after all."


    Of course it was! Yvain wanted to yell back at him. Even Morgan, who recognized his potential as a Vision art genius, still taught him step by step, providing just the right amount of information at a time.


    However, knowing that Burn was a busy man, he eventually relented and listed the main parts Yvain needed to focus on.


    Yvain thought Burn would teach him the movements like a typical martial arts instructor, but he was wrong. Instead, Burn focused on how much weight Yvain needed to apply to his body when he moved.


    From that moment on, Burn instructed him to be acutely aware of his movements. Everything mattered: the placement of his foot, the sway of his arms. Burn wanted each motion to be as effective as possible while maintaining full awareness of his surroundings.


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    Every sensation, every touch receptor had to be engaged.


    This approach was quite the opposite of how Yvain had trained and meditated with Vision before. Training Vision required him to be sensitive to his soul, to delve deep into his identity and feelings. But with Force training...


    He needed to be conscious of his body.


    It wasn¡¯t about listening to his soul anymore¡ªit was about listening to his body instead.


    And today, under the crushing boulder he had to lift with each push-up, Yvain couldn''t help but do so!


    Pain!


    It radiated through his entire body, a relentless symphony of agony. His joints screamed in protest with each push-up, the grinding and popping sounds echoing in his ears like a cruel orchestra.


    Every fiber of his muscles burned, the lactic acid building up to excruciating levels¡ªahhh, the weight of the boulder pressed down on him, an overwhelming force that made every push-up feel like an epic battle.


    His arms trembled as he pushed against the unyielding mass, his shoulders felt ready to snap, and his back ached as if it were on the verge of breaking. Each breath was a struggle, his lungs working overtime to keep up with the demands of his tortured body.


    "Uggg¡ª"


    Alongside Yvain, another person was embroiled in the same struggle. But unlike him, she didn''t have a boulder perched on her back. Her body was light, yet her thin arms still waged a futile war against gravity.


    Morgan lay face-down, palms flat on the ground beside him, utterly defeated, unable to muster even a single push-up.


    "M-Master... please don¡¯t force yourself too... hard," Yvain said, knowing full well his master had the physique of a damp noodle.


    "No..." Morgan replied, dejected but stubborn. "At least today... one push-up... just... one...!"


    Burn glanced down at his two new companions. One was training like his life depended on it, and the other... well, adorably pathetically, was also training like her life depended on it.


    The man squatted beside Morgan and patted the back of her knees. "Bend your knees and put them on the ground. It''s easier."


    "That''s pathetic," Morgan almost shed tears.


    "Your body is the pathetic one. Why the sudden urge to work out? Still fighting off muscle atrophy?" Burn asked, eyebrow raised.


    "No," Morgan sighed. "It''s just that... my stamina..."


    The memory of being tossed around helplessly on that damn bed, unable to retaliate no matter how many rounds they had, flashed in her mind. Let''s just say her competitive nature had been awakened.


    "Master, please rest... for my part too..." Yvain pleaded, feeling lightheaded and knowing full well that Burn would never let him off the hook this early.


    "Don''t strain yourself too much," Burn said, a rare hint of concern in his voice. He remembered going overboard last night¡ªand how she had healed his soul with hers.


    Morgan yelled, "Stop spoiling me, you two!"


    PUSH!


    One push-up~!


    After completing just one, Morgan sprawled back on the ground, utterly defeated. Three ringing bells, K.O.


    Burn was about to pull her up, but Morgan, tiredly, but sharply said, "Don''t help me. I will rise, eventually," as she lay face down on the ground. She probably cried silently, arms sore and spirit bruised.


    "49... 50...!"


    Yvain finally finished his set.


    "Good," Burn said, just before Yvain could follow his master¡¯s example and sprawl on the ground. "Hold that position, do a plank for a minute."


    "Huh?!" Yvain froze, trembling. "When are we going to continue the Force training then¡ª?"


    "While you do that for a minute, listen to your body," Burn instructed.


    "I already did!" Yvain protested.


    "Have you truly listened to your heartbeat? Have you felt the blood rushing through your body? And what about adrenaline? Do you even listen to your own breathing?" Burn fired back, each question landing like a hammer blow.


    "But how do you even¡ª?" Yvain stammered, utterly baffled.


    "People have this misconception," Burn began, "that simply working hard and training hard will lead to Force mastery. That''s not all there is to it."


    Yvain¡¯s eyes widened in confusion.


    "Sure, when they train their bodies enough, they might come to understand it eventually. But it¡¯s easier if they realize it¡¯s not about them; it¡¯s about their body."


    Burn clasped his hands, carefully feeling every fiber of muscle he needed to tense and relax. "How much training does it take until someone can taste the air through their fingertips, see the slowed-down image of an arrowhead through the back of their head?"


    "How much training does it take until someone can command every single cell of their body? How much do they need to do to override automatic brain processes and control their body manually?" Burn asked, his tone dripping with challenge.


    "To manually beat your heart, push your blood when your heart fails, use adrenaline in a controlled manner as a reward for each cell performing well in dangerous situations, and manually absorb air through your lungs, deliver it via your blood, and push every single molecule to its limits."


    "Yvain, if you want to master Force properly, that¡¯s the bare minimum," Burn declared.


    Yvain was bewildered, to say the least. To that level? He could never imagine¡ª


    "There¡¯s no way¡ªevery Force art Master can do that!" he exclaimed, utterly unconvinced.


    "Of course," Burn replied, a smirk playing on his lips. "Only crazy people master their bodies to that extent. Like me, and your father."


    Yvain¡¯s eyes widened even further.


    Even his father?

 77 - In Literal Sense

    There was a reason why Force arts were mainly inherited.


    Passing down personal style was challenging¡ªafter all, even a father and son didn¡¯t share identical approaches or interests. But Force type? That was a different story. Imagine inheriting your parents'' genes and physical traits but not their Force type.


    Unthinkable.


    Force types were intricately tied to physical attributes: body shape, weight, height, limb length and reach, flexibility, eyesight, sense of smell, hearing, taste, and touch. Not to mention spatial and gravity perception, pain and heat tolerance, and even bodily disabilities.


    People evolved according to their surroundings too. Smaller eye openings, larger or smaller noses, thicker or thinner lips, varying skin tones, eye colors, and hair colors¡ªall these traits adapted to environmental conditions.


    The first generation who created Force arts knew their bodies inside out. They understood their physical qualities so thoroughly that they awakened their Force and crafted a style perfectly suited to their unique attributes.


    No matter what one might say, Force art wasn¡¯t created to be an equal struggle for each person like Vision art.


    In the diverse types of Force users, there were those who had hit the genetic lottery of great height, weight, and reach. These titans wielded their size like a weapon, opting for colossal instruments of destruction such as halberds and greatswords.


    Their style was less about finesse and more about ensuring that when they finally landed a blow, it was devastating enough to be worth the wait. Slow and steady wins the race, they said¡ªthough usually after flattening everything in their path.


    Then there were the nimble dancers of the battlefield, inheritors of exceptional agility and flexibility. These Force users moved like the wind, masters of dodging and delivering quick, precise strikes.


    They favored lighter weapons like daggers or rapiers, priding themselves on being fast, fluid, and about as predictable as a cat on catnip. Their philosophy? "Why get hit when you can prance around your opponent like it''s a ballet recital?"


    Next up, the sensory savants, those blessed with superior senses. Be it eyesight, hearing, or smell, these Force users had an awareness of their surroundings that bordered on the supernatural.


    They exploited this gift with weapons and styles that played to their strengths¡ªarchery for the eagle-eyed and stealthy maneuvers for those with bat-like hearing. They were the ones who could hear a pin drop in a battlefield and then shoot it with pinpoint accuracy.


    There were also the human tanks, those who inherited outstanding endurance, pain tolerance, and physical resilience. These stalwarts could weather blows that would fell lesser beings, standing firm where others would crumble.


    They favored defensive weapons and styles, often acting as living shields for their allies. Their motto? "You can''t hurt me if I''m too stubborn to fall."


    The speed demons were always a blur on the battlefield, inheriting exceptional speed to the point where they seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.


    They struck and retreated before their enemies even knew what hit them, favoring light, fast weapons. Their entire strategy revolved around hit-and-run tactics, leaving their foes spinning in confusion.


    Then there were those with superior spatial and gravity perception. These individuals had an uncanny ability to judge distances and trajectories, making them deadly accurate.


    They preferred ranged weapons or throwing weapons, utilizing their inherent understanding of physics to devastating effect. They could probably win a game of darts with their eyes closed.


    Among them were the adaptive fighters, those who inherited specific adaptations to their environment. Whether it was a keen sense of smell or excellent night vision, these Force users tailored their combat styles to exploit these traits.


    They often used unique or unusual weapons that matched their specific attributes, proving that there''s a tool for every job, especially if you''re inventive enough.


    And finally, there were the resilient reformers, Force users who inherited bodily disabilities but turned these perceived disadvantages into strengths.


    They crafted a Force type that compensated for their disabilities, often becoming more formidable than their so-called ''able-bodied'' peers. They took the phrase "what doesn''t kill you makes you stronger" to an entirely new level.


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    These Force types were just a glimpse into Force arts. It was a testament to the adaptability and innovative spirit of the creations, ever evolving and refining their understanding of the Force.


    So, essentially, it was a bit like turning a family recipe into a fast-food franchise. The secret sauce got passed down through the generations, maintaining its core flavor, but over time it was commercialized, packaged, and sold as a "type".


    And now? Well, everyone became a connoisseur. They were no longer satisfied with just "spicy" or "sweet". They wanted to categorize the types based on every imaginable trait: the cutlery used, the cooking technique, the ideal temperature, the pairings.


    Was it a steak knife Force or a butter knife Force? Would it be a stir-fry or a slow roast? Was it served hot or cold? Did it go well with a side of stealth or a dollop of destruction?


    But¡­


    "Your father had his own style of Force that I¡¯m sure wasn¡¯t passed down from his parents. Yet, it was unmistakably the Edensor Royal Family¡¯s Force art."


    Style.


    Something that couldn¡¯t be inherited easily and could differ wildly from a Force user''s parents or ancestors.


    "Edensor Royal Family¡¯s Force art? Flashy. Powerful. Forceful. They wielded their great physique and raw strength like a battering ram, bolstered by tank-like endurance. You see, like Soulnaught, the first king of Edensor was a warrior knight. He fought valiantly with honor, so naturally, it was supposed to be a straightforward, no-nonsense type," Burn explained.


    He knew this not just because he had seen Belezak fight, but also because he had witnessed the Edensor Royal Family branches in action. All those who inherited the Force art had this straightforward, smash-you-in-the-face feeling.


    Except for King Belezak himself.


    Oh, of course, he could smash you, no question, but¡­


    "What''s the word... he''s... patient," Burn muttered, a shiver running down his spine. "And understanding."


    "Loving, as you said?" Yvain asked, finishing his weighted plank.


    "That," Burn nodded. "I first thought that his style, despite the Force art his family taught him, was more subdued, more humble, more benign and unflashy, but still straightforward and strong. I figured he was just conserving his energy and hiding his power. But I was wrong."


    ¡°Actually, he was just¡­ being kind,¡± Burn muttered. ¡°Belezak approached everything with his political point of view.¡±


    ¡°I thought he was looking down at his students, or he wasn¡¯t serious at all, but actually, he was being ¡®political¡¯!¡± Burn emphasized on the word political.


    In truth, the word "political" didn¡¯t mean just a mere act of manipulation or deception, as Burn had initially assumed. It wasn''t about looking down on others or conserving one''s power behind a mask of humility.


    Well, it was much more cunning and admirable than that.


    Belezak, with his patience and understanding, his seemingly subdued style and humble demeanor, was actually having a fucking ¡°political¡± blast. He approached situations not with arrogance or indifference, but with a strategic mind and a diplomatic finesse that few could match.


    While Burn had thought Belezak was simply being kind, in reality, he was exercising a level of wisdom and foresight that surpassed mere kindness. Every move, every word he taught was carefully chosen not out of weakness but out of a keen awareness of the political landscape surrounding him.


    To Burn''s surprise, what he had mistaken for aloofness or lack of seriousness was actually a calculated approach to understanding and navigating the complexities of relationships and power dynamics between his students.


    Belezak wasn''t holding back his power; he was channeling it through the channels of influence and persuasion, like a true political virtuoso.


    In fucking Force training!


    So, being "political" in Belezak''s world wasn''t about conniving schemes or selfish gains. It was about being strategic, about knowing when to assert oneself and when to yield, about seeing the bigger picture and choosing the path that best served not only oneself but others as well.


    He even put ¡°Love¡± into ¡°Politics¡±!


    Belezak defined ¡°Politics¡± in its most literal sense, as "Being Wise" and "Doing What¡¯s Best in Certain Situations for Everyone¡¯s Equal Benefit."


    In Belezak''s world, politics was a harmonious utopia where everyone skips hand in hand towards equal benefit, like a children content with fewer singing animals and more diplomatic resolutions. It was a beautiful, rose-tinted view of the cutthroat world of politics, but he was determined to make it work.


    "But he wasn¡¯t naive like you. He knew full well of reality and what it could do to him," Burn said. "Too bad that only knowing could bring him so far."


    ¡°So¡­ for Father, his power was never about power itself. It was always about his ultimate intention?" Yvain asked. "You mean, he would mold his Force to create a fight that wasn¡¯t for the sake of fighting itself, but to change people''s minds?"


    ¡°Yes," Burn said. ¡°It was explainable and unexplainable at the same time. Force, in the end, is an art that was created by creations. Thus, intention could, in theory, be its best window for mastery."


    Yvain fell into silence. Intention¡­ "It¡¯s the complete opposite of specialties in Vision art¡­"


    ¡°That sounds so clear.¡±


    Suddenly Morgan said.


    Burn and Yvain turned to the woman who had been sprawled on the ground just a moment ago, listening to their conversation all this time. She now lay sideways on the ground and no one saw her transition from a floor ornament to an alluring accidental seductress.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard Force art being explained so clearly to me like this. I understand it better now,¡± she said.

 78 - Relationship

    ¡°There was no one who taught you about Force before?¡± Burn asked as he escorted Morgan back to her room. They left Yvain to train alone since there was no longer a point for Burn to teach him more than that for now.


    Morgan chuckled. ¡°As you know, I have no talent in it. My body couldn¡¯t even muster a proper push-up.¡±


    ¡°But how could no one, ever, tell you about it?¡± Burn was a bit suspicious of the woman¡¯s social circle. She was the legendary witch; there was no way she had no basic in-depth knowledge about Force at all.


    ¡°Every Force user¡­ no, anyone who was knowledgeable about Force, took one look at me and deemed me completely hopeless, refusing to elaborate,¡± Morgan explained.


    She turned to Burn and narrowed her eyes. ¡°If we didn¡¯t have this relationship, I¡¯m quite certain you would do the same.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t refute that. It was indeed a complete waste of time to teach someone so untalented.


    ¡°I thought all this time, Force users are muscle brains who only had physical training in their mind¡­ apparently not,¡± Morgan remarked, her tone laced with admiration despite a subtle hint of insult.


    Burn didn¡¯t refute her comment, acknowledging the perception many held about Force users. He understood the misconceptions surrounding their training and abilities, which often overshadowed the nuanced understanding that actually defined their practice.


    ¡°Well, compared to Vision users who placed their trust in what God gave them, believing that their journey would be equal, Force is the complete opposite. We acknowledge our limitations and work around them. There¡¯s nothing equal about it at all,¡± Burn explained.


    Morgan, impressed by Burn''s insight, hummed in a beautiful melodious tone, her eyes reflecting the fading light of the setting sun, ¡°Hmm~ You must be suuuuuper talented.¡±


    ¡°I am not,¡± Burn suddenly refuted.


    The solemn ambiance deepened as they paused. Their intertwined arms as they walked back to her room were painted in hues of red and gold, signaling the approaching dusk.


    "My body was average. If I went to any Force user or teacher, they would likely refuse me," Burn said. "But... no one actually told me that I was hopeless. The people around you are wrong."


    Somehow, Morgan was left breathless.


    "You mean..." Morgan whispered. "Even someone like me... can learn Force art?"


    Unbeknownst to her, her face was flushed. There was nothing but pure excitement and admiration in her bluest of blue, and it somewhat made Burn feel a little better.


    Little did he realize, he was a tad irked that everyone around her had told her that mastering Force art was out of her reach, deeming her hopeless.


    ¡°There¡¯s no equality in Force art, but everyone can give it a try. Someone with no legs can learn, someone with no arms too. They might seem hopeless, but the possibility is never zero,¡± Burn cleared his throat, ¡°Even though you have zero talent¡­¡±


    By the way, Burn''s subtle jab at Morgan''s talent brought a chuckle to her.


    "But what if my body can¡¯t gather or generate mana at all?" Morgan asked softly.


    "Try to supply it from your Vision. I¡¯m sure you can start with that," Burn said.


    "You can do that?" Morgan gasped in admiration again.


    "Like you can supply mana from outside, like Mana potions, and my kisses, I¡¯m sure you can also support it from elsewhere," Burn answered.


    "That¡¯s so cool!"


    "And by the time you master your body, I¡¯m sure you will be able to generate and gather mana with your body too."


    "You think so?"


    "Yes."


    "Caliburn, you¡¯re so smart!"


    "I just refuse to be stupid."


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    "Heheheh, a genius is different after all~"


    "Heh."


    ***


    As planned, the next week, they began their march to Inkia. Despite Burn''s assertion that Morgan and Yvain were not needed, they insisted on joining, leaving the three kingdoms under the supervision of Burn¡¯s men.


    Before setting off, Morgan prepared a collection of enchanted artifacts for Yvain and Burn to wear. However, Burn felt no need to adorn himself with any and graciously allowed Morgan to bestow them upon his knights.


    Yvain received a new scepter, while Galahad and the others who accompanied them to war received enchanted rings, earrings, brooches, and garments.


    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t have access to your treasures yet, correct?¡± Burn inquired as Morgan added additional enchantments to his armor. ¡°Where were they stored?¡±


    It was the first day of their march, with night descending upon them.


    ¡°They¡¯re far,¡± Morgan remarked, pausing her hand.


    ¡°Far?¡± Burn blinked. ¡°You¡¯ve regained your strength, so I assume you can travel anywhere in a matter of seconds with your magic, can¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s beyond the reach of magic,¡± Morgan scolded, slapping his arm lightly, ¡°Stay still, I need to concentrate.¡±


    Despite Burn''s initial refusal of her artifacts, Morgan insisted on imbuing his equipment with enchantments instead. They were sitting in front of a fire, chatting among themselves while the others prepared the campsite.


    Yvain was nowhere to be seen after saying he wanted to see how the food would be cooked, and Galahad ran around supervising things. It was quite peaceful around Burn and Morgan.


    ¡°If you have to go to retrieve your treasures to help you recover better after the aftereffects of the curse, just go. Yvain is safe with me,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°I know. That¡¯s not what I¡¯m worried about,¡± Morgan finished her enchantment. Immediately, the expensive mithril armor he bought from the outsiders now felt as light as a feather but still had a protective sensation while wearing it.


    It seemed that she reduced friction between the pieces too, allowing him to move more freely, with better sensory feedback.


    ¡°What are you worried about, then?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°That I¡¯ll be gone for too long,¡± Morgan answered. ¡°I told you it¡¯s far.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± Burn couldn¡¯t believe it would be that far, but when he saw Morgan sigh and point upward, he was proven wrong.


    She pointed to the sky¡ªto the moon.


    "No... really?" Burn raised both eyebrows skeptically.


    "I''ll go grab them after we solve this loop," Morgan softly said, trying to hide her concern. "Now, hands."


    Burn mindlessly extended his hands like a dog to its master, obeying Morgan''s every whim without a second thought. As he let her enchant his gloves, he realized it had become a charming daily routine for him to dance to Morgan''s tune, a reality that occasionally made him want to roll his eyes into another dimension.


    But he decided to save that eye-rolling exercise for later.


    Morgan, on the other hand, was genuinely concerned for Burn. She knew he''d probably scoff at the sight of her "worry," but that didn''t stop her from sneakily casting enchantments on every single piece of clothing he owned, even the ones he only wore to bed. Because, you know, nothing says "I care about you" like bewitching your pajamas.


    Burn had heard that Vision users were only half as formidable sans their precious treasures. Yet, he couldn''t help but wonder if Morgan, with her supposedly infinite soul, was the outlier in this equation.


    Surprisingly, despite his stubborn resistance to being coddled, Burn couldn''t deny the tangible effects of Morgan''s enchantments. Maybe, just maybe, he was reluctantly warming up to the idea of having someone like her by his side. Someone who, against all odds, seemed to genuinely give a darn about his well-being.


    He just needed to get used to it.


    "It¡¯s done,¡± Morgan said cheerfully. She stood and pulled Burn¡¯s hand toward his tent. ¡°Let¡¯s go change before dinner.¡±


    Burn simply followed her as she pulled his hand, hearing the little hums and noises she made. Not only to him, her cheerful mood affected the people around and gave them a little glimpse of heaven.


    "Isn''t it just grand to have an empress in charge?" Morien quipped, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.


    "Absolutely," Tristan chimed in with an agreeing sigh.


    "The balance does seem rather delightful. No more tiptoeing awkwardly on eggshells around His Majesty," Yvolt added, a chuckle underlining her words.


    "And to witness His Majesty bending to someone else''s will is quite the sight, isn''t it?" Galahad remarked. "A pleasant change, albeit a surprising one."


    "You lot have it all wrong!"


    The knights spun around at the youthful voice that interrupted their conversation. Yvain strode toward them, a half-eaten sandwich in hand, still munching away as he spoke. "It''s my Master''s behavior that''s actually surprising."


    "How so, Your Majesty?" Galahad inquired.


    "You guys have only just met Master, so you''re not privy to her usual demeanor.¡±


    ¡°She''s a rather gloomy person, rarely cracking a smile unless absolutely necessary. I¡¯ve never seen her laugh so much. And as for going the extra mile, well, that''s a rarity for her, unless it involves delving into the realms of magic," Yvain explained between bites, his tone carrying a subtle hint of amusement.


    "That¡¯s¡­ strange,¡± Tristan remarked, a hint of bewilderment in his voice.


    He imagined that Morgan was always cheerful and radiant no matter the situation, since they often saw her sharing laughter by Burn¡¯s side. She seemed like the sort who laughs at tempest or hurricane.


    Well, if you count Burn as a storm or hurricane, then the analogy fits.


    ¡°It¡¯s rather challenging to fathom that someone like His Majesty could actually ignite joy in another''s life, don¡¯t you think?¡± Morien murmured wryly.


    Typically, Burn¡¯s mere presence would drain the positivity from those around him¡ªif there was any to begin with. He would exacerbate the situation further if the atmosphere was already gloomy.


    Yet, here we have Morgan, basking in good spirits around him?


    "Temper your enthusiasm for now. Remember, His Majesty remains the very essence of evil. Let¡¯s not disregard the trials we¡¯ve already endured," a woman''s voice interjected.


    Dame Landevale joined the discussion, fresh from honing her rapier. With a reassuring hand on the hilt of her sword, she remarked, "Alas, dear Miss Morgan. Her delicate heart may soon find itself shattered."

 79 - The Effect Is Butterflying

    "Alas, dear Miss Morgan. Her delicate heart may soon find itself shattered."


    In a hush, her words hung in the air, unnerving even Yvain who was unable to deny the possibility. But then, with an eye-roll as dramatic as a knight''s valor, Galahad interjected, ¡°And yet, you swore eternal allegiance to him.¡±


    At the Holy Grail ceremony, Landevale swiftly poured her Force essence into the cup¡ª


    ¡°This and that are entirely different matters!¡± she blurted, caught off guard, then awkwardly coughed. ¡°I did it because it''s the best option for our world.¡±


    Galahad, undeterred, prodded, ¡°Remember when you blacked out drunk, sobbed uncontrollably after glimpsing His Majesty being charmed by noblewomen at gatherings?¡±


    ¡°N-no, that had nothing to do with it! I definitely wasn''t crying because of that!¡± Landevale vehemently protested.


    ¡°And you broke off your engagement with His Majesty a decade past just to pursue knighthood, only to secretly regret it, correct?¡± Galahad¡¯s patience wore thin.


    ¡°NO, I DIDN''T!¡± Landevale yelled in exasperation.


    With a furious flush of embarrassment, the woman stormed away.


    Yvain turned at Galahad, blinking in confusion. ¡°Woah, poor Dame Landevale¡­¡±


    Galahad chuckled¡ª¡±Cough, why, Your Majesty?¡±


    ¡°Being engaged to someone like His Majesty? Breaking off the engagement seems wise..." Yvain sighed, shaking his head.


    ¡°Your Majesty, your Master is also¡­¡±


    ¡°Master is different. She¡¯s crazy, so it¡¯s fine!¡± Yvain boasted, proudly puffing out his chest. "His Majesty gave the nod to cut ties, and Dame Landevale must''ve pondered over it thoroughly, so what''s there to fuss about, right?"


    ¡°You¡¯re so mature, Your Majesty,¡± Galahad smiled.


    A common spectacle in noble circles involved puppeteered engagements arranged when the participants were too nescient to tie their own shoelaces. It was more of an agreement between families than individuals.


    Burn, previously showing as much interest in romantic entanglements as a rock, likely had his own agenda, possibly involving ambitions and circumstances. The abrupt pursuit of Morgan by a character like him was as out of place as a cow in a chicken coop.


    "As for Dame Landevale, she may have hit the nail on the head this time. But my Master can handle heartbreak for once," Yvain intoned with a hint of bitter acceptance, ready to face the music.


    The boy sighed helplessly. "She''s left a trail of shattered hearts in her wake. It¡¯s karma. This may just be the universe balancing its books over a morning cup of coffee."


    ***


    Ah, the grand theatrical production of Soulnaught Empire''s march towards the Inkia Kingdom, a journey filled with adventure, and a touch of impending doom.


    With banners billowing in the wind and armor clanking like a never-ending percussion ensemble, they knew they were in for a treat¡ªthe treat being five days of grueling trekking.


    The army found themselves thrust into the wild embrace of nature. The western part of the continent they ruled was not called the "Land of Smooth Roads and Pleasant Weather" but rather the "Realm of Stubborn Mountains and Unforgiving Terrain." How delightful.


    Through forests they trudged, swatting away pesky branches and keeping a wary eye out for any woodland critters plotting an ambush. And let''s not forget the joy of navigating those charming mountain passes¡ªa delightful mix of heart-stopping cliffs and paths so narrow that even a squirrel would consider them tight.


    And oh, the supply wagons! Those poor, overburdened contraptions creaked along like they had a personal grudge against their drivers, sometimes requiring the assistance of sturdy machination just to make it up a slight incline.


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    Yet, through it all, Burn''s army persevered with the kind of determination only found in those facing certain doom. Each night brought a new adventure in makeshift camp-building, whether it be a cozy rocky outcropping or a spacious forest clearing (if they were lucky).


    And on the fifth day, as the sun lazily peeked over the horizon, the valiant army finally arrived at the border of the Inkia Kingdom, their destination gloriously in sight.


    The real fun, of course, was yet to come as they prepared to face their foe on the battlefield.


    "Do you think it will still be the same?¡± Morgan asked.


    "The battle?¡± Burn asked back. ¡°The battle won¡¯t change. I will still win."


    If it was the Battle of Inkia from every other loop, assassination attempts were like a game of poison-drenched darts aimed at Burn. He had "dodge assassination" on his daily to-do list. So, Burn, feeling like a walking target, strutted over to Inkia faster than you could say "dastardly deeds."


    But in this loop, strangely, it seemed like the would-be assassins hit a roadblock in their diabolical plans. Burn couldn''t help but notice a decrease in assassination attempts. Maybe the Round Table''s vigilance paid off after that disastrous welcome party episode¡ªnothing like a wake-up call to tighten security, right?


    With Morgan as his shadow, entering Burn''s bedroom became a near-impossible feat for any budding assassin. And let''s not forget Yvain, the young King who stepped up his game alongside the rest of Burn''s diligent subordinates.


    Thanks to that, this time, Burn didn¡¯t have that much of an issue before his march.


    Speaking of, preparing the march itself with the Round Table crew went without a hitch. Percival alone was enough for Soulnaught, and the rest¡­


    Picturing Bedivere and Gawain chilling in Edensor with Yvain¡¯s subordinates, probably arguing over battle strategies while Sagramore, Erec, and Howl held down the fort in the deserted Elysian, empty but not for long. Talk about a real estate upgrade.


    Of course, the VIP squad¡ªGalahad, Landevale, Morien, Yvolt, and Tristan¡ªstuck to Burn like a particularly loyal group of medieval paparazzi. Can''t go wrong with that kind of backup crew, right?


    Then, if we were talking about references from other loops, after this, Inkia decided to play puppet master with their connections, stirring up chaos like it was their favorite pastime.


    Wintersin would come for Soulnaught¡¯s northern region, and Burn? Well, after the first battle here on the border of Inkia, he''d be off to show them how it''s done, one battle at a time.


    Troubles were far from over¡ªseems like the assassins just couldn''t resist spreading the love to other targets. Galahad found himself in the spotlight, racking up assassination attempts like badges of honor, holding the record for most attempts when they realized Burn was untouchable.


    Down the rank, Percival, Gawain, Bedivere, and even Landevale. Everyone got a taste of the unwanted attention.


    The pressure cooker of danger must''ve been at boiling point when Burn decided to spread his wings and join battles far and wide, helping his knights to win them.


    Just when one thought a break was in sight, Inkia decided to go full throttle. Like a puppeteer expertly manipulating strings with the resources of Saint Lucia Academy, they artfully stirred up conflict between Burn and the various mythical communities.


    Now, involving the pacifist communities of mythical ranks was too much. Burn wasn''t exactly thrilled about the prospect of dealing with the Southern Elven tribe or the Northern Dwarf community.


    And let''s not forget Inkia¡¯s delightful ingenuity of herding Orc and Goblin tribes to send them towards Soulnaughts outskirt villages, spreading Burn''s manpower ever so thin.


    So, it was no surprise that the grand spectacle of subduing Inkia ended up being a marathon lasting a substantial two years. One could only imagine the sheer joy of all involved in such a prolonged and riveting affair.


    In hindsight, perhaps Inkia had a penchant for turning what could have been a short-lived skirmish into a drawn-out saga for the ages. How thoughtful of them to gift Burn with such diverse challenges and opportunities for personal growth.


    In the end, one must commend the sheer dedication and creativity displayed by Inkia in making this conflict a truly unforgettable experience for all parties involved. Bravo, indeed.


    While it was clear that Burn knew everything that would happen, the strings of events were tricky to solve.


    He was definitely all-knowing, but also a conveniently laid-back manipulator of events. In the previous loops, instead of dealing with them before they happened, he risked letting them happen anyway to lessen the butterfly effect and make sure everything remained predictable.


    After all, why not dance on the fine line between meddling and maintaining predictability? How cunning of him to sit back and watch the chaos unfold before stepping in, all for the sake of keeping things on track. Of course, with minor adjustments.


    He didn¡¯t lose much, and it was better in the long run, and in the end, Inkia¡¯s struggle would be futile anyway. Inkia¡¯s efforts were as effective as shouting at a brick wall in a hurricane.


    Since they were the second VIP customer of the outsider, second only to Velaryon, their last attempt was to ask these out-world invaders to avenge them before throwing in the white towel of surrender.


    The outsiders would come, eventually, with the White Dwarf.


    But this time, the last boss had been defeated, and the effect was butterflying. The knowledge from the past loops had become utterly useless.

 80 - Painless

    Burn felt it had been an eternity since he used a living, breathing horse.


    Adorned in its ceremonial mithril armor, the horse sashayed across the vast plain on the border of Soulnaught and Inkia, aiming for the enemy''s doorstep.


    If you were to inquire with Burn, he''d likely argue vehemently that this plain still fell under Soulnaught''s jurisdiction.


    However, truth be told, even the most devoted Soulnaughtians seemed to have forgotten this forgotten patch of land. Perhaps it was due to the rather inconvenient mountainous obstacle course separating this place from the heart of Soulnaught.


    Burn knew that this vast plain had also been used as a battlefield a couple of hundred years ago. The land was scorched by a high concentration of magic that only the most stubborn grass could now populate.


    His horse clip-clopped down the plain, slowly, purposefully relaxed. And seeing him trudging down toward them, the representative of the Inkia Army also decided to meet him in the middle.


    "My lord, Your Majesty Pendragon, fancy meeting you here! It''s been what, a century since our last meeting?"


    As the renowned, ever-humble army commander of Inkia, Finn Wilderwood, greeted Burn, memories of their last encounter flooded back. It was back in the ancient times of this very year, right around the moment Burn decided to shake things up and declare war on the universe.


    Oh, and who could forget? This fine fellow even made an appearance at Burn''s grand coronation, alongside the King of Inkia himself, and popping in occasionally after Burn showed those outsiders who was boss.


    He was the crowned champion of continental bootlicking.


    Finn, bless his devoted soul, dared to grace Burn''s doorstep, bravely attempting to plant the seed of ''reconsideration'' in Burn''s mind about taking over the entire world. Naturally, his efforts were swiftly brushed aside.


    Now, Burn wasn''t one to harbor ill feelings. After all, Finn was the lone Inkian who made a half-hearted attempt to cozy up to the Soulnaught rulers. Maybe it wasn''t out of the goodness of his heart, but Finn understood that challenging Burn was about as wise as juggling flaming swords blindfolded.


    ¡°Looks like you brought the whole circus with you,¡± Burn remarked, eyeing the army Finn had mustered.


    Finn smirked. ¡°Hey, desperate times call for a backup choir. You can¡¯t blame me. I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, after all. In this case, it was an unstoppable force and a group of stupid politicians.¡±


    It was a sight to see Finn stepping out of his usual diplomatic shell. But let¡¯s face it, when you¡¯re dangling over a pit of hungry crocodiles, etiquette tends to take a nosedive. It was not everyday he was wedged between a tsunami and a flock of clueless pigeons.


    ¡°I heard someone was sent and ended up stabbing you?¡± Finn asked. ¡°That¡¯s uncalled for¡­¡±


    ¡°Just Tuesdays,¡± Burn casually shrugged.


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    It was a bit peculiar. Witnessing Finn deviate from his usual loop behavior was like finding a pineapple on a pizza¡ªunexpected and not quite right. It appeared he had been pushed beyond his limits more harshly this time.


    In prior loops, this gentleman bravely guarded the border, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope. Even when Burn killed him each and every loop, he seemed surprisingly unfazed by it.


    ¡°Your family got the classic hostage card?¡± Burn asked, as if unraveling a well-worn mystery.


    ¡°Well, doesn¡¯t that just scream ''civilized society'' to you?¡± Finn retorted wryly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. ¡°There¡¯s this delightful, violent playdate between the prime minister¡¯s fan club and the first prince¡¯s cheer squad.¡±


    The man explained that Burn had started to irritate both political parties, and Finn had borne the brunt of their frustrations. He was threatened with his family on the line; if he couldn¡¯t take Burn out, his family would be stripped of their assets and sold as slaves.


    This never happened in the previous loops.


    The main reason was probably the utter lack of successful attempts that could even touch Burn except the first one. In the previous loops, they could still sneak into his bedroom, slip poison into his morning coffee, you name it, even though they still failed.


    But now, every single attempt couldn¡¯t reach Burn due to his diligent subordinates and Morgan.


    With that, Burn probably had sucked up far too much of their attention. Quite the escalation for just a single week.


    Which means, now, not only did Finn have to bite the dust, but his family would get the short end of the stick too¡ªslaves in the making. Yet, that was just a drop in the ocean compared to the other bombshells.


    Take, for instance, the colossal army Finn paraded in with. He went all out, betting it all on a losing hand. All for nothing, all for one. Maybe that was his way of retaliating. He was well aware that everyone in this place was headed for the grave, thus Inkia would feel the burn too.


    "For the love of God, Your Majesty, could you please wrap up this war swiftly? Crush Inkia in months? No, scratch that, I bet you could do it in days."


    Finn only wanted a swift death.


    Burn didn''t immediately answer, but he listened and witnessed everything the man had to say. Before responding, he decided to remind Finn of his offer from a couple of years back: "You sure you don¡¯t want to switch sides?"


    The emperor didn¡¯t expect it, but upon hearing that, Finn looked more shocked than he ever had before. The man suddenly burst out laughing.


    ¡°¡ªBH¡ªHAHAHAHAH! HAHAHA!¡±


    The pressure had been suffocating, making it seem like laughter had become a long-lost memory for Finn. The thought of his family suffering in his death weighed heavily on him.


    "The offer still stands? Man, I''m so tempted to turn around and join you," Finn said, a tinge of regret in his voice.


    But alas, it was too late.


    If only he had known earlier, he would have secured his family first and then kicked off a rebellion. Now, at last, he was ready to join Burn''s camp. He cursed himself for his past stupid patriotism and loyalty.


    "Would you have done it if it hadn''t been too late?" Burn inquired. "Let''s say, one or two weeks ago."


    "Hmm, absolutely," Finn mused. "Now that''s a thought, Your Majesty. Thanks for sharing my regret."


    Burn simply nodded.


    Just like the assassin who stabbed Burn in the chest, screaming ''Long live Inkia,'' Finn was also one of the many shadows of Inkia¡¯s long-past glory. Inkia was great, but no more.


    ¡°Inkia will drag this war with every single card they have,¡± Burn said. "I''ll fill you in on the details later. So prepare for the grand tour without the grumbling."


    It would be enough to entrust the man with Inkia¡¯s invasion later. He was quick-witted and well-connected too, judging from the army he brought.


    Inkia would suffer quite a bit after Burn defeated this army amassed under the Wilderwood flag. He could imagine Finn lobbying the other nobles to contribute parts of their armies, effectively chipping away at Inkia''s defense and manpower.


    ¡°Later?¡± Finn tilted his head in confusion. ¡°Later when?¡±


    Wasn¡¯t this the end of his journey?


    ¡°Later, in the next loop,¡± Burn grinned.


    Finn blinked, and somehow, it was a painless death. He was certain of it when he saw his vision halved, parts of his brain scattered on the ground.


    The lower half of his face smiled. Burn had granted him the exact thing he wanted.

 81 - Crumbling Sword

    Burn was evil, and he would never deny it. In the previous loops, and even now, instead of opting for diplomatic solutions, he would choose to kill people instead.


    It was more effective, even though sometimes it was harder. Well, harder for anyone else except him.


    He could, for example, try and probe around for a solution without war or fight. He could use his wealth, connections, and strategies to forge a bloodless path. But simply, the disadvantages of using that path outweighed the benefits.


    In any loop, Finn didn¡¯t need to die. It was actually the exact same case as Yvain. And saving Finn in the next loop wouldn¡¯t change Burn as a person.


    He had killed Finn every time. It was an unalterable fact, no one could say otherwise.


    Even with the loops reset and his crime nullified, it didn¡¯t erase the sin he committed. It didn¡¯t change Burn, or lay a finger on the core of who Burn was as a person.


    A tyrant. A murderer. A villain.


    So, he killed Finn again today, as usual. Simply because he wanted to humor his last wishes in this loop, and well, let''s face it, it was too late in this loop anyway.


    This marks the final loop where he killed him.


    Burn had one urgent matter at hand: to uncover what had killed him and triggered the next loop. At least for the time being, by eliminating Finn, there would be fewer disruptions in the timeline, and it might shed some light on the issue.


    "ATTACK!"


    Even before the rest of Finn¡¯s body hit the ground from his steed¡ªbefore the man¡¯s horse even registered its master''s death¡ªGalahad had thrust his sword toward the sky to the east, bellowing his war cry.


    Burn stared at his sword, the same sword he used to fight against the White Dwarf. In his previous loops, it crumbled a war after the fight.


    He wondered if it would crumble after this war too.


    His army surged forward behind him, advancing toward Finn''s bewildered and stunned troops.


    Burn, for his part, had no intention of letting them escape. Today, he planned to lay them to rest alongside their commander right here on the battlefield. Such an honor should be appreciated by them. Today, not one of them would come home.


    Not when their leader couldn''t.


    Burn urged his horse forward, creating a platform with his Force for the horse to climb into the air. He flicked his sword as he gained altitude, sending attacks towards the enemy''s backline.


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    SLASH¡ªBZZZZZT¡ªHUMMMM¡ªBOOOM!!!


    Creating a vacuum through the air, his slashes prevented anyone from escaping. The ground trembled beneath the weight of his power, each strike a symphony of destruction orchestrated with finesse.


    BZZZZZZZZT¡ªBOOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


    Mass destruction chain occurred on the ground, while Galahad led his army to sandwich the enemy between battle and certain death.


    After a few minutes, Burn couldn''t help but notice his once-mighty sword crumbling in the wind. Perched imperiously on his steed in the sky above the battlefield, he casually glanced towards the east, pondering what new form of peril awaited his illustrious presence.


    Would it be a tea party of ruthless enemies or perhaps a delightful stroll through fields of chaos and mayhem? Something certainly killed him.


    Amidst the cacophony of heavy machinery bought from those oh-so-trustworthy outsiders, with their shiny new technologies aiming to outsmart both Force and Vision between both parties, Burn simply stood there, the picture of patience as he waited for the chaos to simmer down.


    And lo and behold, as he predicted with the precision of a seer, not a single reinforcement sauntered in even after the dust settled from a battle that saw the Inkia army wiped out a clean 100% and his own Soulnaught boasting a flawless record of zero casualties.


    Finn¡¯s troops were truly meant for sacrifice.


    After this, Burn needed to head north to deal with Inkia¡¯s retaliation through Wintersin¡¯s army. The upcoming battle posed a significant challenge, as they possessed resources comparable to Soulnaught''s and a military might unmatched by any adversary Burn¡¯s army had faced thus far.


    As the battle drew to its conclusion, the dusk descended upon the battlefield like a tired actor after a long day''s work. The sky painted its usual crimson hue over the charred, blood-soaked earth, as if nature itself was in on the macabre spectacle.


    On his loyal stallion, Burn leisurely made his way back to the encampment. The hills welcomed him with a nonchalant grace, as if they had seen one too many war-weary warriors traipsing their worn paths.


    The wind, descending from the lofty mountains down to the plain, whispered secrets of battles long fought and fallen heroes forgotten. As he rode, the weight of war slowly lifted from Burn''s shoulders, carried away on the gentle breeze like whispers of the fallen.


    The sounds of cleanup echoed in the distance, a morbid symphony of burning bodies and grim tasks undertaken in the aftermath of violence. His army, diligent as ever, toiled away to ensure that nothing but bodies remained, a twisted humor in the meticulousness of their post-war rituals.


    Overall was a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration that only those familiar with the horrors of war could understand.


    As he strolled into the encampment, a figure loomed, poised for his arrival.


    "Your Majesty," a female knight stood in his path, bowing with due deference. "Miss Morgan has requested your presence at her tent."


    Burn dismounted his horse, arching an eyebrow. "What does she want now?"


    "I cannot say, Sir," Landevale replied hesitantly. She neither knew nor cared to delve into Burn''s affairs like her counterparts at the Round Table. Or perhaps it was her unconscious avoidance.


    Burn was still wearing his armor. Although it was spotless with no drop of blood on it, he still felt rude wearing the garments he wore to massacre into the space of the woman he courted. So he went to his tent and changed clothes before heading to Morgan''s.


    But when he swaggered into her tent, he was gobsmacked to lay his eyes on not one, but two additional figures lounging about, besides the tent''s rightful owner and Yvain, loitering behind her.


    Elves.

 82 - Happily Ever After

    "Sit here, Caliburn," Morgan beckoned, tapping the space on the edge of the bed beside her.


    Ah, Morgan''s humble abode, fit for royalty¡ªor not. With its cozy confines and utilitarian furnishings, it was a wonder how she managed to host esteemed guests such as Elves. One table, two chairs, and a bed doubling as seating¡ªtruly a throne room fit for a queen.


    As Burn was about to take one step into the tent, he suddenly heard Morgan effortlessly weaving her words in Elven tongue, her voice a mesmerizing melody of enchantment and grace. The guests, of course, responding in perfect harmony¡ª


    Realizing he was missing out on this riveting linguistic spectacle, Burn swiftly about-faced and summoned Landevale, who was conveniently loitering nearby unoccupied.


    She immediately responded, ¡°Yes, sir?¡±


    "Fetch me the box beneath my bed. Chop-chop," Burn urged.


    He immediately darted back into the tent, eagerly taking his designated spot as instructed by Morgan. He sat there, trying to read the atmosphere between the blonde haired witch and the two, seemingly high ranked, Elves.


    "M¨ªr sh¨ª eth. Th¨¦ losstil rav¨¦lin Caliburn Pendragon," Morgan said in Elven, her voice melodic like a whispering breeze through ancient trees, her hand slithered to grasp Burn¡¯s left hand on his lap.


    "Nar¨ªn dalasai," one of the elves replied, the words flowing with a hint of curiosity. They inquired, "Eth galarien amin haryat eth lalath melamin?"


    "Elad eth l¨¢. Min n¨®tima s¨ª i''¨®la," Morgan responded, her tone gentle but firm, ending the chit-chat with a certain finality.


    As the words danced in the air, Burn observed the two Elves before him. They might as well have been mirror images, resembling a pair of overly eager siblings separated at birth.


    From their matching pale blonde locks to their matching emerald gazes, and let''s not forget their charmingly synchronized expressions and quirks.


    It was almost comical how one mimicked the other''s every move; one could almost mistake them for a well-rehearsed theatrical act. Ah, the wonders of kinship or perhaps just a case of copy-and-paste by nature herself.


    If they had been any more identical, they might have merged into one being by sheer force of habit.


    "This is Rekre and Yukre Emer. Rekre, the father, and Yukre, the son. They hail from the royal lineage of the Elves," Morgan presented them to Burn, who immediately raised his eyebrows.


    Well, of course, they are father and son. They share that timeless elvish charm that makes it a tad hard to tell their age¡ªhe almost thought they were twins.


    A timid voice quivered from outside the tent, "Y-Your Majesty¡­"


    It was Landevale, clutching the box Burn had requested. The young lady couldn''t help but wonder why Burn needed it, imagining a romantic gift for his newfound love interest. Her curiosity had been piqued after all, evident from her lingering presence near the tent previously.


    As Burn prepared to invite her in, Morgan swiftly intervened, cautioning him, "No one in this camp is aware of Rekre and Yukre. I snuck them in."


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    "This is Landevale. She has pledged her loyalty to me," Burn reassured her, with a nod from Morgan validating his words. Giving a signal, Burn beckoned the female knight to enter, "Come in, Landevale."


    As Landevale stepped in, her blush drained from her face, leaving her looking like a startled rabbit. To her surprise, there were not one, but two Elves present in this rather unassuming tent!


    ¡°Landevale,¡± Burn¡¯s voice broke through her shock, coaxing her to hand him the box. Despite her initial bewilderment, she quickly regained her composure upon seeing Burn disentangle his hand from Morgan¡¯s grasp to receive the box.


    "K¨®r shal sineth. Eth ¨¦rsha m¨ªr dr¨®s¨ª kal sha¨ªn bel¨®re¨ª," Morgan''s words flowed smoothly, assuring the elves that Landevale was no cause for concern.


    Burn opened the box, revealing a mishmash of tools, stationery, and everyday essentials. Among the assortment, he found a small futuristic gadget and pressed the button in the center, instructing Morgan to "Say something in Elvish."


    ¡°Eth¡­ m¨¦lem?¡± Morgan questioned, her tone laced with curiosity.


    Burn donned the other device on his ear, arching an eyebrow in surprise as it seemed the elusive Elvish language had been cataloged in the central system.


    It was a home version of the translation device he had purchased from the outsiders. Discovering that the language had already been preloaded, Burn couldn''t help but feel a twinge of irony.


    Even the most reclusive race in Nethermere, the Elves, had apparently crossed paths with these outsiders.


    After making a few adjustments, Burn handed the box back to Landevale, who suddenly grasped the depth of her misunderstandings. He translated his words into Elven tongue.


    "Please, speak. I can comprehend you now," Burn stated, the device spoke on behalf of him.


    The elves exchanged concerned glances. Rekre piped up, "This is a contraption from the outsiders, correct? Aren''t you worried about it being compromised?"


    The words were being translated well.


    "Don''t fret. I had the traitors of the outsiders inspect them, and it appears there''s no issue," Burn reassured them. Indeed, he had tasked Dirk''s tech lackeys with scrutinizing all significant devices from the outsiders, ensuring no leaks of information occurred.


    Despite being linked to the central system, the AI in charge was designed solely for dishing out language services.


    Sure, it could have had the capability to eavesdrop, but Dirk, the experienced mercenary, lent his expertise to Burn, concocting a clever cocktail of signal addresses to maintain anonymity and keep prying eyes at bay.


    It was the usual basic operational requirements for mercenaries like them after all.


    ¡°Then, I will trust you,¡± Rekre said.


    ¡°I appreciate it,¡± Burn nodded.


    Burn wasn''t exactly thrilled about being on the bad side of the non-human communities. Dealing with beings who could outlast his race was like playing a never-ending game of catch-up from birth, with them being stronger than he was in this age before he was even born.


    So, he was being more careful around them, always mindful not to step on any immortal toes.


    And hey, keeping them on friendly terms was a no-brainer¡ªthose supernatural folks had stash of goodies that put human resources to shame.


    Thus, why pick a fight with Vlad when you could potentially team up for some mythical benefits? Burn wasn''t that dense.


    As for duking it out with any non-human races, well, let''s just say Burn wasn''t eager to enroll in a disadvantageous battle. Even if he managed a victory, what''s the prize? Probably just a headache and no golden ticket.


    Same old story with those pointy-eared troublemakers.


    In a world where each move could mean eternal consequences, Burn figured it¡¯s best to steer clear of unnecessary drama with creatures who had more millennia under their belt than he had brain cells.


    Who needs enemies when you''ve got centuries-old beings with a knack for holding grudges? Not Burn, that''s for sure.


    Thus why, even in the previous loops, Burn dodged showdowns with them until the eleventh hour. If not for those magical roadblocks, he could''ve conquered Inkia quicker than a squirrel on a nut hunt. Them, added with the likes of Wintersin and Inkia¡¯s deck stacked with surprises.


    So, he actually already knew what they were about to say today¡ªthe reasons they had for being vigilant with him from the start and how Inkia blew over the flame of discord between them¡ª


    "We are shocked that Her Holiness has apparently found her mate. Congratulations on your union," Rekre suddenly announced, tossing Burn''s expectations straight out the window and into the realm of pure disbelief.


    Burn, utterly flabbergasted, slowly turned to Morgan, who smiled.


    Rekre and Yukre respectfully bowed, expressing, "After centuries of anticipation, we''re thrilled to witness your long-awaited happily ever after, Your Holiness."

 83 - The Elves’ Circumstance

    "I thank thee for thy kind words. ''Tis *error* gladdening to know thou hast held me in such regard. However, I do regret that this tidings *error* hath taken thee by surprise, prompting thy personal visit unto me. I should have pondered more wisely and paid thee and the *error* Queen a visit in the Great Forest."


    Burn creased his eyebrows. When Morgan spoke in the ancient elven tongue, her words dripped with honey dipped in stardust, leaving a trail of enchantment in its wake.


    Rekre and Yukre smiled. "Please, Your Holiness, of course, we must visit you personally. When you sent your messages to us, we almost slipped and fell in our haste to tell the Queen excitedly."


    "How fares the Queen, *error*? Doth she enjoy good *error* health and happiness? And what of the royal kin? I trust all is well within the kingdom, devoid of any *error* troubling plight," inquired Morgan.


    Those who heard her speaking could almost feel the centuries-old wisdom resonating in her melodious tone, as if the very fabric of reality paused to listen in awe. But it was definitely different from the language Rekre spoke.


    "Yes, she has been awaiting your visit and was heartbroken upon hearing of your disappearance. The elven community wanted to go and search for you ourselves, but some circumstances held us back," Rekre glanced at Yvain.


    "Please forgive us for not lending our help when you were at peril, Holy Disciple," Rekre added to the boy, who raised his face and smiled.


    "Thank you... for your... concern and kind words," Yvain said with a bit of a stutter, because he had only learned a little of the Elven tongue. Even though he could understand them, he couldn¡¯t speak fluently yet.


    "That is why we are so surprised that your husband is the... ahem," Rekre turned to Burn and cleared his throat. The man trembled and shed cold sweat, his eyes blank when he continued, "The... famous... tyrant."


    Morgan smiled softly and gently dismissed it, saying, "The issues betwixt us hath been resolved. There lies *error* naught between us anon."


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± Burn suddenly interjected. The two elves flinched violently in fear and Morgan turned to him in concern.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Caliburn?¡± Morgan asked. The timing was a bit bad as Burn realized Morgan might be worried he was offended by them calling him a tyrant.


    But he was curious about something else.


    ¡°I keep hearing errors when you speak. At first glance your speech pattern is different. It works fine for Sir Rekre and Yukre¡¯s speech. And somehow it translates your words to ancient common language,¡± Burn said.


    He added, ¡°Also, why am I your mate or husband? We haven¡¯t had a wedding yet¡­¡±


    GASP!


    Morgan gasped in complete shock, her face turning a delightful shade of crimson. She refuted, ¡°No, there¡¯s no word for lovers in elven language, please understand!¡±


    Oh, so she thought of them as lovers¡­?


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    Burn silently held his grin.


    ¡°There¡¯s actually a word for referencing one¡¯s lover, it¡¯s ¡®m¨ªr tresna¡¯,¡± Yukre interjected, hearing the translated conversation between Burn and Morgan through the device¡¯s speaker.


    Morgan immediately turned to them, her countenance yet flushed crimson. "W-wherefore dost thou employ ''Love'' in lieu of ''Lover''?!"


    ¡°Well, you love your lover, so why not?¡± Yukre chuckled.


    Rekre snorted, ¡°Youngsters these days like to make up words. Relationships beyond soulmates and marriages are a sin!¡±


    Burn understood why Morgan carefully introduced him as her ¡®husband¡¯ now, even though one part of it was because there were initially no word for lovers or relationships before marriages.


    Elves were strict about their relationships, so she didn¡¯t want to complicate things by saying that Burn was the man she fucked.


    ¡°And to answer why that device might regard Her Holiness¡¯ certain words as ''errors,'' it is because she speaks in the ancient elven tongue, with an imperial accent, at that,¡± explained Rekre.


    Morgan frowned helplessly, ¡°Dost not tell me thou speaketh not in this manner *error* anymore?¡±


    When hearing the elves speak, she did feel a bit weird about their speech, but she brushed it off as them using simpler terms and phrasing.


    ¡°How can thy language shift so *error* swiftly? Ye *error* are not humans who doth create new words every five years or so¡­¡±


    The device couldn''t catch up with her eloquent literary skills... nor could the elves... or was it the opposite?


    "Egad¡­" Morgan cursed¡ª


    Yep, she was the one who couldn''t catch up.


    Burn bowed his head low, burying his laughter in his right palm, his shoulders trembling from suppressed laugh. Morgan spoke like the typical youth in common language, but perhaps it was a trick Vlad had taught her¡ªreading people''s minds to analyze their language patterns.


    "Now, *error* instruct me in the ways of the new slangs and the quick shifts of language. Thou needst only take my hand," Morgan extended her hand towards them, but Burn intercepted, withdrawing it swiftly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ just¡­ please don¡¯t teach her the modern elven language,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Why not? I¡¯m keen on learning,¡± Morgan argued.


    ¡°No. It¡¯s charming, so keep it that way,¡± Burn said as he held her hand, his eyes subtly warmed. ¡°You sound beautiful. Stay as you are.¡±


    At first, Rekre suspected something fishy between Morgan and Burn. He toyed with the thought that Burn might be holding Morgan or Yvain hostage or some other nefarious purpose. But to his relief, it seemed Burn genuinely cared for her.


    "It¡¯s a bit out of character to see you care so much about human affairs, Your Holiness. You tend to avoid involving yourself with them before. But you suddenly raised a disciple, and now... even getting a husband..." Rekre sighed in relief.


    "I¡¯ve ne¡¯er not cared about human affairs. ''Tis just that my past circumstances art rather complicated. Now, I wilt not turn away from any problem involving any creature in this realm. Now, more than ever, we need to unite," Morgan referenced as she pointed at the sky.


    The outsiders.


    Now Burn grasped why they abhorred his appearance in days of yore. Their bond with Morgan appeared intimate, and the knowledge of how he had contributed to her disciple''s demise likely cast him in a rather unfavorable light. Oh, but that might not be the sole reason.


    The elves, it seemed, harbored a peculiar disdain for outsiders even more than humans. Burn''s proclamation of war could be construed as him needlessly complicating matters, as one is wont to do.


    Oh, and let us not forget the tantalizing whispers of sedition from Inkia and their silver-tongued political lobbyists¡ªtruly, they had the elves contemplating a feud with Burn. And then, of course, there was the paramount issue that weighed heavily on the minds of the elves...


    "As you know, our second princess is stubbornly attending the Saint Lucia Academy as an honorable student. Meanwhile, our first princess is ill. This was the circumstance we mentioned earlier," Rekre said.


    The man raised his face, "Our community had never faced this trouble before, ever. So I am afraid of the escalation of the situation. Your Holiness, now that you¡¯re back, we are sure you have the solution for our predicament."

 84 - A Demon and an Angel

    The elves secretly vanished from the encampment without a trace.


    Landevale slipped out of Morgan''s tent after swearing she wouldn¡¯t say anything about today, while Yvain took off for dinner. And there they were, Burn and Morgan, buried in silence, out-silencing even the crickets outside.


    "Why didn¡¯t you tell me?" Morgan questioned, her eyes barely visible in the shadows as she bowed her head slightly. At first sight, she seemed as emotionless as a brick wall, but Burn saw what was hidden beneath.


    "It wasn¡¯t important. It¡¯s not that I didn¡¯t want to tell you," Burn dragged his voice, aiming for a tone of false sweetness to avoid the heart of the matter.


    "Oh, so it was a non-issue until I stumbled upon it? How convenient for you," Morgan shot back, her eyes flashing with a blend of anger and betrayal.


    "I didn¡¯t know that it¡¯s important at all until now," Burn retorted, attempting to hide the tinge of fear creeping in, like a first-time bungee jumper contemplating the plunge¡ªno this was worse.


    Morgan''s face twisted with hurt as she turned away, her movement slow enough for Burn to almost taste the static electricity crackling in the air.


    She subtly sighed, slowly standing to her feet. She coldly said, ¡°It¡¯s dinner.¡±


    Somehow, the encampment plunged into a bone-chilling -100 degrees today. Normally, such Arctic conditions were a trademark of Burn''s icy displeasure, but this time, it was the lady of the house.


    Absolutely no one knew the reason, except Burn.


    Standing not far from the fire was Burn, his back to Morgan. In front of him was Galahad, handing the emperor his dinner along with Morgan''s.


    The pressure was apocalyptic. Dread spread in the area; even the moon hid behind the clouds.


    How could it not? The lady was usually humming and smiling around, but today, it felt like the vacuum of silence after a flash of lightning, waiting for the sharp thunderclap to shatter the silence.


    The eggshells the walked on were so thin, they might as well have been thinner than if it was Burn''s anger¡ª


    "She''s shooting daggers at me, isn''t she? Does she still look like she''s ready to unleash the fury of a thousand suns?" Burn inquired, turning to Galahad, who had the sudden urge to pull a Houdini and vanish into thin air.


    Galahad contemplated a quick escape, but Burn''s bloodshot gaze pinned him down like a bug under a magnifying glass, leaving him no choice but to face the music. Peeking timidly over Burn''s shoulder, a cold sweat broke out on Galahad''s brow as he beheld the sight that awaited him.


    With the grace of an impending storm cloud, Burn slowly turned around, and in that moment, both men locked eyes with a silent fury so potent, it could have rendered their knees jelly, buckling in perfect synchrony.


    "With all due respect, Your Majesty, what have you done this time?" Galahad asked.


    "I neglected to mention something I was unaware was important," Burn answered.


    "And what exactly did you fail to disclose?" Galahad''s image started to blur as his body shook violently in fear.


    "I didn''t tell her that I killed and ate the meat of a century-old unicorn and... the king of the Merfolk," Burn confessed.


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    "You killed and ate¡ªI''m sorry?" Galahad thought he had misheard.


    For a solid five seconds, Galahad froze, his face blank before an emotionless smile crept across his features. "Your Majesty, do forgive my sudden departure. It seems I have an abundance of work awaiting me."


    He gave up.


    Burn sucked on his cheeks, his jaw so rigid he looked more menacing than usual. But Galahad still left. He didn¡¯t want to die.


    With that, Burn grasped the entirety of his willpower, his sturdy legs turning valiantly toward danger. From afar, the sight of Galahad and Burn turning in opposite directions looked so cinematic, like something out of a movie¡ªone deciding to face danger, and one entrusting it to him.


    ¡®You can do it, Your Majesty,¡¯ Galahad cheered dramatically in his heart, his face filled with trust.


    After a few steps away, the aide decided to glance back, and the sight made him want to kneel in defeat. Because Burn was on bended knee in front of Morgan, handing her her dinner, saying gently, ¡°Eat dinner, Darling.¡±


    ¡®He buckleeeeeeeeeed¡ª!¡¯ Galahad, and the rest of the people witnessing it, screamed internally.


    ***


    Morgan Le Fay was a legendary being.


    Humans didn¡¯t know much about her, but they knew enough. All her accomplishments were laced in both glory¡ªand bloodbath.


    Infinite Witch, a being that was able to eternally fight you. She knew no respite, no faltering steps, no vulnerabilities. She stood akin to a cataclysm, unpredictable and unyielding, her actions a stern decree with no regard for distinction.


    She would only stop when all her foes died.


    A chilling thought, wasn''t it? A ceaseless waltz of conflict that only found closure in the ultimate silence of her enemies. An existence painted in shade of complete and absolute annihilation.


    When it could be talked over, she would talk. But when her foes refused to talk, she would spare no mercy. She stopped past wars with her punishments¡ªstorm after storm of destructive spells over the unyielding corrupts.


    She was half the reason humans and non-human mythical creatures no longer waged war between each other.


    There. That was the main part.


    Morgan often bridged the discourse between mythical beings and humans. And it was clear that Morgan favored the mythical beings over humans.


    It was just humans¡¯ perspective to accuse her of such favor. She was actually a very just person. But records of the past did say that she often sided with the immortals and the mythicals. Of course, it was because humans were usually on the wrong side.


    Seeing how the elves called her "Her Holiness" and spoke to her with utmost respect today too made Burn understand how close Morgan was with the mythical communities.


    Her standing, her status in the eyes of the mythical beings, was the equivalent of the holy Apostle to humans. Or at least, a Saint.


    Burn understood why she was angry that he didn¡¯t tell her about him eating unicorn and merfolk meat.


    Sitting in front of the campfire, she held her food in her lap, resembling the stoic person that Yvain once described. Rarely showing any smiles or laughs.


    Burn sat beside her, noticing she hadn''t touched the food he brought, her eyes blank as she gazed at the fire.


    The elves mentioned that they didn¡¯t initially mind Burn¡¯s declaration of war. If he didn¡¯t harm Yvain, they wouldn¡¯t have thought much of it. However, the issue arose as Burn had a history with mythical creatures.


    This revelation came from the second princess, who shared information she heard at the academy. It stated that the tyrant Burn, who had recently waged war, had killed a unicorn and the Merfolk¡¯s King, and ate their flesh.


    "I didn¡¯t know that this was the reason the elves despised me in the previous loops. Now you had to hear it from them,¡± Burn said, completely acknowledging that he was sorry only because Morgan found out, not because he did kill and eat two mythical creatures.


    ¡°You found out something so disgusting,¡± Burn gently put away her food and sat closer to her. ¡°Sorry for making you lose appetite.¡±


    His words were intentionally gentle, yet there were no attempts at hiding the sinister underlying meanings behind it all. It was almost psychopathic. Almost demonic.


    He didn¡¯t care.


    He didn¡¯t care that any sane person would think of him as a cold-blooded evil who ate sentient creatures¡ªwho could speak and think like humans, just for his personal benefit.


    He didn''t care that he was, indeed, the exact thing they thought of him.


    Staying away from the elephant in the room, he addressed the things he was upset about¡ªthat Morgan had to find out. Now that she was upset and that he had come to this, he started to contemplate wiping out those nosy pointy ears and call it a day.


    And the moment he saw Morgan silently cry, all his gentle facade broke.


    His face darkened.


    ¡°Caliburn¡­ do you even know what you¡¯ve done?¡± Morgan whispered, her defense crumbled to pieces.


    As the demon and the angel fell in love with each other, they could only hurt each other.

 85 - Are You Leaving?

    Of course Burn knew what Morgan was upset about.


    Not because she found out that Burn had killed and eaten two mythical creatures, or that it made him despised by the elves. It was because the man she called ¡®husband¡¯ in front of them was a real villain who indeed killed and ate two mythical creatures.


    She was angry that this was the man she held hands with in front of the elves, who called her ¡°Her Holiness¡±.


    Oh, she wasn¡¯t angry that he made her lose her appetite after they told her that he ate the flesh of two sentient beings, she was disgusted that the man she made love with ate two sentient beings.


    And so, she couldn¡¯t even touch her meal.


    And so, she cried.


    And so¡ª¡°Caliburn¡­ do you even know what you¡¯ve done?¡±


    She questioned him.


    ¡°I know what I¡¯ve done,¡± Burn, his face dark and cold, continued in a voice as deep as the abyss, ¡°And I don¡¯t feel an ounce of guilt for it.¡±


    Her defense crumbled to pieces as she wept silently in front of him. Only the image of her in this state had ripped his heart apart.


    She finally saw the glimpse of void inside him.


    But as much as he wanted to embrace her, hiding her broken form from the world, he knew she would push him away in disgust, knowing what he had done.


    So he sat in front of her, witnessing every second of tears rolling down her cheeks, knowing full well he was the one who caused it. Knowing full well he was tortured along with it.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me¡­?¡± she begged to know once again.


    ¡°If I told you, would you come this far with me?¡± Burn coldly asked.


    "What do you mean? What are you talking about¡­ Caliburn? If you had told me, I would''ve done something about it¡ª" Morgan sobbed, her shoulders trembling vulnerably. "Why didn''t you tell me that you used to have Soulnaught Syndrome...?"


    Burn stopped breathing.


    Something was not right.


    He then remembered how she had held his hand the entire time the revelation unfolded. Unconsciously, he must have thought about his illness when the unicorn and the merfolk king were mentioned¡ªand Morgan had read his mind.


    "My Burn¡ª" Morgan bawled as she hugged Burn''s head, forcing him to bow to her height. "Did you suffer so much...? I didn''t know, and I cursed time under your name¡ª"


    Between her soft weeps and whimpers, in her embrace, Burn froze.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Burn said when he slowly regained his voice.


    Hearing that, Morgan sniveled, ¡°Did you blame me?¡± she asked. ¡°Your soul seemed fine, so I didn¡¯t know¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. My condition was cured after I ate the unicorn and the merfolk,¡± Burn whispered.


    ¡°But what if you relapsed?¡± Morgan started to bawl again. ¡°Did you even realize what you¡¯ve done? You¡¯ve forsaken your humanity once and ate two sentient creatures, and you said you¡¯re fine¡­?¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m alive thanks to it,¡± Burn stroked her back, feeling her frustration.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. When was it?¡± Suddenly, she turned stern and released her embrace, forcing him to face her. With a face red and stained with tears, she demanded, ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°It was 15-16 years ago, I forgot,¡± Burn answered, not counting the time he spent in the loops.


    ¡°You were ten?¡± Morgan almost broke down once again, her eyebrows creased, and her blue eyes watered with more tears, but she held her sobs and squeezed his hands. ¡°You were a child¡­¡±


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    ¡°I was at least eleven. It just happened. I¡¯m fine now,¡± Burn insisted gently, even though traces of confusion still lingered in his eyes.


    ¡°You are not,¡± Morgan said, her voice trembling but firm. ¡°You stupid... ugh¡ªfor God¡¯s sake¡­¡±


    Witnessing her trying to stifle her tears and stop her own whimpers, Burn felt dull. He was lost. Everything he thought about her was false, and everything he predicted she would say or do was wrong.


    He thought people operated under a clear set of rules, predictable in their perspective and view.


    But Morgan, in her ultimate kindness, only saw the truth. And her response to it was simply... insane.


    ¡°I thought you were going to leave me,¡± Burn said expressionlessly.


    Morgan tearfully scoffed, ¡°I am about to if you keep this up. I¡¯m going to break the curse and leave.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t realize it, but his eyes faltered. ¡°Are you threatening me?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re fine now that I found out that you killed and ate two people when you were ten just to survive your illness,¡± Morgan¡¯s last tear fell to the ground. She sighed, ¡°God¡ª¡±


    She took a long, deep breath and, after a long silence, firmly said, ¡°I won¡¯t let this curse harm you more than this. After this loop, I will fix the spell and break it.¡± Continuing her plan, she added, ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the mythical communities. I¡¯ll tell them that you needed their flesh to survive. I¡¯ll go to the Merfolk Kingdom and speak to them too.¡±


    ¡°Are you leaving?¡± Burn asked again. Now, his voice sounded somewhat innocent and light, but still deep and dark.


    ¡°Do you even understand what I said?¡± Morgan asked, frustrated.


    ¡°Do whatever you want, but don¡¯t break the curse,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°What do you mean?!¡± Morgan couldn¡¯t help but yell.


    ¡°If you break the curse, then you have to marry me. I want a full magical contract. I¡¯ll make Yvain officiate it,¡± Burn calmly said.


    Morgan was speechless. Why did it feel like they weren¡¯t talking about the same thing since the start?


    ¡°Or, don¡¯t break the curse, and also¡­ marry me,¡± Burn slowly, softly said, ¡°I love you.¡±


    Now those repeated loops became a regret for him. If he had stopped being so stubborn much earlier, he would have come to know her much faster.


    His Morgan.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t break anything between us,¡± Burn said. ¡°And if we die, let¡¯s just die together.¡±


    Morgan was never disgusted by him, nor did she reject him. She cried for him, felt anger on his behalf, and sensed betrayal that he hadn''t disclosed the most important thing¡ªabout himself.


    ¡°Caliburn¡­¡± Morgan closed her blue eyes, now filled only with sadness. Her hand slowly moved to her face, a vivid display of her pain and frustration.


    But Burn just wanted to smile.


    It was strange.


    The feeling that someone actually cared for his perspective, the sensation that someone understood his side of the story without him needing to articulate it¡­ was amazing. He had never entertained the idea that such a person existed for him.


    ¡°Are you leaving me, Morgan?¡± he whispered.


    He asked three times. First, when he feared she might leave, second, when he wished her to stay, and third, now that he knew she wouldn¡¯t leave.


    ¡°This is so unfair,¡± Morgan whispered back.


    ¡°Good. Life is unfair. You can''t leave even if it''s unfair,¡± so what if Burn was about to rob the rest of her eternal life just for him?


    He didn¡¯t know that Morgan was talking about how unfair it was to be born with Soulnaught Syndrome, while she was born with an infinite soul. Even if he knew, he wouldn¡¯t care.


    As he said, life is unfair, after all.


    ¡°I know that you¡¯ve decided to help the elves and the other communities too. I¡¯ll help them too, as long as they don¡¯t cross the line like today,¡± Burn said. ¡°If any of them dare to pry into something unnecessary again¡­¡±


    Like something that led to his past illness or other pathetic things about him¡ªor something that would upset her¡ª


    ¡°For example, what the Inkian said to the elven princess,¡± Burn¡¯s face darkened. ¡°Just then, I¡¯ll do the easy way and destroy everything.¡±


    Explaining himself took too long. Talking to them to coax them to his side took too long. It was easier for him to be a villain in the end.


    The elves had a succession problem. The queen only had two daughters; the first one was ill, while the second one was too radical in her liberalism, thanks to her fascination with human society and her enrollment in the academy.


    It was quite a miracle that she hadn¡¯t seen the rotten side of Inkian society, believing everything they said. Or maybe someone was deliberately manipulating her. Through her, they attempted to manipulate the elves to go against him too.


    Burn knew that there were at least two ways to solve this problem. One, they cured the first daughter somehow, or second, they opened the second daughter¡¯s eyes to reality.


    But that could wait until tomorrow.


    Right now, he had one pressing matter to solve. "You haven''t answered any of my questions yet," Burn stated.


    Morgan raised her face to him.


    "You haven¡¯t even responded to my one important declaration," he continued.


    She still refused to say a single thing.


    "Fine. I¡¯ll just make you speak," Burn sighed, his patience running out. He lifted her up his shoulder, and she squealed in surprise before he brought her to his tent.


    Looking around, Burn closed the tent''s entrance. It was a good thing his men had enough tact to stay away from the quarreling imperial couple.

 86 - Yvain’s Trust

    Yvain tiptoed as he approached Burn''s tent, tray of breakfast in hand for his guardians and a little something extra sweet for his master. To be honest, he had never thought he would experience those feelings again¡ªthe ones he felt the morning after his parents had a big fight.


    He was only five when he first witnessed Belezak and Madeline having a major argument. He couldn''t recall the reason, but the aftermath was etched in his memory: his parents not smiling at each other, the awkward atmosphere lingering around them.


    Now, in his early teenage years, he realized how much he despised those moments as he experienced them once more. That was why he had ''run away'' the previous night to train.


    Turning to the Round Table members watching from a distance, they flashed him a thumbs up, nodding for encouragement.


    Balancing the tray with one hand, Yvain used the other to open the tent entrance, only to be startled by a flash of light reflecting off a short blade held by the alert, fresh-from-bed Burn¡ª


    "Ah! It''s me, Your Majesty!" Yvain exclaimed.


    Now he understood why he was the one chosen to approach the tent. No other men dared to come near this hot spot.


    The man was still half-leaning, half-sitting in his bed, clearly just awakened for a split second. He was naked, with his lower body covered by the quilt, sporting bed hair and a sharp, slightly tired look on his face.


    His abrupt movement stirred the woman sleeping on the same small makeshift bed beside him, Morgan, who quickly grabbed the quilt to cover her previously exposed upper body. But her reaction was only half as fast as Burn''s, before she let out a whimper of pain.


    "Master, are you okay?" After his eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the tent, Yvain could see how red and bruised her body was.


    Suddenly, the boy''s bloodshot eyes turned at Burn, who cleared his throat. "Put the food there and give us a minute, son."


    Uncertain, Yvain obeyed his words and began to slowly approach the table to set down the food, silently observing to see if they were still arguing.


    "Sorry," Burn whispered as he kissed Morgan and tenderly embraced her body. Infusing her with his Force energy, the marks and bruises quickly disappeared. He knew she could heal herself, but he still chose to do it anyway.


    After whispering, "Eat breakfast and then go back to sleep," he released her.


    He then met Yvain¡¯s eyes again. ¡°Go on, boy. I¡¯ll meet you outside.¡±


    Yvain quickened his pace, but before heading out, he asked nervously, ¡°Did you make up? A-are you still fighting?¡±


    Morgan rose from the bed, turning to the boy, smiling, though with a pale face. ¡°We¡¯re not fighting anymore, Yvain. Wait outside, okay?¡±


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    The boy nodded, a big smile on his face, and ran out cheerfully toward the Round Table members, exclaiming, ¡°They made up!¡±


    There was a genuine collective relieved sigh in the encampment that morning.


    Burn had slept well, which was why he hadn¡¯t realized it was Yvain¡¯s footsteps approaching his tent. He felt a bit tired after overdoing it the night before.


    ¡°You¡¯re going North today?¡± Morgan asked as she drank the glass of sweet milk Burn handed her.


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll leave this encampment to Galahad and Yvain. And you¡¯re going to the Great Forest?¡± Burn asked in return, and Morgan nodded in response.


    Burn pulled a chair to sit after moving the table near the bed. His eyes didn¡¯t leave her for a second. ¡°Meet me immediately after you¡¯re done, okay?¡±


    Morgan took a deep breath and nodded. Burn felt satisfied and turned his gaze away from her for the first time. He got dressed, drank his water, and ate his breakfast. He was about to leave when Morgan called him.


    ¡°Caliburn.¡±


    The man turned to her, seeing her smile for the first time that day.


    ¡°I love you too,¡± she said.


    Burn sneered, ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±


    ¡°Pfft¡ª¡± Morgan snorted before snapping at him, ¡°Get out.¡±


    ***


    "I need a new sword."


    Burn had just concluded the morning meeting with the Round Table, alongside Yvain, his fellow knights and commanders. He had mentioned that his sword had crumbled, a fact that everyone had anticipated.


    Given his aggressive fighting style, it was no surprise that any sword would succumb after only a few years.


    Galahad presented him with two new weapons in differently sized boxes. Both boxes were quite large on their own, and when Galahad instructed his subordinates to open them, Burn found himself disappointed.


    "I understand my previous sword was the best I had, but is there no other longsword available?" Burn inquired.


    "Sir, any other longswords currently available are of inferior quality compared to the one you previously wielded," Galahad responded.


    Turning to the boxes, one containing a great mace and the other a greatsword, Galahad explained, "These two were forged by a blacksmith of similar mastery as the one who crafted your previous sword. They were acquired by the Round Table in an auction a year ago."


    For Burn, using a lesser quality longsword was preferable to wielding a different type of weapon. It was not that he was incapable of using another type, but it simply did not suit his preference.


    The battle in the North did not necessarily require him to wield a weapon of exceptional quality. Nevertheless, something compelled him to relent and opt for the greatsword. Uncertain of when his death might arrive, he chose to be adequately armed.


    ¡°Are you about to depart now, Sir?¡± Galahad asked as Burn strapped the greatsword to his back.


    ¡°Yes. If I¡¯m right, Wintersin will be attacking our Northern border. That¡¯s what our spies and informant predicted, right?¡± Even though he had the previous loops, he still made sure of everything beforehand by sending his men across the land.


    Knowing that almost everything had changed, of course he had to do that.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re going alone?¡± Yvain asked.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Burn grasped the boy¡¯s head, ruffling his hair up violently. ¡°Are you scared? Want to come along?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay!¡± the boy exclaimed as he tried to free himself.


    ¡°Don¡¯t neglect your training. I¡¯ve taught you all of your family¡¯s Force art movements,¡± the man said, flashing a small smile.


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Yvain said, still not closing his mouth, about to say something more. The boy hesitated before whispering, ¡°...Master.¡±


    Burn raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°...Can I call you that?¡± he asked timidly.


    Looking at the young king who had fully placed his trust in him, Burn tapped the side of his face twice, his big hands the same size as his head. ¡°Do what you want.¡±


    Yvain smiled and nodded.


    ¡°But, Sir, are you planning on running there?¡± Galahad asked.


    Burn shrugged. ¡°Mech armors are too slow, and I¡¯d rather run than ride a mech warhorse. At least my ass won''t hurt, and I¡¯ll arrive at the same time too.¡±


    At times like this, Burn regretted throwing away his chariot. His new one hadn¡¯t arrived yet.


    But right before he left, the encampment received two unexpected guests.


    SCREEEEEEEEEECH!!!

 87 - Glorified Broomstick

    Morgan stood in front of the elm tree in the middle of the encampment that morning and began counting its branches, her pose akimbo, head tilted up. Landevale approached her from behind and said, ¡°Miss Morgan, we¡¯re sorry, but we can¡¯t find any broomsticks.¡±


    ¡°As expected. What about vacuum cleaners?¡± Morgan inquired.


    ¡°S-sorry?¡± Landevale blinked. ¡°I¡¯m not sure... Should I get someone to find one for you?¡±


    Turning towards her with a laugh, Morgan replied, ¡°No, haha. I¡¯m just kidding. I thought you¡¯d get the reference, and I¡¯d get to say, ¡®I¡¯m a modern witch after all, I ride vacuum cleaners now,¡¯ or you might say, ¡®What are you? A modern witch who rides a vacuum cleaner instead of a broomstick?¡¯¡±


    The female knight stood there, mouth wide open in confusion.


    Morgan awkwardly brushed it off, ¡°It¡¯s fine, forget it. I remember why I was gloomy before¡ªmy jokes are weird; no one laughs at them.¡±


    Landevale finally understood what Morgan was saying and subtly nodded. She simply hadn¡¯t expected such an illustrious person as the legend herself, Morgan Le Fay, to make a witty joke.


    "Well, it¡¯s true that I still need a broom to ride,¡± Morgan remarked dryly.


    With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a transparent platform and confidently stepped onto the air. Crafting an invisible staircase, she ascended to a sturdy tree branch.


    ¡°This one is just begging to be used,¡± she muttered, striking a dramatic pose before leaping¡ª


    ¡°Miss Morgan?!¡±


    Landevale''s incredulous tone filled the air as she witnessed Morgan hanging precariously from the branch, apparently attempting to break it with her mere presence and gravity.


    ¡°W-what are you trying to do, Miss?!¡±


    Unsurprisingly, her antics drew a crowd, their mundane tasks momentarily forgotten as they watched the enchanting sight of a goddess engaging in some rather unorthodox acrobatics.


    CRACK! CRACKLE¡ªCRACKLE¡ª


    ¡°Miss!¡±


    ¡°Yah!¡± Morgan landed gracefully, defying all expectations.


    Landevale hurried over, her concern palpable. ¡°If you needed a branch, why not just ask? I could have fetched it for you, you know.¡±


    "It will ruin the magic, you know? Huff!" Morgan wiped her sweat. "There are two traditional ways of making a ¡®witch¡¯s broomstick¡¯. One, we buy a completely normal broom from a craftsman who specializes in household items, then give it an enchantment, and two..."


    "...we make it ourselves, without magic, without anyone¡¯s help," Morgan explained.


    She turned to the elm, slowly approaching it, and touched its trunk. Her palm started to glow, and the broken branch began to heal, though not regrow. She smiled and said, "Thank you."


    Brooms were cleaning tools, symbolizing purification. They were not initially a witch¡¯s signature, but Morgan''s. As a holy woman, using purification tools became her trademark.


    Initially, she didn¡¯t use a broom at all. It was merely a funny joke and a replacement. She used to sit atop the broken-off branch of the world tree, flying around and purifying corruptions.


    Perhaps the broom stuck more than the branch did, and people began associating witches with brooms. Morgan went along with it, referring to it as the witch''s broom, even though it was just an enchanted broomstick.


    Now, as she held the branch, she commenced her spell. The branch''s surface began to shed and smoothen, elongating as the leaves widened and transformed into a glowing golden-white color.


    There was a hint of nostalgia in Morgan''s eyes. It was unclear whether the broomstick replaced the world tree branch as a symbol of purification or whether, to her, the world tree branch was merely a glorified broomstick.


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    ¡°With this, I¡¯ll finally be able to go¡ª¡±


    SCREEEEEEEEEECH!!!


    As the weary soldiers of the Soulnaught army rubbed their eyes in disbelief, the air crackled with tension. Two colossal metal griffins descended upon their war encampment like a scene from a twisted fairy tale.


    One bore Gawain, one of the members of the Round Table, his stoic demeanor seemingly at odds with the fantastical steed beneath him. All the while, a stranger perched atop the other, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, a stark contrast to the mechanical beast he controlled.


    The griffins'' design made onlookers wonder if the creator had been imbibing questionable potions during their design process. These marvels of engineering sported energy conduits that emitted a fierce glow, enough power to reignite a dead planet¡ªquite overkill for a mere battlefield, one might think.


    The soldiers exchanged incredulous glances, unsure whether to be terrified or amused by this unexpected turn of events.


    Until¡­


    "Yer Majestee!" the stranger in one of the steeds called cheerfully. The stranger Burn recognized as the space mercenary and the skillful White Dwarf user, Dirk.


    Burn, standing there with his greatsword on his back, narrowed his eyes.


    These two metal griffins were¡­


    ¡°...parts of that cursed chariot?!¡± Morgan gasped, exclaiming as she finished Burn¡¯s thoughts.


    Burn turned toward the source of the voice that seemed to float high in the air. Just then, he saw Morgan sitting atop a floating, long, and sturdy white tree branch.


    He had two questions.


    ***


    "I saw you attempting to ditch these two beauties just because you despised the chariot, so I rescued them!" Dirk remarked, his accent vanishing after activating his translation device.


    The griffins were designed to be linked to the chariot. Figuring out how to unattach them required complex commands that Burn couldn''t wrap his head around in the given timeframe. No mechanic on speed dial or the tech savvy he could pay to reprogram them either. Classic predicament, right?


    Dirk and his crew, looking for entertainment amidst their task, which required a lot of waiting, took on side missions like repairing Burn''s gadgets and tinkering with outsider tech he bought.


    "These two are straight out of a fairy tale, right? Marketed for a high fantasy realm," Dirk quipped, a sly grin on his face. "In my world, they marketed steampunk styled products. But this one is much more sophisticated, if you ask me."


    "It¡¯s not for efficiency purposes, just like I suspected then,¡± Burn said as he tapped the beak of one of the metal griffins. ¡°But you¡¯re right. They¡¯re beauties.¡±


    ¡°Keheheheh,¡± Dirk cackled¡ªthen turned to the beautiful lady sitting sideways atop a floating branch. ¡°Speaking of high fantasy¡­ as expected, you had a bombshell of a goddess here too.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my wife,¡± Burn said as he mounted one of the griffins.


    Dirk widened his mouth, ¡°WHAT?!¡±


    ¡°Soon to be,¡± Burn corrected, and continued, ¡°You came to tell me about the result of your task, right? Have you secured contact with your family?¡±


    Dirk was still recovering from his shock when he heard the question. ¡°Y-yes. They will soon contact me again after they secure a means of transportation to enter this realm. The nearest terminal is 4 million light-years away from here, you know? Not to mention they had to smuggle in.¡±


    ¡°Take your time,¡± Burn said. ¡°The faster you can do it, the better for yourself anyway. And if you dare betray me¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, I know,¡± Dirk sighed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t even imagine betraying a man who tanked 3% of the raw heat of a collapsing sun right in front of my eyes.¡±


    Nothing on land could harm or kill Burn.


    And Dirk knew the Alliance better than anyone anyway. His chance of survival was lower if he betrayed Burn and sided with the Alliance. Not to mention this man¡­ he actually treated his slaves like humans.


    Well, in a sense that he also treated other humans the same way.


    As long as they had a use for him, he would treat them well. In this case, Dirk had more use to him than to the Alliance.


    With that, Burn turned toward Morgan. Only with his gaze, he questioned where she got that floating branch from.


    "I just made it. Pretty, right?" Morgan twirled with the branch, floating midair. All eyes turned toward her, and the phrase, cursed by the witch, became a hundred times more attractive, now positively connotated. But no more explanation?


    "I¡¯m sure even the shit you make is glittery and smells like roses. Are you departing now, straight to the elves?" Burn asked, as the others started to accept Morgan¡¯s explanation without further clarification too.


    "I guess I shouldn¡¯t go there yelling and spouting things without reliable proof, but we don¡¯t have much time, do we?" Morgan sighed as she led the branch to float near Burn. "Are you sure you¡¯re going alone?"


    Burn nodded. "That¡¯s why you have to come to me as soon as you¡¯re done, right?"


    Morgan looked a bit regretful, while Burn smiled helplessly at her.


    "Alright. Let¡¯s go," Burn stopped himself from lingering around Morgan and turned himself away. "Yvain, Galahad, I leave this place to you. Gawain, bring Dirk Marshall back to Edensor with you."


    "Yes, sir!"


    But Dirk suddenly yelled, ¡°Ah, wait! There¡¯s something I almost forgot to tell you!¡±

 88 - Trembling Trees

    "Now that they have realized they lost the White Dwarf, they will send someone. Most likely, they will send that person."


    "Who?"


    "The Junior Fleet Admiral."


    ***


    Burn already knew him. He was one of the outsiders Burn remembered from his previous loops, and it was quite an unpleasant memory.


    SCREEEECH!!


    As the ear-splitting screech pierced the air, he raced towards the northern border, the landscape below whizzing by like a frantic squirrel on caffeine. Atop the griffin, he glanced at the blur of mountains and forests, its metallic wings slicing through the morning air with a swish that screamed, "I''m in a hurry, baby!"


    The griffin itself shone like a polished gem in the dawn light, its pulsating energy conduits casting a glow that could make a disco ball jealous. A majestic creature crafted from pure imagination, now hovering around in steel feathers instead of your run-of-the-mill fluff.


    He considered giving the other one to Morgan, but he decided it was best to not let the elves see her use the outsiders'' technology.


    But hey, she could always use it later.


    Soaring through the crackling air, the mechanized steed surged forward with a sense of purpose that could rival a motivational speaker on double espressos. The griffin exuded a power that whispered of tales untold, capable of jazzing up even the dullest of landscapes with a sprinkle of techno-magic.


    And there he was, hurtling towards the North, expecting a war¡­ and hoping for little to no complication.


    ***


    In the heart of the Great Forest, nestled snugly between the borders of the Inkia Kingdom, the Soulnaught Empire, and the Edensor Kingdom, resided an elven community so pristine that even the most cynical pixie would have to admit it was pretty darn idyllic.


    Led by the ever-elegant Queen Tashr, the widow of the king, this community of elves thrived in their arboreal paradise.


    The elven settlement itself was a sight to behold, with alabaster towers peeking through the canopy like bashful debutantes at a ball.


    Vines as thick as a dragon''s tail snaked around the mighty oaks, creating natural archways that whispered secrets to those who dared to listen. The air hummed with magic, and the laughter of the elves danced on the wind like mischievous sprites.


    Queen Tashr, with her silver hair cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall, ruled her domain with a delicate yet iron-fisted grace. Her two daughters, the wise Princess Shorof and the ethereal Princess Nahwu, loved each other in their sisterly bond.


    The palace itself was a masterpiece of elven craftsmanship, its walls adorned with tapestries that told stories of battles won and loves lost. The gardens, tended with obsessive care by the queen herself, boasted blooms so vibrant that even the sun had to squint in admiration.


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    But beneath the veneer of elegance and beauty lay a community steeped in secrets. Now, alliances were as fragile as a fairy''s wing and betrayals as common as dragon sightings.


    And as the winds of change began to sweep through the Great Forest, the elves knew that their peaceful existence might soon be shattered like a mirror in a cyclone.


    Or¡­ would it be saved?


    Trees couldn¡¯t talk. They couldn¡¯t move very fast. They couldn¡¯t listen or see, but they could certainly feel.


    It was summer. The trees definitely enjoyed the heat and the sunlight, with the occasional pleasant humidity and rain. But that day was worse than winter.


    The aged oaks and graceful pines began to groan. Their branches rustled in a chaotic symphony, their leaves swirling in a frenzied dance of descent.


    The elves, guardians of the forest, watched in horror and disbelief as their ancient companions succumbed to this inexplicable madness. Like marionettes with their strings cut, the once towering trees shrunk in fear, shaking the very ground the elves stood upon.


    Panic spread through the elven community like wildfire, as they scrambled to comprehend the inexplicable calamity befalling their home.


    Whispers of a cursed enchantment rippled through the air, mingling with the pungent scent of boiling sap. Some elves clutched their hearts in fear, while others raised trembling hands to their mouths in shock. The forest, once a sanctuary of tranquility and serenity, had been transformed into a scene of horror.


    Queen Tashr emerged from the confines of her regal palace, her voice carrying a note of urgency and concern as she addressed the trees, "Why do you cower in fear, my dear friends?" she implored, her words trembling with emotion in the face of the inexplicable chaos unfolding around them.


    As her gaze lifted skyward, Queen Tashr beheld a mesmerizing sight¡ªa figure, ethereal and serene, perched upon a floating white branch suspended in mid-air. A gasp escaped her lips as she beheld this otherworldly being who exuded an aura of tranquility amidst the turmoil.


    The figure, with a voice as gentle as the whisper of the wind through the leaves, addressed the queen and her trembling subjects with reassurance and grace. "Fear thee not, fairest queen and cherished trees," she spoke, her words weaving a tapestry of calmness.


    "I bear no ill will nor harmful intent. Place thy trust in my presence."


    Queen Tashr observed how the trees began to slowly gather themselves once more, still shrunk and cowering, yet showing improvement.


    It was fortunate that the ancient trees, responsible for upholding the grand structures of the elven civilization, had weathered enough trials in their long lives to react less than their younger counterparts.


    Nevertheless, they trembled.


    "Your Holiness," Tashr addressed the floating figure in the sky. "Thou hast not changed in the slightest."


    As fierce as a hurricane, yet exuding an aura of quiet danger.


    Morgan sighed, lowering the branch as she alighted on the palace grounds. "Bid thy young seedlings to eschew such drama in the future. Every century or so, I do make this pilgrimage; it is time they acclimate."


    "Their dramatic nature stems from the aura thou dost radiate. The trees within these walls differ from those beyond. Their consciousness is more profound, akin to sentient creatures. Your Holiness, what stirs thy ire?" Tashr inquired.


    "Where dwell thy daughters?" Morgan inquired in return.


    Tashr''s countenance blanched, realizing that perhaps her daughters'' problem had now reached the Holiness''s ears.


    "Tasha," Morgan pressed, met with the queen''s silence.


    "Your Holiness, Rekre relayed that nary a hint of discord hovered about thee when encountered yesterday. Might our cries for aid have aggrieved thee in some manner?" Tashr asked with humility.


    ¡°They recounted the tale of my husband feasting upon a unicorn and the monarch of the merfolk. Verily, where did thy second daughter chance upon such tales?" Morgan revealed.


    Tashr recalled Rekre''s account of how the Holiness''s visage shifted abruptly upon learning of the rumors concerning the human tyrant. She opened her mouth, but closed it again.


    "I ventured here for the purpose of reprimand. Summon them forth," Morgan directed.


    With a mixture of desolation and resolve, Tashr lowered her head in deference before swiftly moving to organize a grand assembly. Yet, before she could fully enact her plan, Morgan seized her hand and clasped it firmly for a significant moment.


    "Your Holiness?" Tashr inquired, her perplexity evident.


    Maintaining her composure, Morgan absorbed Tashr''s point of view. After a pause of ten heartbeats, she released the queen''s hand and gave a slight nod. "Proceed."

 89 - Wholesome Uncles

    In the opulent palace chamber, the elite leaders of the elven tribes congregated under the watchful eye of their monarch, the Queen.


    The High Elf chief stood tall with a regal air, pretending not to notice the envious glances of the other chiefs. The Wood Elf leader, adorned with leaves and flowers, seemed torn between reverence for nature and the allure of courtly extravagance.


    Sneaky glances were exchanged between the Dark Elf chief, shrouded in mystery, and the Moon Elf leader, whose ethereal beauty masked a shrewd mind. Meanwhile, the Sun Elf chief, basking in an imaginary halo of sunlight, projected an aura of superiority that bordered on blinding.


    Amidst the ethereal beauty that filled the chamber, none could rival the mesmerizing presence emanating from the central figure of the wooden table¡ªMorgan Le Fay. Her allure outshone even the most resplendent of elves gathered in that opulent hall.


    "Verily, ''tis a wondrous happenstance that my second daughter doth make her return this day, and anon shall grace us with her presence. Dost thou deign to tarry a while, Your Holiness, and revel in her imminent arrival?" the queen asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to yell at her after all, of course I¡¯ll wait,¡± Morgan declared, her words carrying a nonchalant air.


    The tribal chieftains, engaged in jovial discourse, swiftly lapsed into a silence profound. A shiver coursed through their beings, draining hues from their countenances. Never before had they borne witness to the illustrious saint adopting such a casual mien.


    She lost the imperial accent!


    ¡®She¡¯s serious angry, yeah?¡¯


    ¡®Seems our guest is in quite the mood, wouldn''t thee say?¡¯ The High Elf Chief blinked at the Sun Elf Chief, who broke a serious sweat.


    ¡®Indeed, completely so.¡¯


    Moon Elf Chief slooooooowly shifted, intruding High Elf Chief¡¯s peripheral view and blinked at him too, ¡®Pray tell, what revelry is this? What if our fate meets an untimely end this very day?¡¯


    The Wood Elf Chief, aggressively entered their view, blinking furiously, ¡®Cease thy sun-soaking and moon-gazing, and tend to the youths lest peril befalls us all!¡¯


    Suddenly, the Dark Elf Chief tilted his head, his previously mysterious expression vanished, turning completely innocent-stupid and asked with a blink, ¡®Art thou suggesting it concerns the younglings, dear kin?¡¯


    They were actually a band of wholesome uncles.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Morgan raised her eyebrows. But then, she frowned suspiciously, ¡°She¡¯s here¡­ with a human.¡±


    ***


    Ah, behold Nahwu, or as her friends fondly dubbed her, Naha¡ªthe elf whose beauty could make even unicorns jealous.


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    Now, there was also Shorof, the older sis sharing the same gene pool of allure, but she was too busy hoarding wisdom like a dragon guards its gold.


    With a smile as rare as a sunny day in the Underworld, Shorof embraced her inner recluse, giving off those "I''m too busy contemplating the universe to bother with pleasantries" vibes.


    While Shorof delved into the realms of nature study, Naha pranced about radiating sunshine and rainbows, cementing her status as the dazzling gem of the family tree.


    But our radiant elf maiden Nahwu wasn''t all sunshine and sparkles¡ªit wasn¡¯t like she had no interest in academics at all, she did grace the halls of academia, albeit in the realm of humans.


    The sisters forged a pact to trade notes on their respective intellectual pursuits during their visits¡­ until tragedy struck. Shorof''s once formidable condition took a nosedive, casting a shadow over their scholarly ambitions.


    Something was wrong. Shorof, a stalwart figure among the elves, possessed a prowess that rivaled even Nahwu''s own considerable talents. Despite Nahwu''s dominance in the realm of Force art, Shorof''s expertise in Vision art delved into profound realms, teetering on the brink of enlightenment within her specialty.


    Their dynamic was a delicate balance of power and skill. While Nahwu reigned supreme in the manipulation of forces, she harbored no doubt that in a showdown, Shorof would emerge victorious.


    Riddled with her sister¡¯s predicament, Nahwu often visited her back in the Great Forest, a routine followed today as well, with an uninvited guest tagging along¡ªthe first prince.


    ¡°What''s got you so on edge? You mentioned yourself that your sister is as strong as an ox. Elves practically live forever, so to us mere mortals, she might just have a case of the sniffles, no?¡± the prince remarked carelessly.


    ¡°What would a human like you know?! If even elves like us are worried about her predicament, how dare you say my sister is only catching a cold?!¡± Nahwu yelled back.


    Prince Locan Inkor stumbled upon Nahwu during a shared class, where their interactions mostly consisted of heated debates rather than heartfelt conversations due to their vastly differing perspectives.


    Nevertheless, despite his occasional rudeness, Locan exhibited a genuinely kind nature, as evidenced by his small unexpected gesture.


    Nahwu, struggling with the heavy load of luggage she had brought, required the assistance of several other elves to manage it. Observing this, Locan glanced at the excessive baggage and then back at Nahwu, who was visibly exasperated.


    Feeling pity mixed with exasperation, Locan grabbed one of the oversized boxes brought by the elves and hoisted it up himself, prompting Nahwu to shoot him a disapproving look.


    "You really shouldn''t have," she reproached lightly.


    Locan, in an uncharacteristically helpful move, retorted, "Well, it''s your fault for packing the entire city! Where on earth does your sister plan to stash all these treasures, anyway?"


    It became increasingly apparent that all the items in tow were intended as gifts for Shorof, Nahwu''s ailing sister.


    As Nahwu struggled with the mountain of gifts, two elves with high-ranking elven official garments suddenly darted towards her like startled rabbits, their urgent voices cutting through the air.


    "Princess Nahwu! Her Majesty the Queen summons you to the great meeting hall! The Original Saint has graced us with a visit!" one of them exclaimed.


    Nahwu''s eyes widened in disbelief. "U-Uncle Yukre? Granduncle Rekre? W-wait! Th-the who?!" she stammered, clearly taken aback by the news.


    Locan, completely clueless, chimed in, "Who?"


    Ignoring his question, Nahwu quickly gathered her thoughts. "A-anyway, I''ve got to go!" she exclaimed urgently, ready to dash off to the meeting.


    But before she could make her escape, Rekre turned his attention to the first prince with a polite nod.


    "You are also invited, Sir Inkor."

 90 - Getting Sappy

    The Wintersin Empire''s army stood at the Northern border of Soulnaught like a menacing shadow, their armor glinting in the pale sunlight of the never-ending winter in the cold north.


    Emperor Burn, a tall and imposing figure with a gaze as icy as the tundra itself, had just arrived, sending shivers down the spines of both friend and foe alike.


    As he dismounted his metal griffin steed with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, Percival, one of his knights, stood waiting with a mixture of reverence and exasperation.


    The weather, true to the twisted sense of humor of the gods, decided to add a touch of frost to the Northern¡¯s midsummer, leaving everyone shivering and cursing their choice of wardrobe, which actually had enough layers already.


    Emperor Burn surveyed his army with a critical eye, his lips curled in a sneer that could curdle milk at a hundred paces. The atmosphere crackled with tension and unspoken threats, as if the very air itself feared his wrath.


    Percival, ever the loyal and long-suffering knight, cleared his throat and stepped forward, ready to deliver his report.


    "Your Majesty, the troops are ready and eager to march at your command," he announced. "As predicted, Wintersin immediately moved the moment you initiated the war with Inkia¡¯s army.¡±


    Emperor Burn merely grunted in response, his eyes scanning the horizon with a predatory gleam.


    ¡°But, Sir, they seem to be waiting for you to make a grand entrance,¡± Percival added.


    ¡°They know I¡¯m coming?¡± Burn asked, eyebrows raised. ¡°Did they catch our spies or get wise to them lurking about?¡±


    ¡°No, sir. We told our spies to keep it subtle, with only a select few stirring the pot,¡± Percival replied. He paused before telling him what he was thinking, ¡°It seems you''re not the only star of the show they¡¯re anticipating.¡±


    Burn frowned.


    He glanced at Percival and eyed his sword dubiously. "That sword," he quipped, and Percival promptly unhooked it from his belt and handed it over. "I suppose I''ll make do with this for the time being, unless anyone objects?"


    "By all means, Sir. It¡¯s an honor," Percival responded earnestly.


    As Burn observed, only he and Percival wielded the exact same weapon at the Round Table. Even Galahad used a standard sword, while he and Percival brandished their impressive longswords.


    But different from him, Percival actually used a cherished family heirloom.


    Burn suppressed a sigh, filing away a mental note to procure a more suitable sword for himself once this loop came to an end. Disengaging his greatsword, he handed it over to Percival with a wry smile.


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    Percival looked surprised. "Sir?"


    "Well, can''t have you feeling left out," Burn remarked dryly as Percival took the greatsword from him.


    Burn''s patience was soon rewarded as the sun reached its zenith, casting a harsh light on a previously invisible spaceship that materialized in the enemy''s formation.


    In a stroke of cosmic irony, the ship had an ethereal, shimmering quality¡ªas if it couldn''t quite commit to being fully visible, much like an indecisive ghost flirting with the idea of haunting. Its sleek metallic exterior gleamed in the sunlight, adorned with strange, glowing runes that pulsed with an otherworldly energy.


    As the spaceship hovered ominously in the air, Burn hummed. "Well, isn''t that just lovely," he deadpanned. "Wintersin¡­ nothing says ''subtle invasion'' quite like an expensive half-invisible spaceship crashing the party."


    Percival¡¯s eyebrows creased.


    "Well, let''s not keep our uninvited guests waiting, shall we? After all, it''s only polite to greet them properly," Burn said.


    ¡°Sir,¡± Percival couldn''t help but interrupt Burn on his way, showing unusual concern for the typically unshakable man. "Your condition... improved, has it?"


    Percival knew Burn didn¡¯t like anyone treating him like a weak person. It was also almost impossible for anyone to get worried for him. But apparently, after he thoroughly observed the man¡¯s relationship with the Miss, Galahad¡¯s sentiment was true.


    Burn might be the strongest man they had ever known and detached from mortal weakness, but he was still mortal.


    Percival thought Galahad¡¯s rise to power as Burn¡¯s right-hand man was because they connected better through their shared childhood, but he was wrong. Galahad had better insight than him, a knight who had served the royal family even before Burn was born.


    ¡°Is it because I¡¯m getting married? You lot thought I¡¯m getting weak because I¡¯m answering to a woman now?¡± Burn felt a bit irritated. Not Galahad, not Percival¡ªwhy were they starting to get sappy for him?


    ¡°S-Sir¡­?¡±


    ¡°Your worry is pointless. Unless you can do something about it, my decision won¡¯t change. Those bastards are aiming for what¡¯s supposed to be mine,¡± Burn felt a vein pop in his temple.


    ¡°They finally show their noses,¡± Burn couldn¡¯t hide his grin. ¡°How can I not get excited?¡±


    Percival smiled helplessly. Ah, how noble. Burn was still worried for the people while saying that everything was only for his own merit. As expected, he was good at acting as a villain to mask his actual goal to protect this realm¡­ even though he was also battling an incurable illness¡­


    He was even about to face the enemy head on!


    Well¡­


    No.


    Percival and the others were imagining it.


    Burn was actually a villain, and this was just a practice run. The plan was to face them head on to see what they got.


    And it seemed that they got what they needed.


    The semi-transparent spaceship descended, emitting a soft, ethereal glow as it touched down on the frosty plains below. Out walked a band of armed individuals, their weapons glinting in the sunlight as they formed a protective path around their leader.


    And then came the man of singular importance, striding confidently out of the spacecraft. He exuded an air of authority, his every movement speaking of power and influence. The general of the Wintersin army, a stalwart man with a weather-beaten face and a steely gaze, stepped forward to greet him.


    The outsider was a sight to behold, his attire elaborately decorated with symbols and insignias that spoke of a rank and status beyond anything seen in the realm of Nethermere¡ªexcept, of course, for Burn.


    Well, Burn came from the future, after all.


    In that space, separated by snow and long distance, the outsider and Burn locked eyes. And so, as the armed individuals stood at attention and the wind whistled through the snow, the stage was set for a confrontation unlike any other.

 91 - Princess Shorof

    "Cough! My dear sister is gracing us with her presence?" Shorof queried her lady in waiting, her speech almost drowned out by a symphony of coughs.


    "Your Highness, just stay put. She''ll make her way to you in due time¡­ soon¡­"


    "Oh, ''soon,'' you say? Usually, she dashes straight to me upon her return. Where on earth has Mother whisked her off to now? Cough! Cough!" Shorof attempted to rise, her voice feeble. "Getting scolded again, is she...?"


    "Your Highness..."


    Despite her attendants'' efforts to keep her in her room, Shorof persisted in her quest to seek out her sister. She was well aware of Nahwu''s penchant for inciting chaos. The trouble she had stirred within the elven community¡¯s youngsters by instilling them with humanistic ideals had caused quite the stir.


    But, of course, why wouldn''t she fall ill at a time like this?


    If only Shorof could balance the winds of transformation ushered in by her sister and the unyielding grip of tradition within the elven community...


    Approaching the grand hall, Shorof let out a fit of cough, teetering until her loyal servants swooped in to hold her steady. Even they seemed to quiver with nerves as they approached the imposing closed doors of the hall, the tension in the air so thick it could be cut with a knife.


    ¡°W-who¡­¡± Shorof mused aloud.


    Turning to the guard elves flanking the door, their faces drained of color, she raised an eyebrow expectantly. With solemn expressions, they simply shook their heads, a clear warning in their eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡ª¡± Shorof lunged forward to push open the doors, announcing herself, "Shorof, Princess of the Green is present! Your Majesty, what¡¯s¡ª¡±


    Her words caught in her throat. A gasp escaped her lips as she beheld the assembly before her.


    Five revered elders, a sight as rare as a unicorn sighting, sat in judgment, their gazes piercing. Two figures knelt before them: her fiery sister, Nahwu, and a human boy¡ª


    But it was another presence that truly made Shorof''s heart skip a beat.


    Her Holiness, the Original Saint.


    The elves had their oh-so-flawless looks that could make even merfolks feel a tinge of jealousy.


    The High Elves arrogantly strutted around with their slim this, tall that, and noses seemingly reaching for the stars. Wood Elves, the athletic bunch, all tanned and freckled like perfectly toasted, sweet, sweet marshmallows, rocking fiery red hair and eyes that could give you a sun-induced trance.


    And let¡¯s talk about those Dark Elves. Dark, dark skin blending with shadows, light hair shining through like a rebellious beacon. When sunlight hits, their light yellow eyes would steal the show like a dramatic villain in a play.


    Then you had the Sun Elves and Moon Elves, polar opposites in the aesthetics department. Sun Elves, all golden and muscular, while Moon Elves rocked the purplish skin and subtle curves. It was like a cosmic showdown of hotness.


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    But compared to the one in the power seat? A walking contradiction, oozing perfection like it was no big deal. Sharp yet gentle, bold yet curvy ¨C talk about keeping people on their toes. She looked like she could make fear itself cower in a corner, yet a hint of tenderness lurks beneath the surface.


    After all, it was hard to imagine that beauty to be so harsh, or bad, or evil.


    Make no mistake.


    Just when you thought you had got her figured out, that smile vanishes and suddenly you were considering a heartfelt kneel. Those lofty eyebrows twitch, and you could practically hear your own tears welling up. And when those eyes narrow, forget ego ¨C it was on a one-way trip to another dimension.


    Once. Only once did Shorof catch a glimpse of her visage. It was when she was little, some decades ago. The impression she had of her then was unforgettable, just like her impossible-to-forget presence.


    So the trembling trees a while ago were her doing.


    "Y-Your Holiness¡­"


    She dropped to her knees.


    Despite her frail body, she made the effort to maneuver her sister behind her, presenting herself to the elders and the Holiness while suppressing her coughs.


    "I admit my grave mistake. It was clearly my oversight to allow the younger generation to stray. My failure to guide them with the subtleties of intent is entirely my own. I shall speak with them promptly and arrange a meeting for discussion," Shorof hazarded a guess.


    The presence of the Holiness signaled that the issue indeed lay in their interactions with humans, confirming her suspicions.


    "Tasha, thy daughter doth show remarkable acumen," remarked the fair-haired saint. "As for the other, though possessed of intelligence, she doth seem more naive, driven by ambition."


    "Verily, Princess Shorof. If thou dost claim to hold the solution to the elves'' youthful plight, then, by all means, proceed," the saint''s melodious voice resounded with grace and elegance.


    "Your Holiness, if I may interject, my sister is unwell! Will you be forcing her to work in this condition?" Nahwu burst out. With an angry frown, she sarcastically hissed, "Oh, how compassionate of you..."


    "Nahwu!" Tashr''s sharp reprimand cut through the tension.


    Tashr turned to Morgan, her eyes conflicted.


    ¡°How nostalgic. Wert thou as fiery in thy youth?¡± Morgan smiled warmly at the queen.


    ¡°Forgive me, Your Holiness. We, mere creations of God, must acknowledge our imperfections. We offer no excuses,¡± Tashr bowed her head humbly.


    Seeing how no one could even hold a candle against the illustrious figure and facing the critical gaze of the five elders, Nahwu nervously nibbled on her bottom lip, unaccustomed to such treatment. Not even the pompous human politicians dared to display such arrogance!


    "Why?" Morgan''s sudden inquiry, like a blade forged in ire, did pierce the tense air that sought shelter within the hallowed chambers.


    "A scold doth oft bestow wisdom, dost thou not concur? Just yesternight, I presumed to chide my lordly spouse, my husband, shedding tears in the act. A pathetic spectacle, indeed. Thou canst not comprehend."


    The five elders and the queen, as if caught in a tempest''s fierce gaze, turned their faces toward her, struck silent with astonishment, their mouths agape like the gates of a castle under siege.


    "And how should I, as his equal partner bound by the selfsame cursed twist of destiny, feign ignorance of a dark deed enacted some fifteen or sixteen cycles past? A deed wherein he did transgress the sacred sanctity of life by laying low and partaking of two sentient souls: a unicorn and a merfolk," Morgan divulged sarcastically.


    Huh?


    Hus¡­ band?


    "I hearest thou hast disclosed unto the masses this slight transgression of mine husband, Princess Nahwu," inquired Morgan. "Pray tell me, hast thou indeed done so?"


    There was only one man to whom she could refer. The human tyrant who started the war, rumored to have killed and eaten a unicorn, and the king of the merfolk: The Holiness, the Original Saint, was his wife?!

 92 - Ignorant and Gullible

    Morgan took a deep breath and released it heavily. ¡°Verily, this doth appear as a mysterious secret unraveled. How hath the mythical realm but now discovered that the culprit who did vanquish the erstwhile monarch of merfolk and the unnamed unicorn was a mere child of eleven summers?¡±


    "Indeed," spake Morgan, "My lord husband was of humankind, at the tender age of eleven winters or perchance twelve, when he committed this egregious deed."


    "How did the merfolk, consumed by vengeance, not seek retribution upon witnessing a mere human stripling slay and partake of their purportedly benevolent king?" inquired Morgan in bewilderment.


    The elves'' memories were refreshed when Morgan referred to the merfolk king as benevolent. The truth was, he wasn¡¯t. To elaborate, the king was a tyrant of the seas.


    ¡°Oh, perchance I forgot the tale of a unicorn¡­ wandering the mortal realm aforetime, preying upon chaste maidens¡­? For what purpose, doth my memory fail¡­?¡±


    Once again, they were reminded of this particular unicorn who was notorious for raping virgin women in exchange for little to no blessing.


    "Ah, aye. Was it not in that era that these creatures, the unicorn and the merfolk king, ceased their mythical dick-farting?"


    In a rare occurrence, the occupants of the room were graced with a silence so loud that it could have rivaled a thunderclap.


    Morgan clutched her temples, her knuckles turning a shade of white that could blind if caught in the sunlight just right. It seemed only yesterday she was wallowing in heartbreak, unable to tap into his mind like a psychic hotline, yet managing to piece together a speculation solely through the power of her own impeccable memory.


    "I fucking wept," Morgan proclaimed, causing a pall to fall over those assembled in the hall. "My lord and spouse was compelled to undertake actions drastic to purge his very being of the Soulnaught Syndrome. At the tender age of eleven, he chose to relinquish his very humanity and ate the flesh of two dirty criminals."


    Once more, a wave of shock rippled through the gathered company.


    "Aye, I did not afore disclose the reasons behind his actions, did I? Such dire necessity compelled him. He stood upon the brink of mortality. My husband was dying," Morgan murmured. "And yet, I reproached him, for he kept his affliction veiled from my knowing gaze."


    In the next loop, she would go and find the truth herself, preparing for a proper court of justice. And even though she wouldn¡¯t remember the exact detail of this point in time because Burn wasn¡¯t here to witness it, she would come to this conclusion the moment she read his mind¡ªunless he decided to hide it.


    Certainly, Burn would do something like that. He refused to elaborate after she found out until she forced him to tell her after all. But there were things he wouldn¡¯t hide from her.


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    For example, his one important declaration.


    She would leave that to the past her later, and now, she would sincerely yell at them. These naive little princesses.


    "Thy Holiness, this transgression is indeed grave. We do offer our sincerest apologies for this malevolent accusation. It behooves us to swiftly undertake proper measures to redress the harm wrought by this defamation," proclaimed the chief of the High Elves.


    With a chorus of solemn nods, the esteemed elders of the elven society acknowledged the gravity of the situation, fully versed in the art of reputation management among the mythical clans.


    In the intricate tapestry of this mystical realm, The Holiness stood as a revered cornerstone. Her tireless efforts had preserved the delicate harmony among the diverse species and creatures, a legacy spanning countless ages. The time had come for them to repay her selfless deeds in kind.


    The incredulity was palpable as they pondered the absurdity of labeling her husband a demon, a being supposedly indulging in a diet of mythical kindred. The sheer audacity of such a claim was as baffling as it was comical, a farcical twist.


    "But that''s¡ª!" Nahwu suddenly exclaimed.


    Immediately, everyone turned to her. Frowns were an understatement. Now, they looked displeased with her presence.


    "That''s the same man who attacked the outsiders before they could even explain their peaceful purpose for visiting our realm!" She continued passionately, "Three years ago, he mercilessly destroyed them, causing irreparable harm. He''s an unprovoked monster!"


    Nahwu''s voice grew more assertive. "I refuse to believe the narrative that he was protecting our realm. The outsiders were a mighty civilization with advanced technology. How could one man single-handedly obliterate them unless they posed no threat in the first place?"


    She added with thick sarcasm, "And to top it off, by sheer coincidence, he killed two criminals who happened to be the cure for his illness, and thus he conveniently consume them¡ª"


    SLAP!


    Nahwu fell to the side.


    Among all the people present, she didn¡¯t expect that the one who silenced her with a resounding slap was her own beloved sister.


    Princess Shorof prostrated herself before Morgan, beseeching, "Please, Your Holiness, extend your most benevolent mercy. My sister is young and ignorant."


    The elders rose from their seats, their expressions clouded with shame. It seemed that at that moment, they finally grasped the depth of ignorance festering within the younger generation, all brought to light by the words of their youthful princess.


    She, in her wisdom, had graciously exposed their offspring, the promising youths and the future of their community, to a theatrical farce.


    The intricate web of academia and its political entanglements was far too perilous for the pure and guileless after all. Inkia had ingeniously manipulated their children into a state of bewildered submission, leading them astray from rationality and common sense.


    This corruption unequivocally stemmed from outsiders meddling in the affairs of royals and nobles. But how dare they touch the tender saplings of the elven race? How, as the esteemed elders of the elven realm, could they have permitted such a descent into folly to take place?


    As those intriguing thoughts took root in their minds, Morgan, with a nonchalant air, shifted her focus elsewhere.


    The young human boy, a quiet observer, calmly assisted Nahwu, who was still reeling in shock. Gently lifting her from the ground, he offered his support.


    Approaching the two, Morgan observed the human boy keeping his gaze lowered, a heavy silence coating the room once more.


    Despite expectations of a sharp retort towards the second princess, Morgan surprised everyone by inclining her body and reaching towards the human boy¡ªhis ear, to be specific.


    YANK!


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    Locan''s startled exclamation filled the room as a device was forcefully removed from his ear.


    Recognizing the device as a translation tool akin to Burn''s, Morgan turned her gaze to Locan, a sly hum playing in her tone, "Ah, the one who graciously added elven tongue to the outsiders'' linguistic repertoire, I presume?"

 93 - Unlike Me

    Nahwu and Shorof had been escorted out, while Morgan, on the other hand, retained the human boy in attendance with the queen and the elders.


    ¡°He dared bring in the contraption of outsiders into the sacred precincts of the Great Forest. This transgression is intolerable,¡± the Dark Elf chief declared.


    ¡°What if our words be overheard?¡± inquired the Moon Elf chief.


    "Fear not, for in the forthcoming loop shall I rectify this matter," said Morgan. "The lad comprehendeth not our discourse sans this artifice; hence, let him don it."


    ¡°Thy Holiness¡­¡± began the High Elf chief, though then he fell silent, perceiving Morgan''s plan.


    "Dost thou comprehend our words?" Morgan asked after she let the boy wear the translation device again.


    Locan raised his face, his countenance pale but his eyes determined, ¡°Yes, Your Holiness.¡±


    It was his debut in uncovering the existence of a holy entity within the realm of myths¡ªa divine figure capable of even humbling the esteemed elves'' queen and elders.


    "I have heard thou art the premier prince of Inkia, Prince Locan Inkor?" inquired Morgan once more.


    "Yes," replied Locan.


    Morgan fixed her gaze upon him. "What art thou doing amidst the turmoil of the Inkia war?"


    Locan paled. He was here because of the war...


    "Thou didst flee from thy troubles, didst thou?" Morgan remarked. "Whilst thine faction clashed with the prime minister''s, whilst thy people''s army battled against Soulnaught''s attack, thou didst frolic with thy companion and seek solace in the tranquil Elven enclave."


    Locan found himself in a rather peculiar predicament. Despite being associated with the "first prince faction," he couldn''t muster up any claim to power within it.


    It was more like his dear mother was playing a game of thrones using his name as a pawn, while he sat idly by with no say in the matter¡ªa prince stripped of authority over his own title.


    A prince with no power over his own name.


    "Art thou aware of the toll thy actions hast wrought in lives lost?" inquired Morgan.


    Morgan then delved into the juicy details extracted from Burn''s memories of the war''s fateful day. Finn Wilderwood had his family snatched and held hostage by the kingdom, leading him to allow a massacre at the hands of Soulnaught.


    The chaos unfolded in the blink of an eye, though the repercussions still lingered fresh in their minds, poised to reach Inkia soon with impending doom awaiting Wintersin''s forces.


    Inkia¡¯s army slaughter was still yesterday. And now, Wintersin¡¯s army would soon be slaughtered under Burn¡¯s hands.


    Ah, the classic case of underestimating the threat. But it was understandable. Inkia''s forte lay not in its military might but in the intricate dance of politics. Leveraging their king''s vast network of connections, some might be less substantial than they appeared, yet Inkia had successfully manipulated the mythical community to their advantage, at least in previous loops.


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    Still, that wouldn¡¯t be the end of it. What befell Finn Wilderwood could very well befall another unsuspecting soul, all while they puppeteered individuals like him with callous indifference¡ªusing them as mere tools in their grand machinations.


    And in this grand charade, poor Locan found himself reduced to a mere bystander, complicit in allowing his name to be wielded as a weapon by unseen forces. Oh, the tangled webs we weave in the game of power and manipulation.


    ¡°I just¡­ want to save my sister¡­¡± Locan whispered.


    It was the Inkia Kingdom, after all, where princes and princesses sprouted faster than weeds in a garden. Old daddy dearest, Rafaye Inkor, seemed to have a penchant for siring offspring left, right, and center, whether they were legitimate, illegitimate, or downright bastards.


    And naturally, most of them were swept under the royal rug without a second thought.


    But lo and behold, in waltzes Locan, lucky chap that he is. His mother happened to be one of the favored queens, and he even had the audacity to be the firstborn among all the other royal progeny.


    What a stroke of luck! Yet, despite swimming in a sea of royal drama, he couldn''t quite shake off that pesky thing called a conscience.


    Enter the princess from a less prestigious line. Locan''s newfound sibling project.


    "My dear mother has a rather peculiar hobby: plotting the demise of every child fathered by the king, with the exception of yours truly, of course," Locan whispered. ¡°At least now, with her attention elsewhere, I can ensure my dear sister''s safety."


    All of this politics and power struggle, he didn¡¯t care about any of it. One of the reasons he was close with Nahwu was because they had one thing in common: their love for their sibling.


    "Hmm," Morgan sighed. "Though this world be consumed by corruption, and riddled with war and destruction, whilst the outsiders do reap what they sow, thou wilt simply permit thy name to be thus used?"


    Locan cried out, ¡°What can I do? I don¡¯t have any power and I¡¯m not smart! I¡¯m barely fifteen¡ª¡±


    "What if thou dost possess the power to enact change?" Morgan inquired.


    In the next loop, she would find a way.


    "Mine husband hath designs to unite this realm. None shall impede his path. Neither thou, nor Inkia, nor the outsiders. Forsooth, there exists no superior means to establish order than through might," Morgan declared.


    She turned to the queen and the elders. "I had not purposed to embroil thee in the affairs of humankind, my dearest companions. Yet, witnessing the entanglement of thy youth, I am left with no choice but to give warning."


    "Unlike me, my lord husband doth eschew speech. He doth not explain his intentions. Instead, he conquers. For as he deems it, that path doth prove the simplest, indeed."


    ***


    Junior Fleet Admiral Rudolf.


    In that desolate expanse between the Soulnaught and Wintersin empires, where the cold wind whispered of impending conflict, the Junior Fleet Admiral of the Outsiders stood with a brash demeanor that barely concealed his curiosity.


    His youthful features were marred by a haughty air, a face of confidence in the presence of the infamous Emperor Burn of Soulnaught.


    Emperor Burn, a figure of legend and dread, stood before him with an aura of power that made the very air thrum with tension.


    Tales of his singlehanded defiance of the Outsider''s first wave of attack upon Nethermere three years past painted him as a force of nature, crushing starships with but a flick of his fingers and a sneer upon his lips.


    The semi-open space crackled with an undercurrent of hostility, the clash of two opposing forces ready to collide like titans in the midst of a storm.


    As their eyes met across the makeshift tent that marked the boundary between their domains, the Junior Fleet Admiral felt an exciting chill run down his spine.


    Emperor Burn''s gaze was a cold flame that seemed to pierce through his very soul, sizing him up with a mix of disdain and curiosity.


    Ahh, Apex Two.


    They finally met.

 94 - Two Shameless Guys

    "My name is Rudolf Blitzen, Junior Fleet Admiral of the 34th division of the Peacemaker Troops of the Alliance. I have heard much about you, Sir Pendragon."


    Peacemaker Troops... right, they did call themselves that.


    The first wave of the outsiders'' attack called themselves the Vanguard Army of the Alliance. Burn forgot which division they were, or the names of their commanders he faced. At first, they just came and didn¡¯t talk, but when Burn almost finished them all, they begged to talk.


    They introduced themselves then.


    Burn suspected that they came in pairs. The lesser troops were the Vanguard Army, tasked to test the waters. Then, when they were defeated, there came the Peacemaker Troops, the ones in charge of doing the ''divide et impera'' strategy.


    "Interesting," Burn muttered.


    Rudolf''s eyebrow twitched imperceptibly.


    "Despite boasting about neutrality and proclaiming your arrival with peaceful intentions, here you stand before me, clearly aligned with the Wintersin Empire. How intriguing," Burn sneered, his skepticism evident in every word.


    Rudolf''s smile vanished in an instant, his retort now laced with the same sharpness. "So you accuse us of taking sides while orchestrating conflicts in your own backyard?"


    With a knowing chuckle, Burn quipped back, ¡°Ah, but of course. It was all a matter of necessity. These innocent lambs were practically begging to be fleeced, while you cunning wolves circled, waiting for the feast. Why should I gift-wrap a world that already sits snugly in the palm of my hand for your taking?¡±


    ¡°Shameless,¡± Rudolf sneered.


    "In the first place, if your Vanguard Army succeeded in taking over this world with violence, you ''Peacemakers'' wouldn¡¯t need to come down and use the long strategy of slowly buying the people over, right?" Burn said, as if it were just an open secret.


    Rudolf sighed. "This is why we need to use violence in the first place. People like you just overcomplicate things."


    The Junior Fleet Admiral was honest, but also unpleasant.


    "For example," Rudolf said, "We could''ve been great business partners!"


    He didn¡¯t care how Burn took down the Vanguard Army. Fine, he was strong, but why wouldn¡¯t he bend even after seeing the benefits the outsiders could give him?!


    After all, it would be easy to sell the world he had on top of his palm to gain even more, right?


    "People like you," Burn looked down on him, "are unpleasant."


    No matter how wretched, no matter how foul this hellhole was, this realm was the soil he was born in.


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    The people who intrude into other people''s backyard, mess up the peace, and then throw money to pretend to fix the damage only to persuade the people to turn toward each other¡ªhow much longer would they disrespect him?


    Especially after they had faced him, and single handedly destroyed by him?


    Did Burn have to take a piss over the whole realm just to mark his territory?


    Apparently, the answer was yes.


    "My world, my rule. You''re an uninvited guest who plays the role of a salaryman but was actually a robber in disguise. That weapon you aimed at me nearly obliterated this realm, yet here you are trying to play the peacemaker?" Burn questioned with a sardonic smirk.


    "Ohhh~" Rudolf chuckled. "Seems there''s a slight misunderstanding here!"


    Burn regarded him with a patronizing expression, clearly unconvinced by Rudolf''s words.


    "That weapon? What, just a trifle stolen by some insignificant mercenary group," Rudolf exaggerated dramatically.


    "They''re just a bunch of notorious space troublemakers! Can''t hold us responsible for that, can you?" Rudolf''s feeble attempt to deflect blame only served to highlight his blatant disregard for the truth, a fact he didn''t even bother to conceal.


    How could a motley crew of troublemaking mercenaries manage to pilfer from the Alliance? And what prompted them to descend to the surface and target Burn of all people?


    "We''ve been on a scavenger hunt for this quaint little weapon, you see? You have it tucked away somewhere, don''t you?" Rudolf inquired. "Kindly return it, Sir Pendragon."


    Even though Rudolf was well aware of Burn''s skills in disarming those thugs and retrieving their doomsday contraption, he shamelessly pressed for its return.


    "And what if I have different plans for it?" Burn mused.


    Rudolf chuckled softly. "Oh, don''t play coy. The weapon is rightfully ours in the first place. It just wandered off here by chance! Honestly, what do you intend to do with it anyway? Decimate everything in sight on land?"


    "You''re fully aware of that and still conveniently let this little wanderer find its way here?" Burn quipped. "Why should I hand it over to you? What if it goes missing again only to end up back here, by mere accident, of course?"


    ¡°Or do you want us to just decimate this little realm of yours?¡± Rudolf switched back to a cold, hard threat.


    Silence.


    ¡°Pfft¡ª¡±


    ¡°Pf¡ªhahaha!¡± Burn burst out laughing. ¡°Sure! Do it! As if our Junior Fleet Admiral can make that decision!¡±


    But why wouldn''t they?


    The answer was simple. It was the resources. They could get so much from farming a planet, not to mention that this planet, in particular, was full of magic. The items, the artifacts, the mining products, everything was juicy.


    Why destroy when you can prosper, right? After all, who could resist the allure of such bountiful treasures waiting to be plundered?


    ¡°How arrogant. Do you even comprehend how many worlds out there are similar and better than this little realm of yours?¡± Rudolf mocked.


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you just give up and destroy our realm already? Or is there something here that tickles your fancy that you can¡¯t find anywhere else?¡± Burn fired back, a sly grin dancing on his lips.


    The reason they clung to this world like a stubborn barnacle, intent on taking control and disposing of him quietly. But what was it?


    Burn had no clue.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Rudolf raised his arms dramatically. ¡°I see you¡¯re a man with desires. So spill it, what¡¯s your price for the weapon?¡±


    Rudolf squinted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind me. I can lead you on a conquest of Inkia or Wintersin myself. Take your pick.¡±


    ¡°Oh, how generous of you,¡± Burn retorted with a faux gracious nod. ¡°But let¡¯s be honest, I could snatch those lands with one hand tied behind my back. How about you entrust our weapon, our tiny trinket of yours to me? I promise not to lose it down the back of the sofa.¡±


    Rudolf felt uneasy. This man... he was sharper than a tack dipped in lemon juice.


    "What are you planning? We have been trying to be kind all this time, and you want to ruin it?" Rudolf asked.


    Burn relaxed his legs, reclining in his chair. Feigning deep thought, he hummed, actively losing interest.


    After a solid five seconds, Burn decided, "Alright. If you have no more clever suggestions, just leave. My hospitality will soon run out."

 95 - Go Wild

    Rudolf simmered with rage, his words dripping with frustration. "He admits he has it, yet getting it back seems beyond us. What does he think the Alliance is? A fucking charity organization?"


    The voice from the communication device probed, [What''s the next step, then?]


    Rudolf shot back, "Shall we educate him on our capabilities?"


    [And how do you plan to do that?]


    With a dark gleam in his eye, Rudolf declared, "The stolen White Dwarf must be reclaimed through decisive action. What other choice do we have? Let''s unleash our forces, Fleet Admiral."


    In disbelief, the voice questioned, [An attack?! Could anything stop him, a man who survived the White Dwarf?! Just give what he wants!]


    Rudolf''s confidence faltered not. "He wants the White Dwarf. If we buckle, what do you think he would demand? Don''t underestimate the White Dwarf. It holds power."


    The voice objected vehemently, [No¡­ Rudolf¡­ are you crazy?! I won''t condone that. Are you willing to risk destroying the wo¡ªblip!]


    Rudolf abruptly silenced the device, his gaze shifting to the protective glass dome inside the cockpit of his ship. A sardonic smile played on his lips. "That arrogant facade will crumble soon enough."


    ***


    Morgan jumped down her white branch, arriving to find chaos in the war encampment. Soldiers scrambled to pack up their gear and the massive war machinery that had accompanied them.


    ¡°Miss Morgan,¡± Percival greeted her with a hint of surprise. ¡°His Majesty didn''t mention your visit.¡±


    Morgan surveyed the scene and inquired, ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°The Wintersin army is retreating, and His Majesty sensed trouble, so we''re following suit,¡± Percival explained as he helped organize the hurried evacuation.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he just arrive this noon? Why would something like that¡­¡± Morgan prodded.


    With a nervous glance, Percival admitted, ¡°Well, you see, after meeting with the notorious Fleet Admiral of the outsiders...¡±


    Morgan frowned. ¡°The Fleet Admiral? Where''s His Majesty now?¡±


    Percival hesitated, then confessed, ¡°He''s... on the top of the fortress.¡±


    As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the snow-covered battlefield, chaos reigned supreme.


    The Wintersin Army scrambled to pack their belongings, their faces etched with a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation as they prepared to retreat. On the other side, the Soulnaught Army mirrored their movements, a sense of urgency palpable in the frosty air.


    Emperor Burn of Soulnaught stood alone at the edge of the fortress, a solitary figure perched between two warring empires. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, where the last rays of sunlight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink.


    And just as the sun made its final descent, summer snow began to fall, a whimsical dance of ice crystals in the fading light.


    Amidst this surreal backdrop, Morgan made her entrance atop the fortress, her steps deliberate and purposeful as she walked towards Burn.


    ¡°Caliburn.¡±


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    The man turned, no smile apparent on his face.


    ¡°Are you evacuating the army?¡± Morgan asked, her arm automatically outstretched towards him.


    Burn nodded, knowing that Morgan was trying to read his mind and welcomed her touch. ¡°The outsider is demanding the White Dwarf back, and suddenly, Wintersin is retreating. The stage has changed owners.¡±


    Morgan¡¯s warmth rubbed against his palm, her expression slowly showing understanding as she read his mind. ¡°What do you think is happening?¡±


    ¡°An attack,¡± he answered. ¡°You are right. Somehow, they are agreeing to risk destroying this world. I am certain now that Wintersin is fleeing.¡±


    ¡°You know this, but you still provoked him?¡± Morgan asked.


    Burn shrugged. ¡°I needed information.¡±


    They had nothing they could offer Burn, but they couldn¡¯t destroy him without also destroying the world. He was both the rock and the hard place.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what they wanted from this world that they couldn¡¯t give up on, but it works in my favor. The problem is, they¡¯re stubborn,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to die,¡± Morgan chuckled.


    ¡°Eh,¡± Burn shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m going to try to determine what is coming, how many, and whether the main ship ahead agreed to it. This Junior Fleet Admiral is arrogant and hot-headed, certainly witty, but easy to provoke.¡±


    ¡°Should I¡­ help?¡± Morgan asked.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Burn hummed. ¡°Just tell me what you want me to remember for the next loop.¡±


    She told him what happened in the Great Forest one by one, about Princess Nahwu and Princess Shorof, about Prince Locan, and about the Queen and the elders.


    After that, Morgan frowned. She pondered for a couple of seconds and said, ¡°I¡¯m going to cry a lot again.¡±


    Burn smiled.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be so angry again,¡± Morgan continued, ¡°and you¡¯ll go through it while in pain.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Burn said. ¡°I¡¯ll treat it as a bonus round.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t make another cruel joke, and don¡¯t forget,¡± Morgan grasped his hand tighter, ¡°to tell me you love me again.¡±


    It sounded like a threat.


    But... To think that she was about to die again felt a bit sour. This exact version of Morgan would disappear, and the next loop Morgan would be born. The version where they hadn¡¯t made love, and the version where they hadn¡¯t ''fallen in love.''


    "I will make sure to give you the same lesson too¡ªouch¡ª" Burn teased before Morgan pinched his palm with her fingernails. "Fine, stop. I promise it will be the first time I tell you when I see you again. Stop pinching¡ª"


    "No, don¡¯t. Not in front of everyone."


    "Shy?" Burn teased again.


    "Just..." Morgan hissed in annoyance. "When you¡¯re done with the pain."


    Burn suppressed a sigh. Ah, the thrill of imminent demise. This time, the entire world was set to kick the bucket. Whatever the looming catastrophe was, it would wipe out both him and Morgan.


    His money was on another White Dwarf, not the same one he had.


    But what if the universe decided to surprise them with something new? Something he had never seen before?


    Something that could kill them without obliterating the world.


    "I don¡¯t know if this would calm you down, but I just want to say¡­¡± Morgan suddenly raised her voice. ¡°I have only ever met three people other than me who could definitely defeat you in my lifetime.¡±


    Burn turned to her, seeing her grasp his hand. She must have read his mind and understood his concern.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Two died hundreds of years ago, and I¡¯m sure they wouldn¡¯t be able to defeat you without them dying. And one¡­ is not here. In the next loop, I¡¯ll tell you about them,¡± Morgan replied solemnly.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Burn hummed, ¡°Can¡¯t wait to hear it.¡±


    ¡°So, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s just another White Dwarf,¡± Morgan said. ¡°Even if it isn¡¯t, I¡¯m not going to let anyone other than me defeat you.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the man sounded interested, ¡°Possessive. How charming.¡±


    Morgan blinked at him, her stunning eyes practically sparkling with worry. It was a strange sight to see him so utterly laid back, despite the dark thoughts swirling in his head.


    "Did you think I was anxious about someone defeating me?" Burn shot back, a sly grin playing on his lips.


    "How could you not be?" Morgan answered with another question.


    "I was anxious about something else," Burn murmured, grasping her hand and pulling her closer. He lightly traced her chin and sneered, "I''m anxious about whether it''s going to be a thrilling fight or just a snooze fest."


    He knew it would end the world either way, so¡ª


    ¡°Pfft¡­¡± Morgan understood now. Her little laugh echoed in his ears¡ªhe wanted to catch its vibrations and put it in a jar. ¡°Caliburn¡­¡±


    She whispered in his ear, her voice as sweet and dark as black honey¡ª¡°Go wild.¡±

 96 - Provoked

    Strength, influence, wealth, and backing¡ªthe Alliance could provide all of the above.


    Nothing in the whole universe would be able to face the united might of the high realms from where the gods were born. Thus, there shouldn¡¯t be anything that could force them to back down.


    And the White Dwarf was one piece of proof. A miracle of creation¡ªa weapon designed solely for obliteration.


    ¡°They backed up so fast you''d think they knew what we''d brought,¡± Rudolf said. ¡°I¡¯m sure their spies wouldn''t have had the time to obtain the information, so maybe they made a lucky guess.¡±


    Or they were smart.


    Apex Two was smart indeed. He pointed out the exact reason they couldn¡¯t destroy this world¡ªsomething that couldn¡¯t be found anywhere else, something so unique that one of the Ten Overlords was scheduled for an inspection.


    Could it be that he guessed there was a second White Dwarf?


    Heh. So what if this world perishes? If that special unique thing truly was so precious that they sent them out to this boondock, then it wouldn''t perish so easily along with the world.


    Or it wouldn''t be worth it, right?


    There was nothing the Alliance hadn¡¯t yet procured.


    "Sir, are you absolutely positive about this?" one of his subordinates dared to question.


    "Why wouldn''t we be? We''ve been through this routine countless times. We''ve obliterated lower realms that dared to defy us, without fail!" Rudolf bellowed.


    "But the superiors did give us a¡ª"


    "Silence," Rudolf snapped. His gaze bore down on his ship crew. As a marquis''s son hailing from one of the Seven Heavens, he was accustomed to unwavering obedience.


    Why indeed would anyone dare to challenge the wisdom of a Junior Fleet Admiral from the strongest space organization capable of capturing a dying sun to fashion a world-ending weapon?


    That should be the norm after all, but¡­


    Light.


    As radiant light flooded into Rudolf''s spaceship through the towering glass windows, the crew collectively squinted in disbelief.


    "The sun had barely tucked in for the night," they mused incredulously, only to be greeted by the grand spectacle unfolding before them¡ªa colossal light crown gracing the sky with its majestic presence.


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    Perched atop the Northern fort of Soulnaught, a man lifted his gleaming sword to the heavens, a beacon of light piercing the cloak of darkness.


    The appearance stirred a sense of urgency among the crew. "Prepare the AI! Run the algorithm now!" they exclaimed, bracing for the impending showdown.


    When they enlisted Dirk Marshal, the job description required him to do a test run for the White Dwarf with the help of a trainer AI.


    Holding the record for the highest energy output used of the White Dwarf on the ground, Marshal¡¯s training regimen had been meticulously documented and fed into the algorithm, creating the holy grail of AI companions for wielding the formidable weapon.


    Because, let¡¯s face it, when one deals with cosmic forces and cutting-edge technology, you¡¯d want nothing less than perfection at the helm.


    And that was where Rudolf¡¯s confidence came from.


    The spaceship he used was sufficient to mimic and enhance the formation of the mercenary crews in support of the White Dwarf and to be employed automatically by the AI. Oh, the delightful wonders of technology!


    Not to mention¡­


    "Now, we should be able to delight in the luxury of cranking this bad boy up to a dazzling 6% output, right?" quipped Rudolf, with a twinkle in his eye.


    "In theory, sir¡­ we could certainly do that. But, more than that, it will be a danger for ourselves too," his subordinate replied cautiously.


    With a hearty laugh, Rudolf waved off the concerns. "Oh, pish posh! Who needs caution when you can have a sizzling 6% power boost? We''ll toast that pompous son of a bitch off the universe!"


    ¡°Sir! Attack sequence plan is ready! Unleashing in three, two, one¡­ 1% output, opening shot!¡±


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    They had seen it before¡ªthe devastation the White Dwarf wrought upon a world.


    They had seen it struck a planet, witnessing buildings crumbled like sandcastles before a tidal wave, the ground trembled as if startled, and forests wilted faster than you can say "photosynthesis."


    People scrambled in confusion, their daily wonders suddenly less fascinating than impending doom. The blast''s impact resonated with a "Boom!" that even the aliens next door could hear (and gossip about). Birds scattered in disarray, wishing they had invested in GPS sooner.


    Cars parked neatly on the streets suddenly found parallel parking a breeze as they were tossed aside like toys in a toddler''s tantrum.


    The blast''s message to the world was clear: a cosmic mic drop that left creatures reconsidering its importance in the grand scheme of the universe.


    They expected to see the same scene unfold before their eyes today too¡ªuntil¡­


    Until they saw the crown of light once more, ablaze with a seemingly burning white flame as it slowly spun like a gigantic wheel in the sky.


    ¡°What¡­?¡±


    1% was unable to¡­ scratch anything?!


    Zooming in with their ship camera, they beheld another unimaginable sight.


    In the center of the crown of light was a man, seated atop his steed of steel, a metal griffin adorned with unknown ancient letters glowing on its surface, rivaling the brilliance of its energy core.


    His hair was white, his eyes engulfed in golden light. His armor''s cape billowed in the wind, and akin to his steed, the surface of his armor bore glowing inscriptions of ancient enchantment¡ªno, even his skin was infused with them.


    He smiled, a grin that bore resemblance to a sinister sneer suitable for an evil god¡ª


    Suddenly, a delicate white hand emerged from his shoulder. From behind him appeared a golden goddess with blue eyes, floating like a holy spirit, her white dress spreading along his cape.


    Had they¡­ unknowingly provoked ancient gods dwelling in this unsuspecting lower realm?


    Since this world was going to perish anyway¡ª


    ¡°Let¡¯s go all out, Morgan,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan chukled. ¡°How greedy you are¡­¡±


    ¡°3% output! Go!¡± Rudolf screamed¡ª


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!

 97 - Blissful

    Burn, the connoisseur of all-out warfare, always had an impressive repertoire. This had always been the case all his life. Whether it was unleashing brute force or resorting to underhanded tactics, he never failed to entertain.


    Today was no exception.


    ¡°Done,¡± Morgan said after she finished carving her enchantments, as if she had just painted a masterpiece on the metal griffin. Turning to Burn, she upped the ante by bedazzling his armor with more enchantments than ever before.


    As she worked, whispered spells and touched his armor¡¯s entire surface, embracing him completely with her magic, Burn stood still. She was nearly finished when Burn got an idea¡ª


    ¡°What about you carve enchantments into my body?¡± he asked.


    Morgan raised her face, her eyes widened, but then helplessly scoffed, ¡°Yes, of course I can, my crazy darling.¡±


    The suggestion of having enchantments etched directly onto his body surely could only be described as crazy. But as her initial shock morphed into wry acceptance, she thought, well, why not add ''human enchantment'' to her job description?


    The man smiled, knowing that it was unheard of¡ªsomething that was meant for objects rather than living bodies. Surely it could render his body irreparable, not to mention the risk of failure, but this was a way to go all out.


    Signing up for a magic-infused tattoo session was half a good and a bad idea, depending on how you look at it.


    And he was right. The process was unbearably painful as the ancient letters started to carve themselves into his skin. With Morgan as the enchanter, the letters even started to embed themselves into his flesh, then his organs, and eventually into his bone structure.


    She had never done this to a person before, but she embraced and improved the idea of engraving enchantment magic directly into someone¡¯s body.


    This feat, which might only be achieved by the masters of their crafts after years of research and experimentation, was done in mere seconds by the combination of Burn¡¯s sturdy, Force art-enhanced body, and Morgan¡¯s millennia of experience and Vision art understanding.


    "What''s next?" Burn asked. "They''re about to start. Are we ready?"


    "Yes," Morgan replied. "I''m going to heal you by borrowing God''s holy energy and buff you with protection and increased attack power using my Vision. I''ll do it simultaneously, but you don''t need to protect me. Just focus on the fight."


    "Got it," Burn blinked once in subtle amazement and nodded.


    Fighting alongside the Infinity Witch, who apparently also doubled as a Saint, turned out to be a hell of a¡ªno, a heaven of a luxury. A fucking divine comedy of a cheat.


    "I will now ask you," Morgan continued, "do you need me to provide support attacks? I can do offensive spells on the side too."


    "No," Burn answered. "I don''t want them to be distracted from me."


    If they decided to pick on anyone else, this world would go kaput in the blink of an eye. How boring would that be, right? Morgan understood, realizing Burn was all geared up to soak in every blow they threw his way.


    "Alrighty then..." Morgan closed her eyes. "Let''s kick this off, shall we?"


    "Raise that sword sky-high and brace yourself for some divine TLC."


    Burn arched an eyebrow, questioning if a non-believer like himself was even eligible for this. Nonetheless, he hoisted his sword toward the heavens. Lo and behold, a ginormous halo¡ªa giant crown of light materialized in the sky.


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    As Morgan''s essence began to disperse into the surroundings, her physical form melted into pure light, yet miraculously retained her attire, shape, and face.


    Suddenly, all of Burn''s body enchantment-induced agony vanished, and he found himself glowing from within.


    "O Divine, bestow your healing touch upon my beloved son of man¡ªwipe away his hurts and woes as my chosen one," Morgan beseeched. "By the power vested in me¡ª"


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    "¡ªI dub thee my Paladin, my first holy knight."


    ***


    ¡°3% output! Go!¡± Rudolf screamed¡ª


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    Here comes the world-ending heat energy, all focused in one straight line, targeting the man in the center of that blinding crown of light. Cue the absolute whiteout¡ªjust when you thought you''d seen it all, the whole world goes blind again.


    The blast that was supposed to create a big enough crater in the planet to make it collapse into itself was absorbed into the crown of light as it mimicked Burn¡¯s energy-swallowing technique.


    While the grand plans of obliterating the planet with a colossal blast, only to have it sipped up by the crown of light like a fancy energy smoothie, Burn was also surprised himself.


    He felt the weight, the overwhelming pressure. He took it all in. But there was no pain. There was no difficulty¡ªnor strain.


    So this was what they called God¡¯s blessing? Or was it just¡­ Morgan?


    Post that blinding blitz, his body was all pepped up. The energy he sucked in was kind of lukewarm, not the scorching-hot mess he dealt after facing Dirk. The blinding light did its disappearing act, and voila!


    His golden eyes peeked behind Morgan¡¯s fingers, which shielded him from blindness with her hand.


    ¡°Our turn, Caliburn.¡±


    Burn charged forward, leaving Morgan in the middle of the slowly rotating crown of light. Raising his sword to almost breaching the speed of light towards the direction of the invisible ship, he felt another blast coming.


    And he was correct¡ª


    BLAAAAAAAST! BLAAAST! BLAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    ¡°0.02¡­ 0.04¡­ 0.1¡­ So it¡¯s not human. Artificial intelligence?¡± Burn muttered as he commented on the precision. Atop his metal griffin, he maneuvered skillfully around the pattern of the blasts, not only deciphering its algorithm but also throwing random feints of his own attacks.


    He had absorbed enough energy after all.


    SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!


    ¡°Just like that, you invisible rat¡ªbe where I want you to be!¡±


    ***


    BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!


    DANGER! DANGER!


    ¡°Turn off those fucking noises! What are you doing?! Hit him! He¡¯ll go down eventually!¡± Rudolf yelled.


    His subordinates couldn¡¯t even put their behind properly in their chairs, their entire weight on their toes, their faces reflecting horror.


    One of them tracked Burn, helplessly trying to capture his blurring image with their camera as the tracking AI failed to differentiate between their enemy and a streak of light.


    As the fight¡ªor the game of cat and mouse where they kept changing the role between who was the cat and who was the mouse¡ªcontinued, they realized more and more how absurd it was to try and face a literal star eater with mere algorithms and artificial intelligence.


    But the AI kept updating. It kept processing impossibly broken data of the man in the camera¡ªwhose actions defied logic and prediction.


    ¡°It¡¯s weird. His hair is slowly¡­ turning golden¡­!¡±


    ¡°What is he? Super S*aiyan?¡±


    The small quips between the tactical officer and the co-pilot were enough to make every crew member actually involved in the fight grin. It was just priceless to manage to crack even the most stoic faces among the crew who were actually doing the heavy lifting.


    Well, of course, they were all part of the cream of the crop, handpicked for the Junior Fleet Admiral of the Alliance, after all. And when it came to battles, they practically had more stripes than their esteemed leader.


    Slowly, they started to enjoy the fight itself. This line between life and death was not to be crossed, but they couldn''t ignore how close it was to their necks, reminding them of what they had forgotten after joining the elite ranks.


    This was a real fight.


    Just beyond the illusion of their undefeatable reputation, there was a window separating them from the reality that they knew¡ªthey were going to die.


    In front of them stood death himself, and yet they smiled back at him.


    Oh, how glorious their endings would be!


    But among those with the wisdom of their own fates, there was one with blissful ignorance.


    Rudolf screamed in fear, "Forget it! JUST DESTROY HIM! 6% OUTPUT!"

 98 - Star Eater

    "Forget it! JUST DESTROY HIM! 6% OUTPUT!"


    It wasn¡¯t that easy. What Apex Two did to them was position their ship with the correct amount of disadvantage so they couldn¡¯t unleash their big blasts without destroying themselves in the process too.


    His slashes and attacks were full of purpose. His own strategic maneuver was to create a pattern of a snake eating its own tail, even though the snake was invisible and floating freely in the sky with the power of a dying sun in its tail-eating mouth.


    But how would they dumb it down to their blissfully ignorant Junior Fleet Admiral? Telling him that Burn¡¯s basically saying, ¡°Haha, you shoot me, you die too,¡± with his barrage of strategic attacks?


    While it was true that they needed to blast him eventually, and that they knew they needed to destroy this world to kill him, they knew some of them didn¡¯t want to end here today, like the Fleet Admiral.


    ¡°What is the maximum safe output currently?¡± the ship¡¯s tactical officer asked.


    The weapon officer answered, ¡°Less than 2%, sir. More than that, we die.¡±


    ¡°Wait until it¡¯s more than 3% and immediately hit it when it reaches it,¡± the tactical officer commanded.


    ¡°Inputting commands to the AI. Focusing the algorithm.¡±


    ¡°Pilot, Co-Pilot, how long until he will be able to corner us?¡±


    ¡°30 seconds, sir, no¡ªtwelve!¡±


    ¡°3%¡ª!¡±


    GRASP!


    "What are you doing?!" Rudolf grabbed the tactical officer by the collar. "I told you¡ªUGH! BLEUGH!"


    The man didn¡¯t know what hit him, but he was suddenly sprawled on the ground. He saw the back of the tactical officer¡¯s shoes and realized he had just struck his gut and was immediately back to focus.


    ¡°3,05%!¡±


    ¡°HIT!¡±


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASTT!!!


    Complete white. They successfully landed a clean shot, right at Apex Two.


    For a moment, Rudolf felt that he had no place on his own ship. The crew didn¡¯t even blink once, their eyes focused on the screen¡ªyet he alone observed everything with no knowledge of how and why.


    Alone, he didn¡¯t know that they were absolutely about to die.


    Because even after they hit death clean in his face, the look of complete desperation in their eyes hadn¡¯t changed. No celebration, no sharp release of breaths¡ª


    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHA!¡±


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Emperor Burn''s grand re-entrance had all the pomp and flair one could expect from a man who clearly believed he was the hottest thing in the galaxy¡ªliterally.


    As he emerged from the aftermath of his little sunbathing session, there was no denying the effects of his roasting rendezvous with the dying sun.


    He, the absolute force of mastery, was still a sight to behold. His luminous golden locks still glowed, emitting wisps of smoke that mingled with his crazy, ecstatic smile.


    His eyes, still ablaze with power, flickered with energy within, maintaining majesty amidst the scorch marks etched deeply into his skin.


    The metal griffin beneath him, a symbol of his formidable presence, now bore scars of battle that rivaled the graffiti of a drunken bard scribbling nonsense on a tavern wall. The ancient letters that once glowed with a mysterious enchantment now seemed to dim, but not yet diminished.


    As he sat upon his steed of steel, the billowing cape of his armor now resembled more of a tattered rag, flapping in the wind like a flag of surrender from a defeated army. The thing is, there was no hint of surrender from him.


    Not even a glance.


    The intricate inscriptions on his armor were now a bit warped and twisted, but still had the very magic they once held. Even his own skin, infused with ancient enchantments, now bore the marks of his hubris, cracked and scorched like a poorly baked loaf of bread left too long in the oven.


    Yes. Despite the devastation wrought upon him by the dying sun''s wrath, Emperor Burn remained defiant, a proof to his stubborn willpower or sheer insanity.


    The damage might have been great, but his spirit burned brighter than ever, like a candle in a hurricane, flickering and dancing in the face of overwhelming odds.


    And so he sat, a laughing, scorched majestic ruler.


    Until¡ª


    [Virellanar enashta valrin, kolthar drigara lassorindeshe, dor''anarisht shan, ver''ethorin anuvias des''thara, deltondor sharru eneri, val''shara virellan andorin, valdisesh talmar''dor eneshara relaral valrin¡­]


    The crown of light started spinning faster when everyone present heard the voice of an angel echoing in their middle ear ossicles. The tactical officer immediately zoomed the camera on the woman standing atop a big white branch in the middle of the crown of light.


    She sang like cursive was having babies with summertime, and the song flowed like a sonnet on roller skates crashing into a nest of chirpy baby birds¡ªindescribably unfair and cruel, yet nonetheless beautiful.


    Why unfair and cruel? Well, because the effect of the song was immediate.


    [Ventarashton elthirion, orameldenar solinarisht des''tara, drenin vinavar ethrindu, virenalenar ar''ethrin valrin, valrin derathar shoronuindes, alar''eren navar irinar shardu, virellan alinorin lissanir, andora''ethorin virellan virunost¡­!]


    A wave of radiant energy enveloped Emperor Burn in a dazzling display of divine magic. The scorch marks that marred his skin began to fade, gradually vanishing as if they were never there.


    His golden locks regained their luster, flowing freely without a hint of damage. The wisps of smoke dissipated, leaving behind a renewed sense of vitality in his appearance.


    The metal griffin beneath him shimmered with renewed strength, its scars melting away like snow under a blazing sun. The ancient letters etched on its surface glowed with a newfound brilliance, the mysterious enchantment within them reignited to full potency.


    [Varenraithor elanduin virenalenar anuvias, velthirion valdonorin shonar arin, vedrindar anuvias valdisesh lissandor, tal shendu''dor vendrethar anuvias rendi!!]


    The tattered cape of his armor mended itself, transforming back into a majestic banner that fluttered proudly in the wind. The intricate inscriptions on his armor straightened out, regaining their original form and radiating with the potent magic they once held.


    [Aah! Anethin varalar aravirin asthendu, ventarashton des''ethor haventula, thir''aren alinorin arin¡­!]


    [Aah! Drigara valanun shendror, enorindeth ararushthor enashta''an, talmardesh arin varunar alinorin¡­]


    Emperor Burn''s cracked and scorched skin healed before your eyes, rejuvenated by the goddess''s unparalleled healing spell. The hubris-inflicted damage was undone, leaving behind skin as flawless as marble. His eyes, now clear and sharp, shone with renewed vigor and determination.


    In a matter of moments, Emperor Burn was restored to his former glory, standing tall and proud upon his steed of steel, as a sinister grin escaped him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s continue!¡±

 99 - War Cry

    Burn was well aware that Morgan''s holy magic was doing wonders, but he also knew she was on the fast track to a breakdown. And to top it off, she had basically turned herself into a ghostly cheerleader, hitching her essence to his.


    Looks like she''s not holding back either.


    [Andrishtorin valdrasha var''sholari, del''sharthor vararindorin enelenar, val''shara virellan enelendir, val''ethar valrin shorarin des''thara!]


    His body was in for some serious decay and meltdown, with the added bonus of a swift cell annihilation from the heat and radiation the minute she let go. A classic case of going down together. But hey, who''s counting?


    So what?


    [Valirin voranori anir dorin, elderin voranorin del''ethorin relaral valrin, ver''ethorin anuvias des''thara¡­]


    Her voice, oh her voice sounded like it came from the fourth dimension. Like it had a VIP pass from the cosmic realms, making this very plane of existence its own personal dance floor where even vibrations had feelings. It surrounded the space and moved¡ªas if the vibration itself was alive and aware of him.


    More than angelic, it was almost surreal. It was so dreamy, almost haunting in its perfection.


    But now, finally, he would go on a full offense.


    [Ridrendar anuvias relaral irindu, senor''alastorin vendrathor enulorin valrin, kalenryn vinashara dronedresh, arethorin drinvalan valanun''alorin, ver''ethorin virellan alinorin shardu¡­]


    As her voice went from soothing to fiery with a side of extra sass, Burn could feel his power levels shooting through the roof. It wasn''t just healing anymore; it was like a power-up for kicking butt. Forget holy magic, this was some next-level Vision magic stuff.


    Her tune was like an alarm on all the enchantments that had been in slumber on his whole body, giving every bit of him a wakeup call from the inside out.


    [Aah! Valarrin dorashta, anethin tormarin vinaren val, anuvias del''ethorin virellan irindu kala¡­]


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAST!!


    SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!


    ¡°HAHAHAHAHAHAH!¡±


    [Aah! Irivindeth alinaranen, enalenar shandu anethin vinaren valrin, varenraithorin valanun asthendu ren''relar¡­!]


    "We can''t... keep up," the weapon officer''s pupils shook, his body completely tense. "The AI keeps reporting data overload, the safe output is less than 1%, and the mechanical arm..."


    "I know. Pilots?" the tactical officer asked.


    "We''re being chased like crazy," the pilot answered. ¡°It becomes harder to dodge his attacks the longer it goes.¡±


    "Give me something!" the tactical officer yelled, but no one had the answer.


    "Let¡¯s execute that maneuver," the co-pilot suddenly proposed.


    The tactical officer immediately turned to the navigator. The man looked back at him and nodded. Seeing the determination in his eyes, he finally asked, "Do we have all the conditions met?"


    "Sir, yes, sir," the navigator answered.


    "He can still chase us even with our ship¡¯s invisibility cloaking technology. We must assume he will be able to counter it," the tactical officer said.


    "But if we go faster..." the co-pilot mumbled.


    ¡°That means the artificial gravity and stabilizer inside the ship won''t function properly,¡± the pilot pointed out. ¡°We will experience approximately 25 G¡¯s!¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The tactical officer sneered. "Well, buckle up."


    BLAAAAAAAAST!!


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST! BLAST! BLAAAAAST!


    Oh, dealing with an unstoppable, infinite-energy powerhouse of a weapon that scoffs at the concept of cooldowns was just a delightful walk in the park, Burn thought wryly.


    Not to mention, right now, he felt like being up against a team of starship crew members who could probably navigate the galaxy blindfolded and still end up with a perfect parking spot at every alien spaceport.


    And let''s not forget the cherry on top¡ªthe AI, that brilliant digital sidekick making decisions smoother than a well-greased hyperdrive.


    It was as if they had their very own virtual Picard whispering strategic secrets into their ears, making the whole chaotic situation feel like a fancy intergalactic chess match where every move was a checkmate waiting to happen.


    Facing this powerhouse of a weapon was akin to trying to outwit a group of brainiacs at a pub quiz¡ªexcept the stakes were way higher than just bragging rights over a pint.


    It was a bit like walking into a space-age casino where the house always won, and the only way out was to bluff your way through with a poker face even a stone statue would envy.


    Oh, the joy of being outnumbered and outgunned, yet still finding a sliver of hope in the seamless coordination of this ragtag team of misfits. Burn and Morgan was on their wits end¡ª


    It was like watching a cosmic ballet unfold before his eyes, with every move choreographed to perfection, pirouetting through the sky and dodging laser beams like they were cosmic raindrops. Except it was him.


    Burn couldn''t help but crack a smile in the face of such overwhelming odds. After all, when life throws you an absolute weapon with infinite power, you should at least respect it and fight it with everything you got.


    ¡°I think there¡¯s something they¡¯re going to try next. They¡¯re edging to get out of this knot,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Morgan asked, her voice echoing in his head. ¡°Should I whip out another song? This one will be just perfect for your personal theme song.¡±


    ¡°Will you¡­ be okay?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? We¡¯re going to die together. I am going to see the end of this fight.¡±


    ¡°I see. Then let¡¯s end this at the end of your song.¡±


    [Azorath! Vaelothor! Kel''duran! Vor''shak! Shendren! K''larathem! Venor!]


    Burn was surprised when he heard the song. It was such a nostalgic one¡ª


    It was a war cry of a song.


    [Zyth''garoth! Feran''dor! Kel''duran! Vor''shak! Shendren! K''larathem! Venor!]


    The invisible spaceship dramatically decided to plunge from the sky. With its face upwards, it unleashed a flurry of attacks on Burn, utilizing not only the power of the White Dwarf but also the ship¡¯s heavy-duty gun.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAST! BLAST! BLAST! BLAST!


    Burn raised his eyebrows, saying, ¡°A unique maneuver? Interesting.¡±


    Seeing only four of its propulsion engines, it was obvious that the ship wasn¡¯t meant or designed to be piloted like that. They were using some kind of technology to support their maneuver, making it look almost organic.


    Now that they increased the unpredictability, there would be more chances for them to unleash White Dwarf¡¯s full potential on land.


    But¡­


    ¡°Are you not dizzy?¡± Burn muttered. The pressure must¡¯ve been¡ªhah! No matter how impressive their stabilization technology was, the artificial gravity inside that ship must be begging for them to stop right now. With this speed¡ª


    24 G¡¯s¡­ 26 G¡¯s¡­ 28 G¡¯s¡­


    Burn laughed. Yes! This should be it! ¡°This is what a fight should be like!¡±


    Finally, now they were piloting their ship manually, unleashing the ship¡¯s maximum potential beyond what was programmed. It wasn''t technology; it was them.


    Sincerely.


    [Kel''syth doranak valen''ytheth, vernothrax doranak ael''vun''dor¡ª]


    [Ael''drakul! Ael''drakul!]


    "Then," Burn dismounted from the griffin and disappeared.


    The tactical officer flinched. "He''s countering us!"


    [Vor''eth, naluk''ethar doran''eth elrok? Vora''rok!]


    Two different objects in the sky were detected as their targets now. The griffin and Apex Two now moving individually¡ª


    "Is it the griffin or Apex Two, which one is the distraction?!" the weapon officer asked¡ª


    [Zyra''shak noraku''eth vora''yth! Dor''thaloth shendren vael!]


    "The goddess¡ª" the tactical officer''s instinct took over. "Attack the goddess!"


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!


    CRASH!


    A sudden jolt ripped through the craft.


    ¡°What happened?!¡±


    ¡°One of our propulsion engines, sir!¡±


    It was as if the universe was exacting swift retribution for their hubris. The impact sent shockwaves through the ship, causing their bodies to strain against the restraints of their seats.


    The tactical officer commanded the AI to show him the damage to the ship, and he sneered. The camera found Apex Two, his face dark but smiling. With the language translation, they could decipher his mouthing from afar¡ª


    ¡°I expected you to attack her,¡± Burn said. ¡°But how dare you.¡±


    SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!


    ¡°We¡¯re down, sir!¡±


    [Azorath! Vaelothor! Kel''duran! Vor''shak! Shendren! K''larathem! Venor!]


    Despite the attack hitting her squarely¡ªthe song continued!


    Light dispersed as the giant crown of light spun faster. The goddess smiled, sending an immediate chill down their spines.


    ¡°Sir, we have only three propulsion engines left. This imbalance is fatal!¡± the co-pilot reported.


    ¡°Forget about balance! Increasing our imbalance will make us more unpredictable!¡± the tactical officer decided to take a risky gamble. ¡°Run the algorithm! Pilots, let¡¯s die. Prepare for 6% output, safe or not, in 10 seconds!¡±


    [Eyliya''doroth resh''naeranye na''llethan, feral''dorak ardor''eth ael''kraethan, morathyr''sylph! Qithil''dor ael''sharath!]


    Burn smiled. ¡°Finally.¡±

 100 - Enlightenment

    Ah, the picturesque scene of destruction and chaos in the apocalyptic clash! How lovely it must have been to witness the delicate balance of nature being disrupted by the egos of powerful beings.


    The snow, always so pure and white, served as a canvas for devastation, adding a touch of grim irony to the landscape. Who knew that a serene snow plain could double up as a battleground for oversized egos and their destructive tendencies?


    Emperor Burn, with his charming personality and subtle touch, really knew how to leave a lasting impression on the environment. His attacks were not just attacks; they were masterpieces of annihilation, turning hills into mere dust particles with a flick of his wrist.


    And let''s not forget the touching moments where forests turned into bonfires, rivers decided to take an impromptu vacation, and mountains played the role of crumbling extras in this grand production of chaos and disorder.


    In the eternal winter of the borderlands, where every flake of snow had a story to tell, our dear junior fleet admiral and his crew engaged in a delightful dance of destruction, bringing warmth to the hearts of all who witnessed their grand spectacle of mayhem.


    Truly, who needed poetry and art when you had a battlefield as a canvas and raging egos as artists? Such was the beauty of war, where every explosion was a brushstroke and every scream a note in the symphony of destruction.


    But that was precisely why this place had been a perfect setting for a showdown.


    Comparing it to his battle with Dirk Marshal and the first White Dwarf who had descended to this planet, it was like comparing heaven and earth. Dirk Marshal had actually stepped foot on the ground, not floated around in his spaceship.


    His maneuvers were smaller, more confined to the city of Elysian capital where they had fought, albeit arguably more organic and flexible. But it was surely nothing compared to this aerial fight.


    Burn wondered, if Dirk hadn¡¯t been sent on an assassination mission, and if he had been allowed to wreak this much havoc, would that experience have been more delightful than this?


    It was such a shame, really. Shame!


    Burn wanted it all to last longer. He wanted to fight even more!


    But alas, this crew of spaceship officers had already decided to hit the self-destruct button on the entire world.


    [Zendu''garoth! Feran''dor! Kel''duran! Vor''shak! Shendren! K''larathem! Venor!]


    He, for one, felt that this fight could have been even more interesting. In just a little bit, he felt as if he was almost on the brink of enlightenment.


    Ah, so this was how it felt to be blue balled in the middle of an all-out fight?


    Yes, his body was breaking down. Yes, he wouldn¡¯t last much longer, either. But there was no surprise at all. Everything was as expected. Where was the plot twist?!


    [Kel''drinor vyrethor ael''ferian! Tahr''ethor vyrethor ael''thrakan aelathor, quilathor vyrethor ael''sathorian, zyrathor vyrethor valen''ethor!]


    Such a waste of great enchantments. Such a waste of a loop. Such a waste of a life¡ªsuch a waste of a great song!


    ¡°Morgan¡­ let¡¯s break into outer space next time,¡± Burn whispered.


    Morgan laughed in the middle of her song.


    Such a waste of a beautiful, beautiful laugh.


    [Zorath! Zaelothor! Kel''duran! Vor''shak! Shendren! K''larathem! Venor!]


    But what if¡­


    Burn grasped his sword, the nagging feeling of enlightenment scratching the back of his head. He felt something¡ªhe felt he was about to make sense of something¡ª


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The second prince of Soulnaught, the illegitimate bastard, Caliburn Pendragon, had Soulnaught Syndrome.


    ¡°I guess he¡¯s truly a prince of Soulnaught when he had the same illness as the founder. But how poor¡­ he doesn¡¯t seem to have Force talent either, hahaha!¡±


    ¡°Why did the King even bring him to the palace? He doesn¡¯t even look pleasant. A wallflower is more useful than him!¡±


    ¡°Augh, cringe,¡± Burn muttered. Why would he remember those pathetic memories from his childhood? Was this some sort of a requirement for enlightenment?


    This wasn¡¯t some sort of hero awakening, for the devil¡¯s sake!


    But well, thanks to no one who cared enough to teach him Force art, it led to him having to learn himself. It led to him gaining mind-body unity without even awakening Force.


    The process was reversed.


    Usually, mind-body unity could only be achieved after awakening one''s Force. It was such a special achievement to finally be able to control every single cell of the body manually.


    After all, why would one want to control everything manually when it could be done automatically? Like a machine, the body was programmed to work as expected.


    The beating of the heart, the functioning of the organs, the coordination between the expanding rib cage and breathing¡ªit all reduced strain and allowed the brain to use its energy for other tasks, like your daily mundane thinking and feeling.


    This design was perfect in itself, created by none other than God.


    This was one reason why Force and Vision were absolute opposites. When one chose to control their body manually, going against what God had bestowed, they realized how much they had abandoned His blessing.


    Mind-body unity should only have been possible after awakening one''s Force because the overwhelming strain of manually controlling the body was enough to be fatal.


    Awakening Force would be what saved them. Not only would the mana energy support and prevent the strain from being fatal, but the experience gained from mastering the body and acquiring tremendous power would also play a role.


    After years of training, they wouldn¡¯t easily succumb to panic. They would be patient and understanding of their body, knowing its limits to avoid self-destruction.


    Overall, they wouldn¡¯t die from overexerting the heart or lose a limb from neglecting oxygen supply. They wouldn¡¯t go insane. They wouldn¡¯t fear pain when making a mistake, being able to rectify it with Force.


    They would unlock their best potential by understanding every single cell in their body.


    Yes.


    Burn gained the state of mind-body unity before all of that.


    He didn¡¯t have Force energy to heal himself. He didn¡¯t have experience to counter every single side-effect of unlocking the state of full mind-body control.


    He was only five years old.


    But strangely, he found peace.


    For the first time in his life, he was in the company of something that was ultimately on his side, and it was something that was alive. Well, yes, it was his own body, but it was a mechanism that kept him existing in this world, and it was fascinating.


    At that state, it was almost like he was separating his mind from his body. It wasn¡¯t about him anymore, it was about his body, as a different existence completely from him.


    Only when you are able to separate yourself from your body can you unite.


    He gained respect for God. He gained respect for this very mechanism God created to sustain his life. He learned from it, noticing every single movement, no matter how small.


    And he slowly asked questions.


    ¡°What if I do this?¡±


    His body would answer with pain, and he would stop.


    ¡°How should I do this without hurting you?¡±


    His body would answer that it was okay to hurt it to some degree because it would heal.


    ¡°How far can I go?¡±


    His body would answer that he should do as much as he could sustain.


    So Burn started to tear himself to bits. He trained, and trained, and trained. And at some point, he became completely one with this tool called mortality.


    Until he awakened ¡°Force¡±.


    And suddenly, immortality was within reach.


    [Zethra''dor ael''gyrak thradanil, helgron dorathor ael''fera''doroth!]


    All this time, his force style was deeply rooted in his sole intention of survival, order, and absolute force. He crafted a perfect style suited to the very shape of his body, enhancing every single cell to perfection.


    No, he didn¡¯t learn every single force type and style in this world to imitate them. He learned to become the absolute perfection itself. But none of it could satisfy his ideal.


    But today¡­ now that his body could mold to his will, finally, it was about him. He didn¡¯t have to bend to the shape and limits of his body anymore.


    He could change his intention, and his body would follow.


    Well, he realized this long ago. After all, it wasn¡¯t such a great, divine, inventive revelation or something. But there was a problem.


    There was no such energy available to create the perfection he sought. There was too much instability, and too much variability he couldn¡¯t handle himself.


    Ahhh¡­


    ¡°So now... it could be possible?¡± Burn muttered.


    The enlightenment that kept tickling the back of his brain was there all along. He just realized that it was possible now, at this very moment.


    [Lokethor ni''yathran aediveth dyrath''il, voranu''syr dun''farloth aedran''oroth, kethur''dran ael shen''dorlun doranak valen''ytheth!]


    [Ael''drakul! Ael''drakul!]


    With the Infinite Witch, who was also a saint, on his side managing the instability and variability, and the unlimited energy he could absorb from the White Dwarf¡ª


    [Azorath! Vaelothor! Kel''duran! Vor''shak! Shendren! K''larathem! Venor!]


    It was definitely possible.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAASSTTT!!!

 101 - Be It Now or the Future

    "Ugh¡ª"


    Burn blinked, the scenery changed.


    "Your Majesty!"


    Someone shouted, and immediately the hall erupted in chaos. It was the same exact thing he had seen weeks ago.


    And among the screams and shouts, one voice stood out.


    "Master!"


    It was Yvain.


    At the same time as the sword made itself at home in Burn''s heart, Morgan vomited blood.


    "COUGH!"


    When you pressed that rewind button, you had to be ready for the price. But wait, there was more!


    Remember, it said "rewind," so brace yourself to relive the same old song and dance. You couldn''t skip out on that part, no matter how hard you tried, because when you hit that replay button, you were in for round two of paying up.


    Second half of the price¡ªsame old. Pain.


    Burn reached out to Morgan.


    "Mor...gan..." Again, the name came out as a raspy whisper, like sandpaper on his vocal cords.


    Morgan lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes full of a sadness so deep it could have drowned the capital. Yes, it still hurt him the same way.


    "It hurts..." Burn said. "We are going to die together¡ª"


    "Don''t speak... Caliburn..." Morgan reached up to him. "I''ll take your pain away... kiss me."


    "I know you shared your soul with me between our kisses¡­ I get it, but don¡¯t read my mind yet¡ªfuck, it hurts like hell¡ª" Burn dodged her touch and pulled the blade from his chest.


    "Kiss me! It¡¯s the only way to keep you alive!" Morgan blurted out, frustration making her eyes glisten with unshed tears.


    ¡°There¡¯s something I need to tell you first. Don¡¯t read my mind,¡± Burn knew he was dying, but he didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Then tell me!¡± Morgan yelled.


    Burn, despite the pain, wanted to laugh. As he almost lost his balance, and as the pain burned his insides, he smiled at her, bloodied and all, saying, ¡°I love you.¡±


    Morgan looked at him, her eyes filled with shock and horror. Ahhh, of course. The kind of face women would make at his, the evil emperor''s, confession.


    But if it was Morgan, probably, it was out of fear of disappointing him with the kind of immortal monster he fell in love with, with what she truly was.


    As Galahad commanded the onlookers to kneel and avert their eyes, Burn drew her close. He kissed her, feeling her soul flowing into him and knowing she was delving into his memories simultaneously.


    As the pain ebbed slightly, he pulled back, finding her tear-filled eyes fixed on him. Her gaze shattered his heart into fragments, and she whispered, "I told you to say it when you''re done with the pain¡­"


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "I''m fine now¡ªCOUGH!" Burn coughed, spitting blood.


    "Caliburn¡­!" Morgan propped him up.


    "Why is this so painful¡­?" Burn muttered. He pointed at Marissa. "My locket. You picked it up, didn''t you?"


    Morgan turned to the kneeling woman, her eyes searing hot, the force could have outshone the sun. It was downright apocalyptic, and Marissa shrank after offering Burn his locket back.


    Now that he grasped the locket, the pain lessened even more. She was right; the locket had a part of her soul in it to protect him.


    Morgan touched his cheek to pull his attention back to her. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s still painful. Kiss me¡ª¡±


    ¡°No. You need to recover first,¡± Burn said. Despite the searing pain in his chest, he lifted her up. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    "Your Majesty," Galahad called, raising his face. "What should we do with this man?"


    Burn turned to the man who had just plunged a sword into his chest, now lying unconscious on the ground, knocked out by Galahad. He decided, "Prison. Render him unable to move or speak."


    "Yes, sir."


    "Yvain," Burn called to the boy who was also kneeling, "Come and help your master heal."


    "Yes!" Yvain leapt to his feet. Like in the previous instance, the boy understood what Burn meant and fetched the box of high-grade mana potion from the table.


    "There''s much to consider. Call Dirk Marshall and have him ready as soon as possible. I will retire for today," Burn said to Galahad and his other men.


    He turned, walking calmly toward the door, and before leaving, he stated, "No one is to bother me tonight."


    ***


    ¡°COUGH! COUGH! COUGH¡ªCOUGH COUGH!¡± Burn collapsed on the ground beside the bed, coughing up more blood, ¡°F*** b**** c*** p*** son of a b**** a**c**** f***** b***** h***** t**** shit¡ª¡±


    ¡°It fucking hurts¡ªc**** d**** f**** a****¡ª¡±


    Yvain turned to his master, his eyes teary and face full of horror as he handed another mana potion to her.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good sign that he can still curse like this. The pain must be quite special for someone who refuses to be healed,¡± Morgan said as she finished the last mana potion. She sat on his bed, where he had put her down.


    Burn, crouching on all fours, slowly grasped Morgan¡¯s ankle. ¡°Mor¡­ gan¡­¡±


    In the previous loop, Burn couldn¡¯t even curse. It was so painful that he made Morgan heal his soul on the spot to make the excruciating agony go away. But now, he refused to let Morgan heal him completely.


    The pain was the same anyway, whether it was him or her. At least he could share some of it with her. This was the pain she experienced each time they rewound time.


    "Go and rest, Ain. I will be here with His Majesty," Morgan said, kneeling in front of Burn and helping him up.


    "Will you heal His Majesty?" Yvain asked.


    "Yes. We¡¯ll be fine tomorrow," Morgan answered.


    Yvain frowned, but it was harder to see Burn and his master in a state of pain like this while he couldn¡¯t do anything. He turned to Burn, slowly standing up as he leaned on Morgan.


    Unexpectedly, the man put his hand on his head and gave it a light pressure. ¡°Go on, son. We¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    Yvain couldn¡¯t see Burn¡¯s and Morgan¡¯s expressions with his hand covering the top of his head, but after the reassurance, he nodded. The boy closed the door as he left.


    ¡°COUGH! COUGH¡ªCOUGH!¡±


    Burn couldn¡¯t hold back another fit of cough when Morgan suddenly kissed the crook of his neck. It wasn¡¯t as effective as kissing his lips, but it still helped.


    The man spat out another batch of blood clot and embraced her onto the bed.


    ¡°There¡¯s so much to do tomorrow,¡± Morgan whispered, ¡°And you still refuse to be healed?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not refusing,¡± Burn said. He turned to her with a tired smile, ¡°You and my Morgan are different. We¡¯re not lovers yet.¡±


    Morgan became angry. ¡°You and your cruel joke!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to cheat on my Morgan,¡± Burn teased.


    ¡°You are dying!¡± Morgan was on the brink of crying when Burn hugged her head to his chest.


    ¡°I am dying,¡± but this Morgan hadn¡¯t experienced what his Morgan had. It wouldn¡¯t be fair to kiss or make love to her in this situation. ¡°I am dying for you to love me back.¡±


    Morgan burst out crying.


    ¡°You¡¯re so unfair¡­¡± she grasped the bloodstained fabric on his chest. Even though she only witnessed it from his point of view, she knew how much she loved him in the future.


    ¡°Be it now or the future, I¡¯ve fallen in love with you.¡±

 102 - Transformation

    In the vast plain between Soulnaught and Inkia, where even the hardiest trees dared not plant their roots, a stubborn kind of grass stood its ground.


    Morning arrived with a grudging yawn, casting a pallid light over the desolate landscape. The wind, as if lamenting its own fate, whispered through the wiry blades of grass, carrying with it the scent of dust and despair.


    The sky above seemed to mock the barren earth below, its expanse a canvas of dull grey hues with the occasional lazy swirl of clouds. The sun, halfheartedly attempting to rise, cast weak, watery rays across the plain, as if begrudgingly acknowledging its duty.


    Birds, wise enough to avoid such desolation, flew high above, their mocking chirps adding a touch of cruel irony to the desolate scene. But not long, they, too, would leave.


    Because¡ª


    ¡°What¡­ is happening here¡­?!¡±


    Finn was surprised when he received a letter from Emperor Burn himself, summoning him to the middle of the barren plain. It was shocking enough that the Emperor instructed him to bring his family and all significant individuals with him after revealing Inkia''s plans, but now¡­


    On the expansive plain lay a massive magic circle intricately crafted by none other than Morgan Le Fay¡ªand in its center, Emperor Burn was suspended mid-air. Hundreds of ancient letters crawled up his body, burrowing themselves into his flesh and bone.


    "Lord Wilderwood?" a young voice greeted him.


    He turned and saw the young king of Edensor, smiling at him.


    "Your Majesty..." Finn bowed, as did his wife and two small children.


    "His Majesty will greet you shortly," Yvain said. The boy noticed the discreet carriage they had brought along and their closest servant, realizing that no one else was nearby. Finn had indeed arrived with his most important companions.


    He believed in Burn''s letter.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, but what is going on here¡­?¡± Finn was quite a strong Force user. He knew magic well enough, but this¡­ was absurd.


    ¡°His Majesty is conducting an experiment. Would you like to watch along?¡± Yvain offered.


    ¡°Uh, s-sure?¡± Finn blinked, nodding at the boy.


    So Morgan had finally cracked the code on body enchantment magic. Sure, there were some pesky side effects like instant death upon failure or a ticking time bomb leading to death, but hey, progress is progress, right?


    The basic idea behind enchanting items was pretty straightforward: make something magical, and it becomes disposable.


    Enchant a sword with protection, it''ll shield you from harm until it inevitably shatters like, well, a shield. Want an indestructible item? Easy peasy¡ªjust keep that magical energy flowing, whether from the wearer or the enchanter.


    These rules applied across the enchantment board. Attack buffs had an expiration date, healing spells crumbled after a set amount of patches, and even stat boosts like energy, stamina, and speed had a shelf life shorter than a potion at a thirsty wizard''s convention.


    Except, of course, if you used some fancy materials capable of flexing under the magical strain.


    Take the human body, for instance. Yes, there were better materials out there, but for convenience''s sake, let''s stick with the fleshy vessel we all lug around every day.


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    Sure, it''s weak and fragile, but the body of a Force user could theoretically be sturdy enough to handle being turned into a walking, talking enchanted artifact. Who knew?


    Slowly, the giant magic circle shrank and shrank. It almost looked like the energy within it was absorbed into Burn. And just as everything disappeared, completely united within his being, his eyes slowly opened.


    ¡°Less pain. And sturdier,¡± Burn commented.


    Morgan smiled, ¡°It''s worth my sleepless nights. Except when you bother me.¡±


    ¡°Come on, you enjoyed it too,¡± he teased.


    ¡°Alright, next phase,¡± Morgan diverted the conversation and refocused. "O Divine, bestow your healing touch upon my beloved son of man¡ªwipe away his hurts and woes as my chosen one¡­"


    Burn kneeled in front of her


    "By the power vested in me, I dub thee my Paladin, my first holy knight."


    Morgan didn¡¯t disintegrate herself into pure light this time, unlike in the previous loop. It might have been necessary, but Burn told her that she shouldn¡¯t risk anything on her part.


    However, a massive crown of light still materialized in the sky.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand how I can become a paladin without making a vow to God¡­¡± Burn muttered.


    ¡°It¡¯s because I vouched for you. And... well,¡± Morgan shrugged, ¡°Because you took my virginity.¡±


    The resurrection spell didn¡¯t require her to be a virgin, after all. More than a resurrection spell... It was a Saint¡¯s wedding ceremony, which gave him the rights to become a Paladin.


    Burn knew there were things Morgan didn¡¯t tell him, but this gave him another sense of whiplash. When did she start to love him? Was it her who loved him first? Was he that dense?


    ¡°We¡¯re ready,¡± Morgan said.


    "We''re ready over here too!" Dirk Marshall said, carrying the White Dwarf with him.


    Yvain stood with Finn and his family. Beside him was Galahad, ready with a big enchanted shield. Yvain turned to Finn and his people, saying, "Please stand behind us."


    "We''re ready!"


    "Excuse me, what are we doing again?" Finn nervously asked. "What kind of experiment is this?"


    "8% output!"


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    It was a surprise for most of the people there those couple of days back. Galahad short-circuited for two days after Burn told him the plan. Yvain was extremely excited, and Dirk...


    He was shocked when Burn told him to blast him with the White Dwarf with maximum output on land again.


    "Well, you don''t move, and we''re not fighting, so theoretically, I can manage 5, maybe 6%."


    After recovering from the shock, Dirk said that.


    "If I can absorb most of it, can you push it to 8% without destroying the world?"


    And that was what Burn asked him after.


    It was a gamble. In the previous loop, Burn was able to absorb most of the 6% energy output of the White Dwarf. He almost succeeded in transforming his body to create a sturdy, malleable shell for his soul, but a chain reaction occurred, destroying the world as it collapsed into itself.


    In Nethermere itself, there were two contained White Dwarfs: the one in his possession and the one he was fighting.


    Between the goddess who tried to hug him to their deaths together and a black hole that was created in the process, Burn gained more enlightenment.


    Well, a fragment.


    As 8% of the heat of a dying sun enveloped him, he opened himself to absorb that energy. It might sound impossible to absorb everything, but there were around 36 trillion cells in his body. If each one absorbed approximately 0.00000000000022222222%, then it should be possible, right?


    It felt like being forged by incomprehensible heat. Each letter of enchantment glowed and worked to its limits, trying to balance and stabilize the pressure of unbelievable power.


    First was his nervous system. From his brain to the tip of his toes and fingers¡ªthen bones, to his blood vessels, to his inner organs, flesh, and skin.


    Like he commanded, each and every cell of his body absorbed the exact amount of power needed to transform his mortality into something more useful.


    To create a body that could withstand more than mana. More than force. More than his own soul.


    [Hymbrim, sothar lumerys rynniru''shaaleth, verin''dorah araynthir aeslyn vennethor shyrinales, verli las''anaaes nia''serith verin''dorah aelysyn¡­]


    [Aldryrn viilastar nora mylath nindyr rynnae, hestarii lun''dor syrallyn''senth velessa''lyn nia, luminexa''ryn]


    Right on cue, Morgan¡¯s song accompanied his transformation.

 103 - Family/Slice-of-Life

    It was a sight to behold. Absorbing pure heat and light the White Dwarf vomited, he was almost no longer in the shape of a man.


    Picture this: his skin, once a subtle shade of pale, now glowed like a neon sign at a rundown carnival. It was as if he had bathed in the essence of a supernova, and his complexion was here to prove it.


    [Lumigryn esheridynn, thylyra ael''rinnor naithryn, aeshoryslyn xeril, lumithyr draesthris, lyssaryn''lyn lershaithyr denunaishalo vaedryn alysyn, luminara dreithryn ael''varinthynn lyriistindar¡­]


    His hair, oh his hair, decided it was tired of being just hair. It shimmered like strands of precious metals, catching the light in a way that would make a disco ball jealous. Each follicle seemed to whisper secrets of the cosmos, as if the universe itself had taken up residence on his scalp.


    [Dol''nae''vyr alasaryn kythendara, laedaraen ryndraestyr thyrindae kythendyr valyn, viirydol viilylyn''sindaer lomor, luminara heyllis, teryndaelon, hynaii, hynaii, hynaii¡ª]


    His eyes, windows to the soul and all that jazz, were no longer mere orbs of vision; they were swirling vortexes of galaxies colliding. Staring into his gaze was like trying to count the stars on a moonless night¡ªa dizzying, exhilarating experience that left anyone questioning their very existence.


    [Hymbrim, sothar lumihyr ael''rinnor shin''lyssals, araynthir virlys''arynethor riandranaes, lumirar dael''naa, vinae''lyn soulaera saendryn''shin, aldryrn viilastar verin''dorah luminae''shyn¡­]


    [Lathynaedin, nindryn viilylyn, viraelor luminae''shyn!]


    And his mana? Oh, dear. It swirled around him like a force field of pure energy, crackling with power and potential. One couldn''t help but be drawn to him, as if his mere presence was a promise of something greater, something beyond mortal comprehension.


    BZZZZZZZZT¡ª


    What do you think the sun sounded like up close?


    When everything was absorbed into him, suddenly his presence blackened. Light bent around him¡ªno, light itself was being absorbed toward the empty silhouette of his being.


    What they heard at that moment wasn¡¯t the sound of the sun. It was the sound of a black hole¡ªabsorbing even the sound of Morgan¡¯s holy song.


    But she didn¡¯t stop.


    [Mirendolara inyrlynth shylryndaes, viitalthyr litharysyr myrlynthor viilera lumirar, vindenyr lumithalii aelinii alysen vilthyn, hymdril''lo¡ª]


    [Aelyrilyn raethoryn''thor''lyn, araynendal voe''haeris hynaelleth hynaelleth hynaelleth¡­]


    BZZZZZZZZZZZZT¡ª


    It was just a split second, but it felt like eternity. Burn was lost in himself, the outline of his being almost shifted to another plane of existence.


    Danger.


    Ahhh, how could he be so complacent? He almost let even himself be absorbed in the process. Thankfully, he could still hear her voice.


    [Hymbrim, sothar lumerys rynniru''shaaleth, vael''nae shylindrae virlys''arynethor, verin''dorah araynthir aeslyn vennethor shyrinales, verli las''anaaes nia''serith verin''dorah aelysyn¡­]


    [Aldryrn viilastar nora mylath nindyr rynnae, hestarii lun''dor syrallyn''senth velessa''lyn nia¡ª]


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    [Luminexa''ryn, nindryn viilylyn, viraelor luminae''shyn¡­]


    Burn''s body majestically descended, showcasing a truly mesmerizing glow that defied all logic. Meanwhile, Morgan valiantly grappled with the mana field encasing him, seemingly determined to give Burn a quick "how are you holding up" check in the midst of it all.


    Burn, worrying if he would hurt her with his atomized body, said with his voice echoing in a strange wave of sound, ¡°Wait.¡±


    ¡°Just a quick touch. Checking your soul, that¡¯s all,¡± Morgan said.


    Extending his hand after recalibrating his body for a second, Burn took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his palm, inspecting his arms and body carefully. ¡°Okay. Touch.¡±


    Morgan slowly touched his skin, and the moment they made contact, she felt a shiver down her body.


    ¡°Scary?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°You can rip me apart so easily now,¡± Morgan said with a smile.


    Burn creased his eyebrows, a mischievous glint in his eyes. ¡°Tsk tsk. Don¡¯t start what you can¡¯t finish, Madam.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± Morgan almost snapped at him, but the smile on her face didn¡¯t go away. Slowly touching him with her entire palm, she sighed in awe.


    Looking around, Burn could see so much more with his eyes now. ¡°I can see stars despite the daylight now. That¡¯s neat.¡±


    Not only that, he could see the flow of mana, small mundane waves in the air from sound and other things, and he could see so many more colors. It was weird that with everything more he was able to comprehend with his eyes, Morgan just stayed the same¡ªcosmically gorgeous.


    Merely seeing her now made him experience information overload. Seeing something so devastatingly beautiful in detail had overwhelmed his brain so much that he had to frown and narrow his eyes.


    ¡°Why are you making that face again? It¡¯s been a while since you made that face at me¡­¡± Morgan felt a bit helpless. This particular face of Burn made him look scary.


    ¡°Tone it down. Don¡¯t smile,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan chuckled, ¡°Pfff¡ªthis again?¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡±


    Yvain ran toward them with his short legs, clutching Burn¡¯s robe to his chest. As he approached, he asked with concern, ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a success,¡± Burn replied, ¡°As expected.¡±


    Coming up behind Yvain were the other spectators. Galahad stood with a broken shield, Finn and his people wore looks of horror, and... there was Dirk. He removed his helmet and appeared stunned. ¡°Damn... I thought I had killed you.¡±


    ¡°Not even a trace of radiation in the air,¡± Morgan muttered as she helped Burn put on his robe. ¡°You absorbed everything.¡±


    ¡°This is like feasting on nuclear bombs for breakfast¡­¡± Dirk remarked. ¡°Are you actually a god? Is this one of the Seven Heavens or something?¡±


    ¡°Congratulations, Your Majesty,¡± Galahad said, restraining his instinctive urge to kneel before Burn, understanding the Emperor''s desire to avoid any unnecessary commotion at this moment.


    Yet, more than anyone present, Galahad understood the magnitude of Burn''s achievement with his Force art. It was unprecedented in history¡ª


    Burn just hummed, his eyes focused on Finn, who he hadn¡¯t greeted yet, and who hadn¡¯t spoken a single word yet.


    So, Burn invited, ¡°I¡¯m curious what food tastes like with this body now. Let¡¯s eat.¡±


    "Food!" Yvain exclaimed, darting towards the small camp they had set up the day before.


    Morgan and Burn couldn''t help but notice Yvain''s sudden fixation on food. The kid seemed perpetually stuck in that awkward pre-pubescent phase, probably due to a diet that was about as balanced as a unicycle on a tightrope.


    He looked one or two years younger than he actually was, not to mention boys usually hit puberty late.


    Well, sure, he was a king and all, ruling at an age when most kids were still mastering the art of tying their own shoelaces. But hey, stress didn''t discriminate, folks. Even with a buffet fit for a king and naps longer than a full afternoon, your body would still be like, "Emergency mode: activated."


    But now, with Morgan back in the fold, vanquishing his worries, and Burn¡¯s Force art training sessions, Yvain''s stomach was singing the ballad of hunger like a hungry hobbit at elevenses.


    The prospect of a growth spurt loomed on the horizon, promising a transformation from pint-sized king to towering titan in just a few months, following in the lofty footsteps of the Edensor Royal Families'' genetic giants.


    "Maybe you''re right," Burn suddenly said to Morgan as he guided the way for his guests and subordinates with authoritative ease.


    "Hmm?" Morgan turned to him, asking for context. Despite their linked arms, it wasn¡¯t like she read his mind all the time.


    "Last night, you said Yvain looks lonely. We should enroll him in the academy, let him meet his peers, make friends, and the like," Burn said.


    Morgan blinked, her expression conveying a hint of pleasant surprise. "Oh, my... Caliburn¡­"


    "Yeah," Burn shrugged. "Isn''t it time for the academy''s entrance test?"


    Galahad, Finn, and Dirk wondered if they had transitioned into a family/slice-of-life genre.

 104 - Picnic

    Let''s list what Burn and Morgan decided to do in this loop.


    Enlightenment and transformation, check. Okay, this was basically what Burn wanted to do the moment he returned, after his intimate business with Morgan, of course.


    Then, he wanted to meet with Finn and secure his family. This was the absolute priority now, even though the others might have the same weight as this one.


    Because, yes, the elven community''s problem was important. Yes, the Junior Fleet Admiral problem was important. And yes, Inkia¡¯s political problem was important.


    But, this would be the base of everything, all at once.


    "I received your letter concurrently with the unfortunate report of the attempt on your life by the assassin of Inkia. Additionally, news of your decision to postpone the impending war due to your wife''s condition reached me," Finn articulated, mindful of the decorum befitting his address to Emperor Burn.


    ¡°But today,¡± he paused, ¡°you seem fine. Your lady seems pleasantly healthy too."


    Well, after what he witnessed this morning, as Burn absorbed 8% of the heat energy of a dying sun¡ª


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I announced. I said I want to postpone the war because my wife is unwell and needs my undivided care,¡± Burn said, opening his mouth as Morgan stuffed him with grilled lamb wrapped in fresh lettuce.


    ¡°Mm, that¡¯s good,¡± he put more meat inside the lettuce and helped himself. He sighed in contentment now that his taste buds had perfected themselves with his design. He turned to Morgan, asking, ¡°It tastes different. What did you put in it before?¡±


    ¡°Just a drop of honey,¡± Morgan answered, as she was about to feed him more.


    ¡°Master, I wanna try too!¡± Yvain stood from Burn¡¯s other side and wedged himself between them. Morgan laughed and fed him a bite. Yvain hadn¡¯t even finished chewing when he said, ¡°I wamt ome mowe!¡±


    Finn massaged his temples. "Even though that wasn''t your explicit announcement, the world has interpreted it in one of two ways¡­¡±


    ¡°The speculation is rife¡ªeither you were the one injured in the assassination attempt and are now making excuses for your recovery, or Her Majesty was stabbed in your place. Both scenarios, Your Majesty, are deeply troubling," Finn remarked with a sigh, feeling a sense of relief at the unfolding events of the day.


    Of course, who would have thought that the man who announced to postpone the war after getting stabbed was just here, eating lamb meat after a chug of sun for breakfast, picnic style?


    ¡°Let them speculate. My or my wife¡¯s condition is not the real reason why I decided to postpone it,¡± Burn said.


    Galahad¡¯s expression changed after he said it, clearly concerned. They did offer their Force essence in the Holy Grail Ceremony this loop too. Apparently, the shock of Burn¡¯s complaint for pain AND his love confession was even more spectacular than the previous loop.


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    After all, people started to change at the end of their lives, right?


    Who would¡¯ve imagined that the Absolute Emperor would suddenly fall for a woman mid-stab? Well, of course not suddenly. Just the decision for a love confession in that situation was enough to give the Round Table the idea of impending doom.


    After all, what he did today by transforming his body to an insane level of Force mastery could be seen as him attempting to sustain his life despite his crumbling soul.


    Well, look at him go. He was just trying his hardest to keep himself ticking along, soul be damned. His soul might be in tatters, but hey, at least his body''s reaching peak performance.


    ¡°At least, now they wouldn¡¯t force you to go to war and take your family as hostages, right?¡± Burn asked as he rediscovered sweetness, saltiness, and sourness once more through his taste buds.


    ¡°How did you know that it¡¯s going to happen?¡± Finn asked.


    ¡°You came here. Which means you considered the possibility,¡± Burn said.


    No, Finn didn¡¯t even consider this possibility if Burn didn¡¯t send him the letter. He was still very much loyal to Inkia and wouldn¡¯t betray them now, but no matter how much he shrugged it off, his letter gave him sleepless nights.


    After all, it was Emperor Burn himself who told him.


    "Well, it¡¯s not completely guaranteed that your family will be taken as hostages, forced to become slaves if you fail to stop me in the war. But if I continue with my march, and if their assassination attempts after the first stabbing can''t scratch me, they will possibly turn and pressure you," Burn said.


    "You, knowing that you¡¯ll certainly die against me, will in turn lobby as many houses as possible to lend you part of their military might, which I will destroy completely too,¡± Burn said, popping a grape into his mouth. ¡°Just a guess, but I know you¡¯re clever enough for that.¡±


    Finn hadn¡¯t come to that conclusion, but it did sound like something he would do. ¡°Because I want to weaken Inkia enough for you to be able to finish them quicker.¡±


    As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the once desolate plain transformed into a temporary oasis for everyone present. The stubborn grass bowed its heads in surrender to the warmth, and a gentle breeze swept through, carrying whispers of forgotten dreams and fleeting hope.


    And perhaps, dying loyalties and patriotism.


    Finn''s family and companions, a motley crew of warriors and advisors, gathered around a makeshift table atop a blanket laden with humble food.


    His wife, a woman of grace and determination, presided over the scene with a regal air even in the simplicity of their picnic. Their two small children, oblivious to the political intrigue unfolding, chased each other around with laughter that echoed across the plain.


    While Finn, their stalwart household head with a mind as sharp as his sword, found himself in the midst of an unexpected t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºte with the emperor of their enemy empire, there wasn¡¯t much to say.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t we sit with Daddy, Mommy?¡± one of his children asked innocently.


    ¡°We can¡¯t, darling. They¡¯re having important discussions.¡±


    ¡°But there¡¯s a boy there too!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not a boy. He¡¯s a king,¡± it was understandable for Finn¡¯s wife to be guarded against even Yvain after seeing him using his Vision to shield them from Burn¡¯s explosive experiment this morning.


    Not to mention¡­ even though the boy looked innocent enough, eating his way through the discussion, and with the woman beside the emperor helping to serve them food in such a natural way that it looked like a normal picnic on the outside, they were still part of the discussion itself.


    Their eyes followed Burn¡¯s every action, whether it was subtle or blatant, hyper aware of the situation around them. At first glance, people might see them as just a normal noble family, father, mother and son, but experienced eyes would know¡ªthat they were dangerous.


    One word from Burn, and the two would be ready to throw hands.


    Overall, the air between them crackled with tension, veiled threats hidden beneath polite smiles and courteous nods. Finn''s closest aides and servants exchanged knowing glances but held their tongues, understanding the delicate dance of diplomacy, or possibly, rebellion, unfolding before them.


    Even the birds above, having abandoned their mocking calls, watched with curious eyes from a safe distance, as if sensing the shift in the winds of fate.


    But suddenly, the boy sprang to his feet. He looked angry, but more sad and afraid. "Why?! A-are you getting rid of me?!"

 105 - Cute Nicknames

    "Why?! A-are you getting rid of me?!" Yvain asked, fear and betrayal evident in his eyes.


    ¡°Ain¡­¡± Morgan called his name softly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go to school!¡± Yvain exclaimed. ¡°Is this because of your agreement with His Majesty? But you just returned! I don¡¯t want to leave!¡±


    ¡°Yvain, sit down,¡± Burn commanded sternly, and the boy flinched in fear.


    The boy reluctantly sat, his head down.


    ¡°Who taught you to raise your voice to your master?¡±


    Yvain knew what Burn looked like without raising his face. He knew the man was looking down at him, his eyes glowing coldly.


    ¡°Do you know everything your master has done for you?¡± Burn started. ¡°Every agreement she made with me is for your sake, you brat.¡±


    ¡°Caliburn, it¡¯s okay,¡± Morgan grasped the man¡¯s arm.


    ¡°But I already have a Master, why would I need to go to school?¡± Yvain asked in a low voice.


    ¡°You are the king of a nation. Why else would you need to go to a school other than to find your own allies and get close to your enemies?¡± Burn pointed out. ¡°Do you want to rely on your master forever?¡±


    Yvain protested, ¡°B-but you didn¡¯t go to school either, Your Majesty!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m a bastard,¡± Burn said, silencing everyone around, wide-eyed toward him.


    Yvain remembered what Burn had said once when they had just known each other for several days. He said he hadn¡¯t gone to the academy because no one was worthy enough to teach him, a genius.


    Well, that was just part of the reason.


    The other part was clear now. It was because the queen, or his brother¡¯s mother, hadn¡¯t allowed him, the king¡¯s bastard son, to enroll in any institution.


    ¡°Your days as a lone ruler are gone. Your kingdom is within my sovereignty. You are basically a freeloader now. At least be a useful one,¡± Burn concluded.


    Yvain held back tears. Yes, the thought of being useless and powerless haunted him, but being away from his master once more was scarier.


    ¡°You will be enrolling at Saint Lucia Academy. The entrance test is going to be held next week, so we will travel there as soon as the preparations are set,¡± Burn instructed.


    He turned to Galahad, saying, ¡°After you secure Lord Wilderwood¡¯s family, prepare three fake identities. I will tell you the details later.¡±


    ¡°And you will help smuggle us to Inkia. Host us in your mansion at the capital so it¡¯s easier for us to communicate,¡± Burn said to Finn.


    ¡°Yes, Your Majesty,¡± Galahad said.


    ¡°You want to enter Inkia? What are your plans now, Your Majesty?¡± Finn asked.


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    Yvain flinched. For the first time since Burn reprimanded him, he raised his face. He thought the man was looking down at him in anger, but he was just smiling.


    ¡°What plans? I just want to make sure this little brat passes the entrance test,¡± Burn grinned, grasped his head, and put a bit more pressure than usual.


    Yvain¡¯s eyes wavered. Somehow, he felt that this man had changed. No. Even he himself had changed. ¡°Does it mean¡­¡±


    ¡°B-but aren¡¯t you trying to invade Inkia?!¡± Finn asked in confusion.


    ¡°Sure. But there are things I had to fix first,¡± Burn raised his head to the sky. ¡°Some bastards are trying to blow this planet up regardless of what they were ordered to.¡±


    ¡°Dirk,¡± Burn called the man who was busily eating since the start.


    The man swallowed the food in his mouth. ¡°Yep?¡±


    ¡°They have a second White Dwarf,¡± Burn said.


    Dirk immediately turned serious. Wiping grease from his mouth, he said, ¡°That¡¯s surprising. Usually one division wouldn¡¯t even have any White Dwarf. Not to mention a portable White Dwarf that can be used on the ground.¡±


    It was strange to think that this so-called ¡°Lower Realm¡± even got the attention of a marquis'' son from one of the Seven Heavens. No, it was the opposite.


    Why did they send a marquis'' son to this ¡°Lower Realm¡± in the first place?


    Dirk slowly told him about this fact, but Burn shrugged. ¡°So, what they wanted from this realm is more important than what it seemed.¡±


    ¡°But how did you even know about that?¡± Dirk asked.


    ¡°I have my own ways,¡± Burn answered. ¡°That¡¯s why you need to hurry. I need to get them before they actually decide to destroy this world.¡±


    Dirk groaned. ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do except wait, you know? But what are you going to do if they come and demand the White Dwarf?¡±


    ¡°I will take care of that,¡± Burn nonchalantly said. ¡°In the meantime, do what I told you. You¡¯re done eating, right?¡±


    Galahad bowed, while Dirk and Finn reluctantly nodded. Burn shooed them away to start working, while he was left with Morgan and Yvain.


    Enjoying the weather once in a while, Burn muttered to himself. ¡°Now what¡¯s left is the Elves¡­¡±


    ¡°I sent some words to them already. When do you want to meet them?¡± Morgan asked.


    ¡°They can wait, so let¡¯s do it after we¡¯re done setting up the fake identity,¡± Burn said, and suddenly noticed Yvain seeming too quiet after all those protests. ¡°What? Still sulking?¡±


    Yvain slightly turned his face away. ¡°Why Saint Lucia? And why are you coming, and what¡¯s with the fake identity?¡±


    ¡°There are people I want you to meet there. Didn¡¯t I tell you to get your own allies and get close to your enemies? That¡¯s why you need the fake identity,¡± Burn explained.


    ¡°Then why are you and Master coming too?¡± Yvain mutteringly asked.


    Burn smiled, glancing at Morgan for a split second before saying, ¡°Well, don¡¯t you need parents to see you off at the entrance ceremony?¡±


    Yvain turned to him in shock. Seeing both his Master and Burn smiling at him, his jaw hit the ground.


    ¡°HUH?!¡±


    The man laughed. He squeezed Morgan''s hand in his, savoring the sensation of touch and temperature from her existence. She was just as pleasant, or even more now that his sense of touch had evolved.


    How could she survive in this world with a hand so small and delicate? The sun was lucky to even be able to shine on her being, he thought, for her skin absorbed and reflected the light seemingly better than anything else in the world.


    ¡°For the fake identity, what do you want to be called, Madam?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Morgan looked at him, her bluest of blue eyes seemingly warmed. ¡°...Bunny. I like the sound.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Burn frowned, feigning displeasure. ¡°No. Not that.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Morgan teased.


    ¡°Alright, then I will be Momo. You like that?¡± Burn suggested.


    Morgan laughed, and instantly the atmosphere around them lightened. ¡°Don¡¯t threaten me with a good time, Caliburn.¡±


    ¡°How about me?¡± Yvain asked, tired of their flirting, ¡°Do I get a cute nickname too?¡±


    Burn and Momo turned to him, simultaneously saying, ¡°You¡¯re Evan.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just my name with a different spelling though!¡±

 106 - Family/Slice-of-Life Part 2

    In the afternoon, Landevale arrived with more carriages. They were more comfortable than the Wilderwood family''s discreet carriages.


    Now that the three of them wanted to go to Inkia, someone - or in this case, two - had to cover for them. Burn said that he wanted to care for his ill wife, after all.


    "This is more effective than normal disguise magic. Please wear them all the time," Morgan handed two rings, one for each for Landevale and Galahad.


    The two slid them on and turned to each other, noticing nothing changed.


    Curiously, Landevale inquired, "And what exactly are these for, Your Majesty?"


    Yvain chimed in, marveling, "Whoa! You two are spitting images of Master and His Majesty!" Turning to Morgan, he added, "Maybe it''s about time you gave me some enchantment lessons, Master."


    With comical disbelief, Landevale stuttered, "Wait, we look like... you?!"


    Their confusion lifted as Morgan revealed a mirror in front of them.


    Landevale''s jaw dropped in disbelief as she beheld her reflection. She was now impossibly beautiful, a mirror image of the woman before her. Similarly, Galahad appeared as a perfect match of Burn.


    Morgan smiled. "To the rest of the world, you''ll be me and Caliburn. But fear not, with these rings on, you''ll always recognize your own selves. Wouldn''t want any identity mix-ups now, would we?"


    ¡°We have quite the similar build, but seeing you look exactly like me now is kinda¡­¡± Burn muttered at Galahad.


    ¡°I will take that as a compliment, Sir,¡± Galahad smiled, sighing helplessly.


    ¡°The word I was looking for is charming. My face on you is obviously charming,¡± Burn nodded in contentment.


    ¡°Oh my stars¡ª¡± Landevale exclaimed, clutching her cheeks dramatically as she studied her reflection. Along with Burn and Galahad, she shared Morgan''s height and figure. Usually, it was just Landevale''s red, fiery locks and toned physique that set her apart. But now, even her physique matched Morgan.


    ¡°How long will Your Majesty be gone?¡± Galahad asked.


    ¡°As long as needed. You can report to me once in a while. Also, I¡¯m expecting a guest. Immediately call me when they come looking,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Galahad nodded respectfully.


    ¡°Fix that respectful attitude. I don¡¯t want you to use my face like that.¡±


    ¡°Noted, sir.¡±


    Landevale and Galahad left with Dirk, and Finn¡¯s family back to the Soulnaught capital. Meanwhile, Burn, Morgan, and Yvain, with Finn, stayed to continue their preparation.


    ¡°We¡¯re done creating our cover; now we should somehow change our appearance too,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Blonde!¡± Morgan suddenly exclaimed.


    ¡°What?¡± Burn creased his eyebrows. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°You,¡± she conjured his hair to be blonde without him needing to say more.


    ¡°Doesn''t this defeat the purpose of being discreet?¡± Finn asked when he saw Burn¡¯s flashy blonde appearance. It was weird that a slight hair color change could transform someone so menacing to be so¡­ godly.


    It simply added warmth to his cold and sharp appearance.


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    But Burn didn¡¯t mind. Being flashy wasn¡¯t bad for a disguise. In certain cases, that could even be advantageous. Not to mention how Morgan liked this appearance of him so much that her eyes shot sparkles and glitters at him.


    ¡°Waah¡­¡± Yvain forgot to close his mouth. Even his eyes looked up in wonder at him. Morgan rubbed his head, and he also blondified, but the effect made everyone a bit surprised.


    ¡°Cute! Oh my God, so adorable!¡± Morgan gasped.


    Yvain looked younger than his age, but even more now.


    ¡°You¡¯re such a baby, Ain~!¡± Morgan hugged the boy after an attack of cuteness aggression, saying, ¡°Ohh, careful ladies, my boy¡¯s out to get y¡¯all!¡±


    ¡°Should we change your eye color too? What color do you want?¡± Morgan asked Yvain.


    ¡°I want blue!¡±


    Burn didn''t know they would be this excited about their little trip. Some days had passed since he returned to the past, and he had talked about quite a lot of things with Morgan.


    No, not their past, not their secrets either, just things they wanted to talk about. Silly little things like their favorite foods or their little wishes and dreams.


    When Morgan told him about her worries for Yvain too, it was on the topic of her own dreams. She was an immortal, with lots of responsibilities and a sense of justice. Although her methods could be crazy and chaotic at times, she actually wanted simple things in life.


    The complete opposite of him.


    She wanted a simple house on the outskirts of a small town. She wanted to live peacefully as a normal woman, with a mundane routine like vegetable farming, raising chickens, and eating their eggs every morning.


    She told him she once wished to have a small family and grow old together.


    Yes, this legendary witch dreamed of a life where she crochets her own socks and hears the sound of her husband splitting wood in the backyard.


    The life she read about in a book.


    As they say, life is unfair. Not only was he unable to give her that life, it was impossible for herself to live that life. After all, she was the type who would jump into danger headfirst, like when she slit her own throat to curse the time.


    And for that, Burn was grateful. He was grateful she wasn''t what she wanted to be¡ªbut herself. After all, if she were a normal person and able to achieve that kind of life herself, he wouldn''t have the chance to be with her.


    It sucks, but that thought calmed him down. The witch had bound herself to him, and life is as unfair as it should be.


    So this trip could be his little gift for her. A little glimpse of a normal life she once told him, where she could be a humble madam of a humble house, and¡­


    ¡°Caliburn, look!¡±


    Morgan did a little spin. Her hair color transformed as she moved, to be a paler shade, and finally, white. It was the same shade of white as his hair color¡ª


    Burn lost his breath. He lost his mind and his own sense of purpose for a split second.


    Ahh, should he just abandon everything and give her that life?


    As expected, the angel¡¯s temptation was just too strong.


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Burn came to his senses. ¡°Change back. White suits you too much; you''ll be mistaken for the Holy Ghost.¡±


    Morgan flinched. ¡°E-eh? But I thought it¡¯s fine¡­¡±


    ¡°What''s fine? This is not fine. Don¡¯t you see Lord Wilderwood kneel on the ground there?¡± Burn asked, and yes, Finn was on bent knees, wondering if his time had come.


    The damage was too massive.


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll change¡­¡± Morgan changed her hair to brown.


    Burn frowned. ¡°This is too classic and innocently erotic. No.¡±


    ¡°Eh?! W-what about this?¡± Morgan changed to black hair.


    ¡°This is worse. This is just blatantly erotic. No.¡±


    Morgan slowly changed again. ¡°B-but, what¡¯s left is red hair¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ugh¡ª¡± with how bright red her hair was now, Burn felt like he was assaulted by a strong visual attack, ¡°What are you, the goddess of war?¡±


    Now he understood why she was born blonde. It was arguably God¡¯s mercy for men. The golden color on her gave her that soft divine touch, making her look unapproachable and easily giving men a reality check.


    Burn¡¯s blonde was flashy, yes. But no matter what hair color she changed into, her flashy appearance was on another level. If he let her change back to blonde, it would just be the same as allowing a literal angel to walk the streets.


    She really wasn¡¯t fit for any kind of undercover work¡­


    Well, it wasn¡¯t like she must go undercover this time. If she could be her usual self, what''s the harm in letting the angel walk the streets? What''s a little commotion, anyway? It''s nothing.


    ¡°Ha¡­ fine. Your presence will be immortalized in everyone¡¯s mind no matter what you do, anyway. Choose any hair color you like,¡± Burn sighed.


    Morgan raised her face, seemingly excited. ¡°Then white¡ª¡±


    ¡°Except that.¡±


    After what happened at the welcome party, Burn threw in the towel on forcing face coverings or other disguises on her. Like that would help ¨C just imagine the extra side-eye she''d attract. Plus, it''s not like he was keen on adding to her troubles. The last thing he needed was her bending over backward for everyone.


    If he couldn''t deliver her dream life on a silver platter, well, at least he could manage this bit. Whatever mess came their way, he''d be the cleanup crew.


    ¡°Now, should we practice how to call each other?¡± Morgan suddenly reminded them.


    Burn and Yvain raised their eyebrows.


    She turned to Yvain and said, ¡°Now, Evan, call us Papa and Mama.¡±

 107 - Blair Inkor

    Oh, everyone knows about Sator Merchant Group. Born from the Luminus Kingdom, this behemoth of commerce had its roots dug deep in the soil of ambition and cunning.


    A flicker of fate had set the stage forty winters ago when a humble merchant family, the Sators, dared to dream big in a world where only the ruthless thrived.


    With shrewd deals and silk-tongued negotiations, they climbed the ladder of success until their name rang through the lands like a symphony of wealth. Some years ago, they had managed to become the second largest and richest merchant group in the whole continent.


    But oh, nothing lasts forever in the realm of power and prestige. Five or six turns of the moon ago, the former mastermind behind the Sator Merchant Group, Gabriel di Sator, took his final breath, leaving behind a legacy as murky as a swamp at dusk. He had birthed only one heir, a son shrouded in more mystery than a cat in the night.


    Legends whispered of this elusive figure, whose identity and face remained as elusive as a ghost in the fog. Tales spun by drunken bards claimed even the all-seeing eye of the King of Inkia had never glimpsed this phantom heir.


    Some said he wore a mask of silver; others swore he danced with shadows under the pale light of the moon.


    As the diabolical machinations of the Sator Merchant Group continued unabated, whispers grew louder and wilder about the lost scion of the Sator bloodline. Had he vanished into thin air, or perhaps melted into the golden coffers of his father''s empire?


    Well, no matter where he was, he existed. Sometimes his people would pop up unceremoniously, walking around town, visiting both legal and illegal auctions. His last recorded activity was his purchase of two high mastery weapons a year ago in an auction.


    And so, in the heart of the Inkia Kingdom, where secrets tangled like ivy on ancient walls, the legacy of the enigmatic Sator Merchant Group thrived, its shadow stretching far and wide over lands both near and far¡­ until¡ª


    ¡°Are you sure? You¡¯re not imagining it?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by imagining it? I heard it clearly! They called him Sator! That Sator!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ what was it? Something¡­ something di Sator!¡±


    ¡°Ugh! Why are you so unreliable at times like this?¡±


    In the bustling crowd awaiting the Saint Lucia Academy entrance test, Locan Inkor found himself engulfed in the surrounding commotions.


    "Oh dear, looks like we''ve got a contender for the spotlight, Brother. Seems like your charm isn''t the only one turning heads today," Blair remarked, squeezing Locan''s hand just a tad tighter.


    Locan swiveled to face his beaming younger sister, all of 11 years old and ready to step into the academy.


    Lucky her, basking in the favor of her dear older brother who happened to be the illustrious first prince of Inkia. Without him, she might as well kiss the idea of education goodbye, let alone venturing beyond the palace walls.


    Despite his mother, a favored queen in the king''s court, not exactly warming up to Blair, she graciously permitted Locan to offer his support to the young lass, one of the many illegitimate princesses populating Inkia.


    Ah, but Blair possessed a certain wit and innate understanding of where she belonged in the grand scheme of things. It didn''t hurt that she could potentially be used as a pawn in some high-stakes political marriage down the road.


    After all, nothing says "family alliance" quite like a forced union packaged with a shiny bow of coercion, agreement, status elevation, and a dash of good old-fashioned bribery.


    Well, that¡¯s for the future.


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    "It''s surprising. There is no new information about the Sator family as of late. Did Mother miss something? That''s impossible," Locan muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in deep thought.


    Such a significant development would undoubtedly spark rumors and intrigue, spreading like wildfire through the political circles and beyond, even with the smallest, most discreet hint.


    "Should I investigate for you, Brother? After all, it seems this Sator boy is also taking the entrance exam," Blair asked.


    Locan laughed, tapping Blair¡¯s head affectionately. ¡°Why you? There¡¯s plenty of other people we can ask for the details later. You just focus on your test.¡±


    ¡°Locan!¡±


    From quite a distance, Locan saw someone he knew, waving her hand at him. ¡°Oh, Naha!¡±


    Nahwu sprinted toward them, their guards parting to allow her to come closer. She said, ¡°I don¡¯t know what happens, but apparently the mysterious heir of a rich merchant or something is joining the exam. Hi Blair!¡±


    Blair bowed respectfully at her, ¡°Hello, Princess Nahwu.¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be. Gabriel di Sator¡¯s son can¡¯t be that young. Could it be¡­ his grandson?¡± Locan speculated.


    Blair and Nahwu tilted their heads.


    "What about it? What can one kid''s presence change anyway? I''m sure Blair will still come out as the best,¡± Nahwu said, oozing confidence.


    ¡°You think this is just about the entrance test?¡± Locan groaned. Dealing with the elf princess''s naivety sometimes felt like a burden. ¡°The sudden appearance of someone from a very influential family that was previously untouchable can change a lot of people¡¯s lives, you know?¡±


    ¡°Why? Are they bad people?¡± Nahwu asked, her curiosity shining through.


    ¡°Who cares if they''re good or bad people. Most people here are just focusing on what they can get from them. Whether they had good or bad intentions, people will still seek them out and curry favor with them,¡± Locan¡¯s sarcasm dripped more than usual that day.


    Nahwu shot Locan a disapproving look. ¡°That¡¯s such a twisted way of judging people around you, Locan. You should stop doing that. You¡¯re a Prince!¡±


    Locan fought the urge to roll his eyes. This was precisely why discussing politics with Nahwu was like walking on eggshells. Sure, she had brains and brawn, but her surface level understanding of things made her an easy target for coercion and manipulation.


    "Ah, the entrance test is about to begin. I''ve got to go!" Nahwu said.


    Locan raised his eyebrows. "Wait, what are you doing here today anyway?"


    "I''m helping the academy for the test, of course!" Nahwu left as she exclaimed, answering his question.


    "I have to go too, Brother. Please pray for my success," Blair said.


    Seeing how excited his sister was, Locan could only smile. "Of course. You are the best Vision art user in your generation. You will come out as the best. Even Princess Nahwu said the same thing, right?"


    "No, Brother, you''re wrong. I''m not the best Vision art user in my generation," Blair shook her head.


    "What?" Locan blinked. "Who else is¡­"


    "Did you forget that there''s still the little Merlin?" Blair recalled with a smile.


    Locan sighed helplessly. "Are you still saying that? Didn''t I tell you not to believe every rumor and information out there? Yvain Edensworn is a literal king, and his master, Morgan Le Fay, is famously Edensor Royal Family''s friend. His ability could have been exaggerated for political purposes."


    "Well, you also said that there''s some truth to rumors, right?" Blair said.


    Yes, Yvain Edensworn¡¯s achievements could be exaggerated. After all, he was a young king seeking all the support he could get, whether through lies or truths.


    Must be tough ruling a kingdom at such a tender age. And being the one and only pupil of the legendary witch, Morgan Le Fay, well, that was some next-level achievement.


    Every Vision user out there probably had fantasized about being under the tutelage of the Infinite Witch at some points in their lives. But hey, there was no need to lose sleep over Yvain Edensworn''s accomplishments.


    This entrance test should be a walk in the park for Blair. Of course one day, she would get every opportunity to face him, but now, getting into the academy was more important.


    And there was no need to worry about being defeated by the little Merlin now¡ª


    BUMP!


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    Blair was a small girl. Other girls around her age had started puberty and grown taller.


    But Blair was an illegitimate princess, living in a corner of the palace. She had experienced malnutrition at some points in her life thanks to the queens and their people¡¯s intentional neglect as well. That was the reason she had a smaller build and thin, underdeveloped body.


    For one, she was a bit glad that was the case. She could stall time and not be sold for a political marriage too soon because she hadn¡¯t gotten her period yet, and thanks to her pitiful, sickly appearance, she even got the favor from the first prince.


    She was finally able to get a chance to enter the academy thanks to that too.


    But the cons sometimes outweighed the pros.


    Her body was so weak she got easily shoved around in this crowd¡ª


    GRASP!


    A blonde-haired boy caught her body.


    ¡°Careful there.¡±


    Blair had never seen such a beautif¡ªhandsome boy. But she immediately widened her eyes when she saw the familiar emblem of the Sator Merchant Group¡ª


    "Too many people are trying to enter the gate now. Let¡¯s wait a bit,¡± the boy said as he pulled her away from the crowds.


    ¡°Ah¡­ thank you,¡± Blair said. ¡°My name is Blair Inkor.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± the boy raised his eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for not recognizing you, Your Highness.¡±


    Politely, the boy bowed to her, an illegitimate princess with no power over her own blood, and said, ¡°My name is Evan di Sator, son of Morgante and Bunny Fay di Sator.¡±

 108 - The New Sator Family

    [A couple of minutes ago]


    "Don¡¯t force yourself too hard. Cheat when you see any opportunity to cheat, but don¡¯t let anyone notice, okay?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean cheat? My son doesn¡¯t need to cheat to achieve his goal.¡±


    ¡°Ugh, the art of cheating on a test is also part of an important life skill, you know! You¡¯re strong and can do anything, so you won¡¯t understand, Momo.¡±


    ¡°How can you say that when you¡¯re strong yourself? Did you cheat your way to the top?¡±


    ¡°I cheat all the time.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, you defeating me was kinda cheating indeed. So did you defeat me or not, Bunny?¡±


    ¡°I did~ You eventually gave up, right?¡±


    ¡°Ugh, stop with the flirting Mama, Papa¡­¡± Yvain scratched his earlobe, tired of the two¡¯s bickering.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Burn sighed. ¡°Your Mama told you to cheat because she wants you to use your brain. Use the most effective method, the easiest path for you. But when you see the opportunity to get stronger, take it instead of using the safer path.¡±


    ¡°Are you telling him to get in danger?¡± Morgan gasped.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling him to be a man,¡± Burn said.


    Yvain sighed. Not only did they contradict each other, they also contradict themselves. Yvain couldn¡¯t understand what they wanted from him¡­ these two masters of him.


    But, well, everything they said makes sense in one way or another.


    ¡°Evan di Sator!¡±


    The three raised their faces.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Burn said, and Yvain nodded before going to fetch his test number.


    The boy, dressed neatly in an expensive and elegant garment with the Sator Family¡¯s brooch emblem on his collar, immediately garnered attention.


    They had been quite the center of attention for a while. Just from their looks alone, they were enough to make heads turn, especially Morgan Le Fay¡ªno, the black-haired hottie with a sexy beauty mark below the outer corner of her right eye.


    Just like Burn said, Morgan with black hair looked like the personalization of an erotic fever dream. An angel, yes, but fallen, with a body made for sin that could practically crown her the succubus queen.


    She thought that adding a mark as an imperfection would lessen her beauty just a little bit, but no, oh no. It was almost a symbolic mark of sin, a taint atop the canvas of innocence. She was an angel no more, and her being was the embodiment of tarnished purity.


    As usual, people looked at her, almost too blatantly.


    But when they came to their senses, they saw the man beside her¡ªdread. Imminent doom. Absolute devastation. What was a literal god of judgment and eternal punishment doing on the land of man?


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    Burn turned on all his senses to the maximum capacity. He noted every pair of eyes that stared for too long at her and turned to stare back at them with complete annihilation in his mind.


    That was why, even though there was commotion around them, they managed to stand unbothered, without anyone daring to disturb their regal air.


    Yvain returned to them after a while, his face all smiles. ¡°I got the number! Thankfully we can still squeeze in¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course! Your Papa bribed them,¡± Morgan chuckled.


    ¡°Papa did well!¡± Yvain beamed.


    The entrance test participants were required to apply at least 2 weeks before the test, after all, but there was nothing money couldn¡¯t solve. That was also the reason Yvain just got the participant number now.


    337.


    It was the number in his hand.


    ¡°Not that many applicants this year,¡± Burn muttered.


    Burn knew that him declaring war a couple of months ago and then deciding to postpone continuing it had something to do with it, in various ways. Some of his ministers consulted him about their children who were studying abroad, and he gave them choices on how to deal with it.


    ¡°They said I¡¯m the last,¡± Yvain said.


    ¡°A clutch,¡± Morgan smiled. ¡°Be careful, okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay, Mama!¡±


    The entrance exam was starting, and Yvain waved his hand excitedly. Morgan, of course, waved back, while Burn just stood there, her other arm linked with his.


    ¡°Evan! Remember what I told you?¡± Burn asked before the boy left.


    Yvain rolled his eyes. ¡°Ugh, fine, Papa!¡±


    The boy seemed to have grown fond of calling them Mama and Papa now, despite his initial awkwardness just a couple of days earlier. After she finished waving, Morgan turned to him and asked, ¡°What did you tell him?¡±


    ¡°To not use his Vision in the academy,¡± Burn replied.


    "HUH?!" Morgan was so shocked that her wide-brimmed hat almost fell off.


    ¡°Why? He can pass without it,¡± Burn reassured her. ¡°And he¡¯s close to awakening his Force. Maybe his time here will help him.¡±


    ¡°B-but I heard the entrance test in this academy is dangerous!¡± Morgan expressed her worries.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. No matter what they do, they won''t let it get too dangerous. There are a lot of influential people¡¯s children here. Including our son,¡± Burn said with a smile.


    Even undercover, Burn would never risk letting anyone to step over them. That was why he chose to use the Sator family.


    ¡°That, and I told him if he can pass the entrance test without using Vision, I will give him a reward,¡± Burn continued.


    Morgan sighed. ¡°What did you promise him?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, how pleasant to meet you here, Sir and Madam Sator!¡± Blair said with a warm smile.


    Finally, the crowd started to move. They had been waiting for a chance since hearing Yvain¡¯s fake name. Once one person braved to greet them, others followed suit.


    ¡°We apologize for not recognizing you!¡±


    ¡°We had no idea your son was enrolling in this school too! What a wonderful opportunity for our son to befriend Young Sir Sator.¡±


    ¡°What a delightful surprise!¡±


    If their children couldn¡¯t pass the entrance exam, at least they could forge connections with the elusive Sator family. It was indeed a wise decision to make the trip here.


    It was revealed that Burn had acquired the Sator family¡¯s business just before Gabriel di Sator passed away. The old man had no sons, and the Sator Merchant Group was not as prominent then as it is today.


    It was the Round Table''s members and Burn''s spies who primarily managed the business, exerting control behind the scenes. Eventually, rumors circulated about a mysterious heir within the Sator family.


    The rise of the Sator Merchant Group over the years was mainly due to Soulnaught''s efforts, serving as their base for discreet operations. Even those who aided in smuggling Burn into Wintersin to search for Morgan were linked to the Sator Merchant Group.


    Oh, the grand entrance as part of the Sator family must have really shaken up the Inkia capital. Look at all these unfamiliar faces greeting them now, some with a hint of influence in the continent.


    Maybe they had piqued the interest of the big shots, but these folks crowding around them were nothing but small potatoes.


    Burn didn¡¯t have time for this.


    ¡°Momo Darling, you did promise to bring me shopping today, didn¡¯t you?¡± Morgan whined suddenly.


    Burn''s eyes narrowed. With a smirk playing on his lips, he said, ¡°Absolutely. Gentlemen, my sincere apologies, but I am obliged to keep my promise to my dear Madam today. Lord Wilderwood is hosting me at his grand abode in the capital. Feel free to visit if you need something."


    With this, the information that they were with Finn would spread, and the big fishes would also go to find him. Finn would surely know what to do with them. After all, he was in dire need of connection now¡ªto take over the kingdom.

 109 - Saint Lucia Entrance Test

    The written test took an hour. Yvain thought it would have more variety of topics, but apparently there were more questions about Force and Vision in it than anything else.


    No matter where you go, power would be the most important after all.


    Yes, today, Saint Lucia Academy had spread its focus on searching diverse talent through various subjects like science, history, geography, languages, mathematics, and social sciences, but it might only cover fractions of the courses.


    But this was traditionally a magic academy, after all.


    Most of the children enrolling in this academy were from noble or influential families who already got their basic education through tutors at home anyway. And usually, the commoners who got the opportunity to enter this academy could do so thanks to their magical talent, not from excellent basic knowledge.


    So, in a way, the written test was just a formality. Yvain didn¡¯t take it seriously, only answering questions that seemed interesting to him. After they took the papers away, the real test began.


    "Go to the Romeuf Stadium if you want to enter the Force Magic Department, and to the Lucia Stadium if you want to enter the Vision Magic Department!"


    "Excuse me, if we fail the test for one, can we try the test for the other department?"


    "The test will be held until the afternoon, so if you fail one test, try the other. I suggest you go to the Force test first, so if you fail, you can then enter the Vision test."


    ¡°This is Saint Lucia Academy and you still ask that stupid question? Did you not prepare yourself beforehand?¡±


    ¡°Ehehe, my father forced me to take the test¡­¡± a certain red haired boy foolishly remarked. After that, he went toward Romeuf Stadium, like suggested.


    Yvain wasn¡¯t far. He was just observing around, though. Quite the commotion¡­


    ¡°Sir Sator?¡±


    Yvain turned to the voice behind him. He raised his eyebrows at Blair Inkor, who had just found him again after the written test.


    ¡°Your Highness, we meet again,¡± Yvain smiled. ¡°How did you do on the written test?¡±


    ¡°It was just normal,¡± Blair answered shyly.


    ¡°Right. It was just normal indeed,¡± Yvain agreed.


    Blair raised her head to look at the pret¡ªhandsome boy in front of her. She had said it was normal because she expected the test to be quite difficult, even for her. However, the boy seemed really nonchalant about it.


    ¡°What department are you going to enter?¡± Yvain asked.


    ¡°Umm,¡± Blair hesitated to tell him at first. ¡°I''m going to major in Vision art.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Yvain tilted his head, showing interest. ¡°Have you awakened your Vision, Your Highness?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Blair nodded. ¡°I awakened my Vision two years ago.¡±


    ¡°So young!¡± Yvain praised.


    ¡°T-that¡¯s not that impressive...! You know how the young King of Edensor awakened his Vision when he was only four,¡± Blair blurted out about that person again.


    She grimaced slightly. She didn¡¯t want to be seen as a magic nerd who dared to compare herself to that magic genius, the ¡®Little Merlin¡¯, not in front of this new acquaintance she had just made.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s different. I¡ªI mean, he had a great master, so he could awaken early,¡± Yvain said, his tongue slipping.


    ¡°But isn¡¯t that the youngest recorded age of awakening in history?¡± Blair blinked at him.


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    Yes, it was.


    But Yvain didn¡¯t like this conversation about him to continue. He felt a bit self-conscious and guilty.


    ¡°Ah! Look, the crowd has thinned out. You can go to the Vision test now,¡± Yvain said, continuing, ¡°I¡¯ll go to the Force test. I know you¡¯re guaranteed a pass if you¡¯re awakened, but still, good luck!¡±


    He was right. There weren¡¯t as many people left, so the corridor wasn¡¯t as densely packed as before. Blair wasn¡¯t sure, but she felt that Yvain could have gone earlier despite the crowd. She wondered if he would still have waited if she hadn¡¯t called out to him earlier.


    He talked and waited with her because he didn¡¯t want her to get shoved by the crowd like earlier¡­


    "Such a gentleman¡­" Blair whispered under her breath as she saw him left.


    ***


    In the heart of the Saint Lucia Academy stood one of the sturdiest stadiums ever built, a hub of mystical anticipation and academic competition.


    The stadium, bearing the name of the revered Apostle Romeuf, exuded an air of ancient wisdom and power, or so the brochures claimed.


    At the stadium''s northern side stood a looming statue of the very Apostle himself, casting a stern gaze over the bustling grounds. The apostle''s presence seemed to say, "I may be stone, but I''m judging you all."


    In front of the imposing statue lay the examiners'' place, a spot where the all-important test scrutinizers perched high and mighty, ready to let their power trip commence. Their seats were polished to a blinding sheen, reflecting both the sunlight and the nervous sweat of hopeful magic wielders.


    As expected, there were considerably more people who went to Romeuf Stadium.


    Well, they were still 12-year-olds, 13, or 14 at maximum. Rarely was there anyone who could awaken their Force or Vision at that age. So the tests were designed to be passed even without Force or Vision awakening.


    But that didn¡¯t mean that they were easy either.


    Saint Lucia Academy was traditionally a magic academy. So it would only make sense if they only accepted children who had the potential to awaken their magic.


    But how would you find that potential?


    For Force art, it¡¯s straightforward.


    ¡°For those of you who just arrived, raise your right hands, now!¡±


    Upon entering the stadium, they were all instructed to raise their right hands. From above, an enchanted bracelet flew onto their wrists. Yvain immediately knew it was mainly for protection when it landed on him.


    "Observe your bracelets! You will notice that you have been assigned different colors. Kindly move towards the examiners near the flags that match the color of your bracelet!"


    There were almost 200 children in the stadium, spread across five different colors: blue, red, green, yellow, and purple, with each color group comprising around 30-40 children.


    Yvain received a red bracelet.


    ¡°Lucky,¡± he muttered upon spotting the examiner with the tall red flag - Princess Nahwu, the only elf of her generation enrolling in the academy.


    The one his ¡®Mama¡¯ and ¡®Papa¡¯ had told him about.


    ¡°Huh?! T-that¡¯s an elf? W-wouldn¡¯t it be more difficult to pass with an elf as an examiner?!¡±


    Yvain turned to the boy next to him, realizing it was the red-headed boy who had inquired about the tests in the corridor earlier.


    ¡°Ugh, I don¡¯t know anyone in the red group either¡­ what do I do¡­?¡± the boy ruffled his own hair in frustration.


    His actions drew attention in the crowd; some looked at him strangely, a few even casting sneers, noting his apparent cluelessness. He was likely a commoner, yet it seemed odd for him to be unprepared.


    Logically, wouldn¡¯t he be one of the most ready, being a commoner?


    Well, it wasn¡¯t his concern.


    "Red group, come closer!"


    He walked toward Nahwu alongside the other members of the red group. Once everyone was within earshot, the elf princess announced the rules of the test.


    "Your time is one minute, and your goal is to reach a three feet distance to the flag. If you reach it, you will pass," she explained.


    After ensuring everyone understood, she continued, "The bracelet on your wrist is enchanted with a protection spell, but one attack will break the spell. In that case, you can choose to keep pushing forward or give up because I will continue attacking you if you don¡¯t."


    Yvain glanced at the other groups and noticed that the test varied depending on the examiners. However, it was essentially the same ''capture the flag'' type of challenge.


    The blue group''s examiner was a sword user, while the green and yellow groups were spear users. The purple group''s examiner was a dagger user.


    "Alright, choose your weapon. Whisper your preferred weapon type to your bracelet, and it will summon it for you," Nahwu instructed as she prepared her bow.


    Yvain recalled his bet with Burn. The man said he would give him anything he wanted if he could pass the entrance test without using his Vision.


    Well, he could still go to the Vision Department test because it didn¡¯t require him to awaken or use his Vision, but he chose to go to the Force test anyway.


    Because there was a second part to that bet.


    "If you can pass the Force test, I will teach you my Force magic.¡±


    Emperor Burn¡¯s Force magic.

 110 - High Risk, High Return

    The participants of the test were instructed to create a 35-foot distance between themselves and the flag, and they were going one by one.


    It was clear that they would be there for at least an hour.


    "Who''s going to go first?" Nahwu asked. "If you don''t step forward, one of the bracelets on your wrists will light up randomly, and you must come forward."


    "I will go first!"


    Unexpectedly, there was a fearless participant there.


    Judging by his appearance, it seemed that he came from a noble family. Seeing his brave display, he must have already awakened his Force.


    "Great. Go to your position," Nahwu said.


    As instructed, the participant went to the predetermined position and readied himself. After everyone else had moved out of the way, Nahwu whispered to her own bracelet before they started.


    ¡°Introduce yourself and your number,¡± Nahwu said.


    ¡°My name is Alan Mossflower, 256!¡± Alan answered.


    ¡°Okay, then. Are you ready?¡± she asked, and the boy nodded. She smiled and began, ¡°One minute, in three, two, one¡ª!¡±


    A projection of a one-minute timer appeared atop her head and the participant dashed forward.


    "He''s so brave to try it first," the boy with red hair muttered.


    "Tsk!" Suddenly, another boy clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Just how ignorant are you about this test? Of course, he''s brave. That''s because he already awakened his Force. And it''s not like the test will be hard. If anything, this will be the easiest group there is."


    "What do you mean?" the red-haired boy asked again.


    "It''s a waste of time trying to explain it to you."


    "Aww, come on, explain it to me!" the boy begged.


    "HYAH!"


    SWISH! SWISH!


    The participant jumped into the air as two arrows flew past him.


    "That boy is the son of the northern marquis, Lord Mossflower. Their Force style is very agile and swift. Look, he''s even using a rapier," the other boy explained to the red-head. "A rapier user against a bow user, in this small space, who do you think will have the advantage?"


    "Huh? What does that have to do with the test?" the red-headed boy asked again.


    "You''re hopeless. Of course, Lord Mossflower¡¯s son will have the advantage! His agility and speed will overpower the examiner who can only fire so many arrows at this distance!"


    "Is that so?" the red-headed boy asked, when suddenly, his eyes changed. "But I don''t think so."


    TWANG! SWISH!


    CLANG!


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    Young Lord Mossflower deflected the arrow and ran even faster towards the red flag. However, even with the distance shortened, Nahwu didn¡¯t stop firing her arrows.


    Six feet, three feet¡ª"HYAA!"


    The boy¡¯s rapier burst with Force as he jumped into the air, attacking Nahwu. He could have just run past her at that point, but he decided to show off¡ª


    But something unexpected suddenly happened.


    STRUCK! CRACK!


    The last arrow Nahwu shot flew back and hit the boy from behind, destroying his bracelet¡¯s protection spell.


    ¡°GAH!¡± Young Lord Mossflower¡¯s body was thrown forward¡ªTHUD!¡ªand his face struck the flagpole after Nahwu scooted out of the way.


    Everyone fell silent.


    ¡°My, so you have awakened your Force! You should¡¯ve told me earlier. You pass!¡± Nahwu said.


    ¡°Pff¡ª¡± Yvain couldn¡¯t hold back his laughter. And because of him, everyone started laughing too.


    ¡°How dare you laugh at me!¡± Alan Mossflower rose to his feet with a face as red as a tomato, partly because he had just struck the pole with his face, and partly due to embarrassment. ¡°Who started it?! I¡¯ll remember your face!¡±


    ¡°Me,¡± Yvain raised his hand with a smile.


    Alan pointed at him with anger bursting from within, his Force flaming upwards, ¡°You¡ª! You¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Me. I want to try next, Your Highness Princess Nahwu,¡± Yvain said as he bowed politely. He then turned to Alan and nodded, ¡°You are so strong, Lord Mossflower. How can you awaken your Force so soon? Please teach me your ways later, and congratulations on passing the test.¡±


    Alan¡¯s anger suddenly dissipated, and he immediately blushed at Yvain¡¯s unexpectedly beautifu¡ªprett¡ªhandsome face.


    ¡°Cough! Th-thanks,¡± he stammered, momentarily mistaking him for a girl before realizing his error. He watched Yvain go to his position and thought, ¡°Later? He''s so confident he can pass¡­¡±


    Yvain caught a glimpse of Nahwu¡¯s mischievous and competitive nature. The moment Alan Mossflower used his Force, she too employed her Force, controlling the arrow like a guided missile to hit him from behind.


    Though there was no point in attacking him from behind so close to the flag, and she could easily defend herself from his Force attack, she still chose to surprise him.


    Though he passed, he learned his lesson.


    Princess Nahwu possessed a strong sense of justice. Judging from his master¡¯s expression, she disliked this sense of justice combined with her ignorance and strict moral view.


    Well, Yvain didn¡¯t know the reason why his master was so concerned about her, but part of his mission here was to find out.


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t introduced myself, but you already know who I am,¡± Nahwu looked at Yvain suspiciously.


    ¡°Oh, Your Highness, did you forget that you¡¯re the only elf enrolling in this academy? Or, in any human academy for that matter,¡± Yvain said politely.


    Nahwu chuckled, her eyes slightly narrowing, feeling that the boy seemed too sly for a 12-year-old. She instructed, ¡°State your name and number.¡±


    ¡°Evan di Sator, 337,¡± Yvain said.


    Hearing it, Nahwu raised an eyebrow. She clearly heard there were only a total of 336 participants for the test. But then, she remembered the commotion earlier in the morning when they squeezed in one more participant.


    She asked around, and someone told her, ¡°Probably someone bribed the staff to add another slot.¡±


    Evan di Sator¡­ he was the son of a very wealthy person who caused quite the murmurs at the front gate earlier. She remembered her conversation with Locan in the morning and realized that this family were indeed bad people.


    Bribing to get their place into the exam was bad enough, now they were trying to curry favor with her?


    ¡°Please take care of me, Your Highness. Ah, maybe I should call you Senior from now on,¡± Yvain said as he summoned his longsword.


    ¡°No,¡± Nahwu frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t have the right to call me that yet.¡±


    Yvain noticed the change in Nahwu¡¯s expression and tone of voice the moment he mentioned his number. The boy held his smile.


    Ah, Burn did a great job bribing his way into the academy indeed.


    "I¡¯m ready. Please begin the test," Yvain said, easing into his stance.


    Nahwu ground her teeth. ¡°One minute, in three, two, one¡ª!¡±


    The moment a projection of a one-minute timer appeared above her head, she released an arrow from her bow, shooting right at Yvain, when suddenly¡ª


    The boy straightened himself and opened his arms, readily accepting the arrow to his chest.


    STRUCK! CRACK¡ªCRACKLE!


    The protection spell was destroyed in one go, while everyone present felt their jaws hit the ground. Even Nahwu herself widened her eyes in disbelief, and so were the examiners on their seats above.


    ¡°Your Mama told you to cheat because she wants you to use your brain. Use the most effective method, the easiest path for you. But when you see the opportunity to get stronger, take it instead of using the safer path.¡±


    Yvain grinned. He muttered, ¡°I wonder what the bonus prize is if I can awaken my Force today, Papa.¡±


    High risk, high return.

 111 - Balance

    ¡°Don¡¯t use your father¡¯s move. I¡¯ll teach you another simple move so you won¡¯t be found out.¡±


    Before the test, Burn took time to teach Yvain about Force, like he did in the previous loop. But Yvain hit a wall the moment he was just about to understand something.


    Yvain dashed forward. The movements he learned from Burn and the days he spent in a futile attempt to scratch the surface of the man¡¯s defense now seemingly paid off.


    Well, Burn wasn¡¯t a lenient teacher. Even though he told Yvain to try and scratch him, the man also occasionally pushed him to the brink and tested Yvain¡¯s own defense.


    And he was relentless.


    So relentless that these arrows seemed slow¡ª


    TWANG! TWANG! SWISH! SWISH!


    Yvain wondered if even Burn couldn¡¯t force him to awaken with that ruthless training, would this elf princess be able to do it with her arrows? Even now, her arrows seemed slow compared to Burn¡¯s attack.


    But¡­ the closer he got, the sharper and faster the arrows came. Twenty feet toward the flag, and she started to shoot two arrows at a time. Now, it had become comparable to his usual training.


    But not enough!


    ¡°I understand why it takes years for Force Art users to master their body. There is a pattern to it, but there¡¯s too much of it,¡± Yvain muttered after he finished his training with Burn.


    ¡°Why? Vision arts don¡¯t use patterns?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Patterns in Vision arts are created to control it. Originally, it¡¯s a free expression of pure energy. Without patterns or¡­ spells, you can still use your Vision,¡± Yvain said. ¡°But there¡¯s nothing but rules and patterns in Force Art.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re using your body. Imagine your body as a machine. A mechanism. It can only function with certain rules and patterns. That¡¯s why you can only reprogram it.¡±


    Using mana.


    Spells were the same. They were designed to program Vision into an easier-to-control form. But Vision specialties, the strongest form of Vision art, came straight from the soul, thus it wasn¡¯t a program¡ªbut something unexplainable. Something beyond the law of magic, or any rules or patterns.


    SWISH! SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!


    Oh, Yvain couldn¡¯t believe he was still so imprinted with the idea of Vision that he got another enlightenment in the middle of trying to awaken his Force.


    Why was it so contradictory? Why were Vision and Force such opposites that he could only advance on one side and not the other?


    It was so frustrating. So¡ª


    CLANG! SWISH! SWISH! STAB!


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    Yvain¡¯s immediate reaction was almost to use his Vision to heal himself, but he managed to stop it. Thirty seconds left, with a deep stab wound in his left arm.


    Drip¡ªdrip¡­


    As his blood tainted the ground and the people around widened their eyes, unable to turn away, Yvain hit an epiphany. In the end, both Vision and Force had the same goal.


    And that was to achieve perfection¡ªin their own point of view.


    Control perfection, and freedom perfection. Which was it? Freedom using the soul, the blessing of God, or control from mortality, the curse of God? Which was the true perfection?


    The answer¡­ was none.


    Because God¡¯s blessing was what God intended to create, not freedom. And God¡¯s curse was human¡¯s tool to create its own destiny, not control. The soul was God¡¯s design, destiny. And the body was a human''s achievements, choices.


    Awakening¡ª


    The moment Yvain felt his body allow Mana to course through it, Yvain understood.


    ¡°He¡¯s using his Force?!¡± The participants, shocked by Yvain¡¯s sudden burst of energy, started quite a commotion. Even the other groups started to notice them.


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    ¡°Hah¡ª¡± Yvain smiled, his entire body ecstatic. ¡°So this¡ªthis is Force?¡±


    Balance.


    It wasn¡¯t control, but balance. Maybe it was for others, but for him, it was just that. It was what he wanted, and what his body could handle. It was his intention, and his limits. This, was Force.


    ¡°You¡­ just awakened?¡± Nahwu couldn¡¯t believe her eyes. The boy who bribed his way to the test intentionally broke his protection spell to force awaken himself?


    ¡°Senior,¡± Yvain called her, making her flinch. He broke the arrow in half, not immediately pulling it out from his wounded arm. ¡°Let¡¯s continue the test.¡±


    Nahwu gathered herself together and realized that this must be a farce. Was it possible for someone to awaken their Force in the middle of a test like this? The timing was so perfect it was fake! It must be!


    He must''ve already awakened before and just performed this miraculous awakening!


    Nahwu drew her bow¡ªthree arrows at a time. Releasing them to the air, she had imbued her own Force energy to control them from three different directions.


    It was a fact that this boy was bribing the academy to enter the test. He was still cheating! Now, she mustn¡¯t let him pass. She had to show him what real power was¡ªnot something a cheater could achieve!


    ¡°Princess Nahwu! What are you doing?!¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to kill him?!¡±


    She heard the examiners yell at her from above, but she didn¡¯t stop. The three arrows whistled through the air, creating a sharp sound so loud it could cut a limb off.


    But Yvain¡ª


    SWISH! SWISH! CLANG!


    One arrow down as he dodged the two and destroyed one. Yvain dashed forward faster than ever, while Nahwu drew her bow once more with more arrows, with her two arrows still in the air.


    ¡°How many arrows can you control, Senior?¡± Yvain smiled, and it looked like a mock to her. ¡°I wonder¡ªwhich one will be a feint¡ª¡±


    Nahwu shot another three and Yvain found his answer.


    One arrow flew straight at him, which he struck with his sword, while the other two almost slipped away as they bent their direction past him, and he let them go, observing all four arrows in the air as one lost its energy, slowing and falling.


    Three at a time?


    SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!


    Yvain prepared himself to destroy all three within ten feet of the flag. Ten seconds left.


    CLANG! CLANG! SLASH!


    He was able to stop all three when he saw a shadow from above him¡ªCLASH!


    Nahwu swung her bow at him, but Yvain met her with his sword, clashing both weapons just as he managed to stop all three arrows from skewering him.


    ¡°The thing is¡ª¡± Yvain raised his wounded arm toward his left backside.


    STAB!


    The fourth arrow lodged itself hard into his wound, and Nahwu couldn¡¯t believe he saw it coming.


    ¡°¡ªeven without using his Force, my Papa¡¯s feint is more intricate than this,¡± Yvain slipped away from Nahwu¡¯s attack, slashing her bow in half.


    Five seconds left. And Yvain walked leisurely toward the flag four feet away, pulling two arrows lodged in his arm as he did.


    Thankfully he hadn¡¯t pulled the first arrow out yet. The second arrow was fueled with Force, so without another arrow lodged there, it would pierce past his bone and flesh straight to his vitals.


    It was a neat trick, letting him see that the fourth arrow had lost its energy and slowed, gradually falling, then distracting him with her melee attack using her bow, only to pierce him from behind.


    Yvain pulled his scarf from his neck and tied his wound tight. He couldn¡¯t heal himself with Vision now in front of everyone, but he didn¡¯t know how to heal himself with Force yet.


    ¡°Ah! Young Lord Mossflower, can you teach me how to heal your wound with Force?¡± Yvain thought asking wouldn¡¯t hurt, but then he realized that everyone was still frozen in shock.


    Even the examiners above still had their jaws on the ground. It was complete silence¡ªthe other group''s test paused, and all heads facing toward the red flag.


    ¡°W¡­¡±


    ¡°WOAAAAAHH!!¡±


    ¡°Sir Sator!¡±


    ¡°Whaaaaaaaaat?!¡±


    When hundreds of teenagers saw something cool, they couldn¡¯t wrap themselves around it, and just started cheering.


    ¡°What is this? A new Force genius emerged?¡± one of the examiners asked.


    ¡°We have to quickly take him under someone. But you said he¡¯s from that Sator family?¡± the other said.


    ¡°Then, this would be difficult.¡±


    ¡°ATTENTION!¡±


    As the lead examiner¡¯s booming voice echoed within the stadium, everyone started to settle. Yvain breathed a sigh of relief after his body got the treatment of a dirty mattress being slapped, pushed, and hugged all around under the sunlight.


    ¡°Evan di Sator, you pass.¡±


    The lead examiner, a man in his forties, announced. He continued, ¡°Go to the infirmary and treat your wound.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, sir. I will excuse myself,¡± Yvain said, bowing politely and walking away clutching his arm. He thought to himself that he would just use his Vision when no one was watching and go to the Vision department¡¯s test.


    He was curious about how they tested their participants without them needing to awaken their Vision.


    ¡°Wait up~!¡±


    Yvain had left the stadium, and was about to heal himself when he saw both the red-headed boy from earlier and Alan Mossflower following him.


    ¡°You¡­¡± Yvain looked at the red-headed boy, asking, ¡°You haven¡¯t taken the test yet. What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Like I said, why are you following¡­¡± Alan asked.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re worried about me? Haha, don¡¯t be,¡± the red-haired boy said.


    ¡°I was forced to come here anyway. Even if I don¡¯t take the test or fail, my parents will still enroll me.¡±


    Alan frowned, and Yvain raised his eyebrows.


    ¡°My name is Matthew Padparadscha. You see, my dad, Duke Padparadscha, and my mom, Princess Bianca, the headmaster of this school, will enroll me no matter what.¡±


    Matthew laughed. ¡°Basically, I have no choice.¡±

 112 - Vision Resonator

    Vision art was a very abstract study. More than calculation, it leaned on philosophy and feeling. So how can one test a Vision major without needing them to awaken it?


    Well, there was a study about a certain quality someone needed to possess if they wanted to awaken their Vision. First and foremost was their intellect.


    Someone needed to be smart to process themselves, right? More than ever, the ignorant wouldn¡¯t even be able to connect themselves to their souls. But that wasn¡¯t the main quality someone needed to have to awaken their Vision.


    In the end, the participants were required to be sensitive about their own souls, so the academy crafted a very intricate device to test their reaction to some predetermined events.


    In the Lucia Stadium, rows upon rows of participants filled the seats, their eyes fixed on the center of the arena where a shimmering apparatus stood. This was the Vision Department''s test, an event that attracted awe and curiosity from all corners of the magical realm.


    Yvain, not a participant in this particular test, watched from a distance, his eyes narrowed in interest. Beside him were Alan and Matthew, wondering why Yvain went here instead of the infirmary.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to heal your wound? The arrow went through your arm, you know?¡± Alan asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s already healed,¡± Yvain answered, secretly using his Vision to mend himself.


    ¡°You already can heal yourself with Force?! Woahh, a genius is different after all,¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Ssh, they¡¯re about to begin,¡± Yvain said.


    The device at the center of the arena was a marvel of magical engineering. It stood about ten feet tall, composed of intertwined crystalline orbs and floating glyphs that glowed with an ethereal light. At intervals, pulses of energy rippled through the structure, casting intricate patterns on the ground around it.


    Participants filed into the circle of runes surrounding the device, each one appearing a mix of nervous and excited. They were about to undergo a test that would probe the deepest parts of their being¡ªtheir intellect, their emotions, and their very souls.


    The first phase of the test was calibration. The device hummed softly, sending out tendrils of light that scanned the participants. Each scan was unique, tailored to each of the individuals. Participants shifted uncomfortably, feeling a slight tingle as the device attuned itself to their identity.


    Once calibration was complete, the intellectual and emotional stimulation began. The crystalline orbs projected a series of holographic scenarios, each one more complex and abstract than the last.


    One participant, a young woman with intense green eyes, found herself surrounded by swirling patterns and shapes that seemed to change with her every thought. She had to solve visual puzzles that defied the conventional laws of physics, using both logic and intuition to proceed.


    Another participant, a tall boy with a serious demeanor, faced moral dilemmas that tested his philosophical thinking. Illusionary figures appeared before him, presenting choices that required deep introspection and a keen understanding of his own beliefs.


    As he navigated these challenges, his face betrayed the struggle within¡ªhe was not just solving puzzles, but questioning the very nature of his soul.


    The device then shifted to the soul sensitivity test. A gentle, resonating frequency filled the air, interacting with the participants'' inner essence.


    The young woman with the green eyes closed her eyes, focusing inward. She felt the frequency change, resonating with her deepest emotions. Memories surfaced¡ªsome joyous, others painful.


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    Her sensitivity to her soul became apparent as she navigated these memories, her reactions controlled yet profound.


    The tall boy''s experience was different. He struggled to connect with the frequency, his intellect clashing with the need for emotional openness. But as the device persisted, he began to feel subtle changes within himself.


    It was a slow process, but gradually, he started to sense the resonance, finding a balance between thought and feeling.


    Next came the test of emotional and philosophical response. The device projected visions designed to evoke strong emotional reactions.


    The young woman saw a vision of her family, their faces lit with pride and love. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she maintained her composure, her sensitivity to her soul guiding her through the experience.


    The tall boy faced a different vision¡ªone of failure and loss. It struck at his core, threatening to unravel his control. Yet, as he grappled with the emotions, he found a strength within himself, a resilience that he hadn¡¯t known existed.


    This was the true test of Vision, the ability to face one''s deepest fears and emerge stronger.


    Yvain frowned, witnessing hundreds of these young participants, while the two quite stood out from the others.


    ¡°They¡¯re from two prominent families of Vision art users, right?¡± Alan muttered. ¡°As expected.¡±


    Finally, the device tested their interaction with magical energy. Small bursts of mana were released into the circle, and the participants had to harmonize with or manipulate this energy.


    The young woman moved with grace, her hands weaving through the air as she directed the mana, her connection to her soul evident in every movement.


    The tall boy, initially stiff and awkward, gradually found his rhythm. His intellectual approach melded with his newfound emotional understanding, allowing him to control the mana with increasing skill.


    The test revealed not just their abilities, but their potential for growth.


    ¡°Without awakening, they¡¯re able to control Mana through the device?¡± Yvain muttered. ¡°Mama will be so intrigued if she sees this.¡±


    ¡°Your mother is a Vision user?¡± Matthew asked, and Yvain only nodded.


    As the test concluded, the device provided a comprehensive analysis of each participant¡¯s performance. Glowing runes displayed their strengths and areas for improvement, interpreted by the examiners.


    The young woman and the tall boy both stood, visibly exhausted yet exhilarated, as their results were announced.


    From his vantage point, Yvain observed everything with keen interest. He saw the diversity in how each participant approached the test, the different ways they connected with their souls.


    It was a reminder of the myriad paths to power and understanding in the magical realm.


    ¡°That device is dangerous,¡± Yvain muttered.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Matthew tilted his head.


    ¡°Why?¡± Alan questioned.


    ¡°For someone who hasn¡¯t manifested their Vision, it might be a good device for exercise and gauging one¡¯s capabilities, but if someone has awakened their Vision, or worse, if someone awakens their Vision while using the device¡­¡± Yvain frowned.


    Rampage.


    ¡°Clouding someone¡¯s judgment with memory and emotional stimulation is very dangerous. How can they let devices like this be used in the academy?¡± the boy said. ¡°They at least have to use a mana-suppressing device to counter the side effects.¡±


    Matthew and Alan looked at Yvain, eyes wide. For a Force user, he sounded surprisingly, no, extremely knowledgeable about Vision.


    ¡°Ahem,¡± Matthew cleared his throat. ¡°I-I will deliver your suggestion to my mother. Don¡¯t worry, Evan.¡±


    ¡°Sir Sator!¡±


    The three turned to the direction the voice came from, only to find a beautiful long black-haired girl with enchanting purple eyes approaching them.


    Alan and Matthew immediately blushed, turning to Yvain. But then realized the boy was even more beautiful than the girl. They became a bit upset about it.


    ¡°My lady,¡± Yvain bowed politely. ¡°As expected, you¡¯re not part of the test because you¡¯ve awakened your Vision.¡±


    ¡°Yes. They told me to wait until this test is finished, and then test my ability later,¡± the girl said.


    ¡°Ah, these two are my fellow Force test participants. This is Sir Matthew Padparadscha and Sir Alan Mossflower. And, my friends, this is Her Highness Blair Inkor, unless you¡¯ve already been acquainted with her,¡± Yvain said.


    ¡°Greetings, Your Highness,¡± both boys bowed to her, mimicking Yvain, and it made Blair a bit awkward.


    She had never received gestures of respect like this before. All the nobles never actually regarded her as a princess after all. But with Yvain there, everyone started to give her due, just because he did.


    Still, Yvain¡¯s gesture was genuine, and Blair felt it. It was a gesture as natural as simple, everyday greetings, but not superficial. Maybe it was just part of his character.


    ¡°Your Highness, you might¡¯ve known this, but please don¡¯t come near that device,¡± Yvain said.


    ¡°Oh? The Vision Resonator?¡± Blair asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s what it''s called, huh?¡± Yvain hummed, ¡°Maybe I should tell Mama indeed.¡±

 113 - Marionette

    "Maybe I should tell Mama indeed.¡±


    Matthew, Alan, and Blair looked at Yvain with curiosity. No one had ever raised an issue about the Vision Resonator, and even to Blair, the device seemed perfect for the test or Vision training.


    "Why do I need to stay away from that device?" Blair asked.


    "Isn''t it good to be cautious?" Yvain smiled, making the other three blush. Why was this boy so charming? Was it because of his blonde hair? Or his blue eyes?


    "For Vision users, memory and emotional stimulation can be dangerous. If someone has hidden trauma their brain forces them to forget or if there are repressed memories, their Vision could go haywire," Yvain explained.


    "Everyone has something like that to some degree, so it''s good to stay away from it," the boy sighed. He turned to Blair and continued, "Isn''t it your turn to be tested now? May I watch?"


    "Ah... I''m sure they''ll let everyone here watch," Blair replied, feeling a bit flustered by his question. She knew he might''ve just wanted to be polite and continue their conversation, but she weirdly felt glad he asked.


    "Then, please go on," Yvain said. "I can¡¯t wait to see your magic."


    Wasn¡¯t it too good to be true?


    This sweet and handsome, gentlemanly boy who came from nowhere had coincidentally bumped into her three times today¡ªof course not. Blair wasn¡¯t that stupid. He must have had something he wanted from her, someone from the palace.


    Maybe he wanted to have a connection with her brother, the first prince.


    This boy was a Sator, after all.


    But why not?


    Blair felt it was okay even if she wasn¡¯t the one he was after and that he wanted something from her. Maybe because she was still a bit naive after all. She was still a child.


    But just a little, for the first time ever, she was glad she was a princess. Albeit illegitimate and had nothing in common with any royalty other than having the name.


    "O-okay, th-thanks, I mean, bye¡ªI mean, s-see you later," Blair stumbled out her words before quickly heading toward the middle of the stadium.


    Yvain watched her go with concern, muttering to himself, "She seems nervous. Even though she¡¯s such a talented person¡­ So why?"


    Matthew and Alan glared at the boy, rolling their eyes in exasperation and shaking their heads.


    ¡®It¡¯s because of you, idiot!¡¯ they thought.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite a surprise that you know her. Well, she¡¯s the first prince¡¯s favorite sister, so it makes sense that you would want to get closer to her,¡± Alan remarked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a great coincidence,¡± Yvain replied calmly. ¡°But right now, I just want to see her magic.¡±


    Yvain realized that there was no one in this place more talented in Vision than him. Yet, he felt drawn to Blair in a way he couldn''t explain. There was something about her that intrigued him, something that pulled him towards her.


    It must be her magic.


    The lead examiner, a man of impeccable grooming despite the commotions around him, surveyed the eager faces of the participants gathered in the stadium.


    "Dear participants," his voice boomed across the stadium, "It is time to witness the true power of Vision. We have among us a prodigious talent already graced by the Vision¡¯s touch."


    A murmur rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned to Blair Inkor, the princess of Inkia, a shy figure standing near the center of the arena.


    ¡°I bet she woke up one day and just decided to ''see¡¯ the world in a different light. Someone from the palace is just different, huh," a snide remark floated through the crowd, the words dripping with sarcasm.


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    ¡°I heard she was favored by the first prince.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s lucky she¡¯s talented.¡±


    ¡°Illegitimate girl. When¡¯s the queen planning on selling her in marriage?¡±


    ¡°Pitiful¡­¡±


    Blair, not oblivious to the hushed whispers around her, seemed lost in her thoughts as the examiner continued, "Our esteemed princess shall demonstrate the extent of her abilities for all to witness. Let us marvel at the prowess of one gifted with the Vision.¡±


    As the event unfolded, Yvain watched Blair from afar, wondering what secrets lay beyond her meek facade. Matthew and Alan, on the other hand, exchanged knowing glances, their expressions a blend of curiosity and newfound respect.


    ¡°You can show us any magic spell you¡¯ve learned, Your Highness. This is just a confirmation that you¡¯ve truly manifested your Vision,¡± the examiner said.


    Although he had stated she could present any spell she had learned, there was an expectation for Blair to showcase her best spell.


    She would still pass even if she only manifested a basic fire spell, but if she wanted to gain an advantage in the politics of the academy now, she must at least show the spell in which she was most confident.


    Well, if she did too well, she would also stand out too much, and that wasn¡¯t the goal either.


    Maybe¡­ just hide her power a little more¡ª


    She stopped thinking the moment she caught that boy¡¯s eyes. Evan di Sator was looking at her from afar. Normally, if it was this far, she wouldn¡¯t even be able to see him looking at her, but weirdly, she knew.


    It felt like being judged. No¡­ it felt like being thoroughly examined.


    Why was it that even the eyes of the examiners weren¡¯t as nerve-wracking as the eyes of a boy? It felt like watching into the eyes of a¡­


    Ruler.


    Yes. Similar to the look of her father¡ªno, why was it even more¡­ subtle and deeper than her father? He was just a boy!


    ¡°Vraeth''shyn''lok."


    Blair whispered her spell. She didn¡¯t know what had possessed her, but she somehow chose to show her best spell.


    A hush fell over the examination chamber.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­!¡±


    ¡°What is that¡ª¡±


    Crimson threads weaved a mesmerizing dance through the air, and hanging from them was a giant marionette of fine intricacy.


    CRACKLE-CRACKLE!


    Arms, legs, head¡ª


    The puppet stood tall at 12 feet, its features exquisitely detailed but eerily lifeless. Suspended above, a massive hand of translucent magic moved with grace, manipulating the strings like a master puppeteer.


    ¡°Summoning magic? But¡­ what is that? A giant wooden marionette puppet¡­¡±


    The spectators, comprised of hundreds of other exam participants, gasped in unison as they witnessed Blair''s mesmerizing display.


    The examiner leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "What is this, Your Highness?"


    Blair raised her head, her gaze fixed on the elegant puppet clad in a pristine white dress, wielding an oversized sword. "String golem, a creation I summoned.¡±


    The puppet''s movements were precise yet devoid of life, creating an uncanny aura in the stadium. The red strings pulsed with magic, each twitch controlling the puppet''s every motion. It was a spectacle of both beauty and unease.


    CRACKLE CRACKLE¡ª


    GASP!


    SWISH!


    As the puppet danced in a silent performance, the examiner''s skepticism melted into impressed awe. "Intriguing choice, Princess Blair."


    Whispers of amazement rippled through the crowd, eyes widening in awe at the intricate marionette''s movements.


    ¡°Kgh¡ª¡± Blair suddenly grasped her neck. A thin mark was created, as if an invisible string was choking her. And the marks subtly appeared on both of her wrists too.


    ¡°Are you okay, Princess?¡± the examiner asked.


    ¡°This is enough, right?¡± Blair asked, her voice strained.


    ¡°Of course! You pass, Your Highness. Such incredible talent!¡± the examiner said gleefully.


    Blair finally exhaled, the stress evaporating like mist on a sunny morning. With her release, the massive hand above gave up the ghost, a perfect disappearing act.


    The crimson strings gracefully uncoiled, dancing in freedom before the colossal marionette dramatically crumbled to the earth in an act of final farewell. And just like that, the show was over for the puppet master, bowing out with a flair befitting the end of a tragicomic play.


    ¡°Congratulations, Your Highness! You passed as the best participant of the Vision Department test!¡± the examiner announced.


    Clap-clap-clap-clap!


    Blair looked up and around. Everyone was clapping at her as if she had just shown them such an entertaining performance. Ahh, so this was how it feels like being a circus animal. Well, this was just as expected.


    But then, once again, she met with those eyes.


    Huh?


    Why¡­


    He wasn¡¯t clapping.


    Instead, he looked at her with widened eyes.


    Yes. Evan di Sator looked incredibly shocked.

 114 - Allies and Enemies

    ¡°Did you see her eyes change color to red when she used the spell?¡± Yvain grasped Matthew¡¯s shoulder, his hand trembling.


    ¡°What? You can see her eyes from this far away?¡± Alan asked.


    ¡°I used my Force. You two didn¡¯t?¡± Yvain lied. He used his Vision to see further, and he was almost certain he saw her eyes change from purple to red for a split second.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it was the lighting, some glowing effect from her spell, or if her eyes changed color. Why?¡± Matthew asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a sign of emerging specialties,¡± Yvain said as he left them and walked down the stadium''s stairs.


    Alan stared at Matthew, who looked back at him. ¡°You¡­ have you been awakened?¡±


    ¡°For a while,¡± Matthew shrugged. ¡°I look stupid because I don¡¯t know a thing about the academy¡¯s entrance exam, right? Well, that¡¯s because I never cared about the academy before.¡±


    They looked at Yvain, who would have flown down the stairs if he could, trying to keep his composure as he walked quickly toward the princess who was walking up to him.


    ¡°Until now,¡± Matthew grinned.


    ***


    Blair froze when she saw Yvain¡¯s expression. She immediately flinched and watched as he quickly walked down the stairs to approach her.


    She bowed to the examiner, who looked at her with a business smile on his face, and headed in the direction Yvain was coming from. Sensing his urgency, and recalling his earlier caution about the Vision Resonator, she grew curious.


    ¡°My lady,¡± Yvain called out. ¡°That was amazing!¡±


    The boy descended to her and leaped over the stadium railing, landing right in front of her. ¡°You must meet my Mas¡ªI mean, my Mama.¡±


    ¡°H-huh?¡± Blair''s face exploded in red. ¡°Y-your M-Mother? Why¡­?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll love to meet you, I promise. Please have dinner with us,¡± Yvain exclaimed.


    ¡°B-but we¡¯ve just met! I-isn¡¯t that skipping a lot of steps¡­?!¡± Blair nervously waved her hands.


    ¡°Steps?¡± Yvain tilted his head.


    ¡°W-well, we¡¯ve just met today¡­¡± It had only been three hours since morning, and he was already casually inviting her for dinner with his family?


    ¡°Screw that,¡± Yvain chuckled. ¡°I want to know more about you. Right now.¡±


    Blair raised her gaze to meet his eyes. His look somehow made her heart tremble. He seemed very straightforward and casual, yet his words carried weight she couldn¡¯t resist.


    It felt like an order, more absolute than a request, despite his casual tone. Perhaps it was his demeanor¡ªan attitude that suggested no one dared to challenge him easily.


    Someone with great authority.


    ¡°S-sure¡­ I guess?¡± Blair shrunk a bit, her face warm and fuzzy, her hands defensively over her chest, and her shoulders raised.


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    ¡°Thank you very much. I''m sorry for being sudden and rude, but I feel very honored, Your Highness,¡± Yvain beamed, and Blair narrowed her eyes.


    As she looked at him again, she noticed something strange. She was small, smaller than him, but the boy seemed quite small that morning as well. Upon closer inspection, she realized she needed to raise her head higher up.


    ¡°Umm, Sir Sator¡­ is it just me, or did you just grow taller?¡±


    Yvain raised his eyebrows. Indeed, his clothes now felt a lot tighter.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Yvain pondered, ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because I just awakened my Force in the test earlier.¡±


    ¡°Huh?!¡± Blair flinched in shock. ¡°F-Force awakening¡­ Come to think of it, how did you get here so fast after leaving for the Force test¡­?¡±


    ¡°Well, I passed after Young Lord Mossflower, and the test only took a minute of our time each,¡± Yvain explained.


    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Matthew exclaimed from behind Yvain.


    Both Alan and Matthew followed him down the stadium, and Alan continued Matthew¡¯s statement, ¡°We passed because, well, we had already awakened our Force.¡±


    ¡°It seems many people have awakened their Force this year. I believe we''ll see more announcements during the entrance ceremony,¡± Matthew said.


    ¡°Well, including you and me, who awakened our Force before the test, we have a new one awakened right here today,¡± Alan grinned at Yvain, who just chuckled.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen him, Your Highness! He was so cool! In the beginning, he suddenly let our examiner attack him, breaking the protection spell from his bracelet. We were so shocked?! Then he went woosh! Slash! Slash! Slash! And BAM! Suddenly, he awakened!¡± Matthew reenacted.


    ¡°Ooh¡­¡± Blair widened her eyes in curiosity, her face increasingly innocent as she listened, apparently imagining the situation. This just fueled Matthew¡¯s fiery storytelling.


    ¡°He awakened his Force just right after he received an arrow to his arm! And then, he said coolly, ¡°Hah¡ªSo this¡ªthis is Force?¡± while looking all handsome and bloody, and we¡¯re like, huuuuuh? You¡¯re awakening NOW?!¡±


    Blair immediately turned toward Yvain¡¯s arm. He was wearing a black suit, so she didn¡¯t see any blood. The color of his scarf, used to tie around his wound, was also dark, making it less noticeable.


    ¡°Y-you¡¯re hurt, but you came here?!¡± Blair asked.


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s healed,¡± Yvain said calmly.


    ¡°That¡¯s crazy, right?! He already knew how to heal himself with Force! But what¡¯s even crazier is when he said after he got hurt and awakened himself, ¡°Senior,¡± and then, ¡°Let¡¯s continue the test,¡± and dashed forward! That was so cool! Whaaaat?¡±


    ¡°Stop, Young Lord Padparadscha,¡± Yvain felt embarrassed.


    ¡°But everything I told you until now is NOTHING compared to what happened after. Ooohhh, so it was the elven princess who tested us, right? And we¡¯re like what are you doing?! Why are you being serious while fighting him?! Are you trying to kill him? And he¡ªow! OWOWOWOW OW OW!¡±


    Out of the blue behind Matthew, a figure of a woman appeared, yanking his ear skywards¡ª


    ¡°Well, well, well! Look who this is!¡±


    Matthew turned around to find a woman there, yanking his ear in a way that felt all too familiar¡ª¡°Ouch! That hurts! S-Sorry, Mom! Ouch! Ouch! OUCH!¡±


    The woman was a mature brunette, sporting a robe with the academy¡¯s emblem on it. Mom, huh? It turned out to be none other than Princess Bianca Lumine, the headmaster of Saint Lucia Academy.


    ¡°Oh, you ungrateful little rascal! So many kids dream of getting into this academy, and here you are, being a selfish little devil¡ªoh, pardon me. Has this troublesome son of mine given you a hard time?¡± Bianca inquired calmly, all while still dragging and twisting her son''s ear into the stratosphere.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± Yvain awkwardly bowed, with Blair and Alan following suit.


    ¡°Alright, let''s excuse this one. The boy must endure the test no matter what. You naughty little troublemaker, I¡¯ll make you suffer!¡±


    The woman dragged the boy up the stadium, probably straight to the Romeuf Stadium, to force him to participate in the test. The boy was screaming and getting dragged by the ear all the way there.


    ¡°Pfft¡ª¡± Alan couldn¡¯t help but laugh, and so did Yvain and Blair.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Yvain said. ¡°I must invite you and Young Lord Padparadscha too. I will send an invitation through the Sator Merchant Group. Mama will be glad if you come.¡±


    Alan and Blair looked at each other and smiled. Alan said, ¡°Thank you. I will certainly come.¡±


    Yvain turned to Blair and said, ¡°And if dinner is too much, maybe lunch?¡±


    Blair blushed, ¡°I¡¯d like that. Thank you, Sir Sator.¡±


    Allies and enemies, Yvain must keep them close. Blair, the beloved younger sister of the first prince, Alan Mossflower, the son of the right hand of the Prime Minister¡­ and Matthew Padparadscha, a son of a figure of great power in Inkia, and the headmaster of the academy.


    But well, Yvain was still unsure of his connection with one missing puzzle piece.


    Princess Nahwu.

 115 - Yvain’s Growth

    As night fell over the Inkian Capital, a storm unlike any other began to brew. Dark clouds rolled in ominously, crackling with violent energy. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the silhouette of the two stadiums where the academy test had taken place earlier that day.


    The wind howled a haunting melody, whipping through the empty streets and rattling windows with a menacing force.


    As the rain began to pour in torrents, washing away the sins of the powerful and the weak alike, the storm seemed to mock the very foundations of the once-proud capital. It whispered in mocking tones, echoing the deceit and treachery that festered in the shadows of the city''s elite.


    Princess Nahwu followed the Force Department Rector, protesting all the way, ¡°What do you mean that boy deserves the number one ranking compared to all the other participants?! He¡¯s only just awakened his Force!¡±


    The Force Department Rector and the lead examiners of the Force Department¡¯s test sighed. ¡°You fought him with everything you had. Four guided Force Arrows, and he won. And despite just awakening his Force as well.¡±


    ¡°But I heard he didn¡¯t even answer all the questions in the written test!¡± Princess Nahwu protested again.


    ¡°From all 20 questions, he only answered 5 of them, but these 5 were the most important questions of them all. Not to mention he answered them in a creative and revolutionary way not even the professors could do,¡± Professor Lim Optro said.


    ¡°He¡¯s the new genius. You need to stop and think for a second, Your Highness. This academy needs him,¡± the man said.


    ¡°But¡­!¡± Princess Nahwu couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°Are you just going to ignore how he bribed his way to enter the test? He¡¯s not honest!¡±


    ¡°Did you forget how you got into this academy, Princess Nahwu?¡± Professor Lim inquired.


    Princess Nahwu immediately fell silent.


    ¡°You gained entry through a special route because you''re an elven princess. No exams required,¡± Lim sighed. ¡°He''s a prodigy, and he''s someone important. The son of the Sator Family. So what if he paid more than the others? The academy is fortunate to have him.¡±


    Nahwu couldn¡¯t fathom being lumped together with some mere human commoner. She was on the verge of protesting when Lim anticipated her response.


    ¡°Calling it bribing is just a blunt way to put it. In truth, his father made a substantial donation to renovate the academy¡¯s aging infrastructure,¡± Lim clarified.


    He went on, ¡°They have the means, so they support us. It was simply due to missing the admission deadline. And do you want to know why they missed it?¡±


    Nahwu''s eyes widened. ¡°Why¡­?¡±


    ¡°His mother was suffering from a chronic illness for three years, only recently recovering. It was her wish for him to attend the academy, a wish he was hesitant to fulfill at first due to caring for his mother. Now, can we put this matter to rest?¡± Lim concluded, leaving Nahwu in a stunned silence.


    Professor Lim couldn¡¯t believe there was still an ignorant and naive princess in this place that no longer actually respected the sacred ground of knowledge, with politics as its new beating heart.


    ¡°Don¡¯t just hang out with the friends who only want you to see one side of things. Not even the professors will always have the best of your interest. Open your eyes, Princess,¡± Lim said. ¡°I will leave now. Be careful with the storm and don¡¯t catch a cold.¡±


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    Lim Optro left the young princess alone in the corridor.


    But Nahwu frowned. She felt something was wrong. She felt it in her spine, but she couldn¡¯t understand why it bothered her so much. That boy was clearly cunning and manipulative from the way he acted, not like normal boys his age!


    But why¡­ Why was she the one who was wrong?


    There must be something behind that Sator boy. She must find out!


    ***


    BLAAAAST!!!


    The rain fell in torrents, the wind howled like a pack of hungry wolves, and lightning crackled across the sky with a flair that would make even the most seasoned playwright jealous.


    Meanwhile, inside the lavish walls of Marquis Wilderwood''s capital mansion, Burn found himself in the living room surrounded by boxes of supposedly top-notch long swords procured by his underlings.


    Four shiny swords stood before him, each one gleaming with the false promise of greatness. Burn eyed them with a mix of disdain and amusement, realizing that none of them even came close to matching the caliber of his previous sword, let alone his own lofty standards.


    With a hum, Burn inspected the blades like a discerning art critic at a flea market, finding fault in every curve and edge. It was clear to him that these swords were like cheap imitations in a world of fine art, lacking the finesse and grace that he so desperately sought.


    ¡°The balance is awful, the weight is¡­ laughable. One is even tilted,¡± he sighed.


    Amidst the chaos of the storm outside, the Marquis''s mansion seemed to resonate with Burn''s sarcastic musings and exasperated sighs.


    As Burn scrutinized the disappointing array of swords before him, his subordinates found themselves kneeling on the ground, desperately racking their brains for ways to satisfy his elusive standards.


    It was the first time they saw him, none other than Morgante di Sator, the current absolute owner of the Sator Merchant Group, a shadowy figure shrouded in mystery.


    It was a realization that sent a chill down their spines, as they had never before encountered someone so formidable and intimidating. (Burn)Morgante''s presence alone seemed to cast a dark cloud over the room, his silent scrutiny instilling a sense of unease in even the most confident of souls.


    Much, much worse than the storm outside!


    The subordinates exchanged nervous glances, realizing too late that their attempts to please this enigmatic figure may have been in vain.


    As they knelt before him, they couldn''t help but feel a sense of dread creeping in, as if they were at the mercy of a true master of manipulation and power.


    The facade of bravado and arrogance they had worn melted away in the face of (Burn)Morgante''s steely gaze, revealing the raw vulnerability that lay beneath.


    In that moment, they understood the true meaning of fear, a realization that dawned on them like a dark revelation. (Burn)Morgante di Sator was not just a man to be appeased; he was a force to be reckoned with, a figure whose very presence could strike terror into the hearts of those who dared to cross his path.


    ¡°Baby Tiger~ My Gorgeous Kitty Lord Husband~¡±


    Everyone plus (Burn)Morgante spat out blood, their eardrums imploded in rainbows and glitters.


    A beautiful¡ªdevilishly, sinfully beautiful woman with long black hair and a sultry white dress pulled a blonde boy inside. She, the Eve of Hell¡¯s most debauched, lascivious palace, had ruined the vibe once more.


    ¡°Look, Papa~ our Evan is so tall now that he¡¯s almost my height! It seems awakening his Force gave him looooots~ of charm, right? Right, baby bird, mm~ baby love bird~¡±


    ¡°Bunny, stop. Your voice and words of choice will give these men orgasms,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan groaned¡ª¡°But you said¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mention what I said to you in the heat of the moment last night. What? What do you want now?¡± Burn sighed.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s time for you to give our baby your promised reward, right? I¡¯ve given him all the clothes in his new measurements. Now¡¯s your turn!¡± Morgan said.


    Yvain, the handsome blonde boy, stepped forward. ¡°I¡¯m ready for your Force magic, Papa.¡±


    Burn looked straight at Yvain, knowing that the boy had made such an outstanding achievement. Not only did he pass the academy¡¯s Force Department¡¯s test, he was able to awaken his Force too.


    ¡°And also¡­ because I¡¯m able to awaken my Force in the process, I want one more reward,¡± Yvain said.


    Burn hummed, thinking in silence for a moment. ¡°Alright. Before that, choose any of these swords. Not this tilted one,¡± he kicked away one of the boxes.


    Yvain looked at the swords, and thought, ¡°Which one can I also use as a Vision Magic¡¯s staff?¡±


    Morgan and Burn raised their eyebrows at his question.


    ¡°I think¡­ my Force awakening had something to do with my Vision¡­¡±

 116 - Stupid Lucky

    ¡°I think¡­ my Force awakening had something to do with my Vision¡­¡±


    Silence.


    Morgan and Burn looked at each other, both their faces rigid and surprised. Yvain looked at both his pretend parents and was surprised as well, just from their reactions.


    They both demonstrated great control over their emotions and had impressive poker faces, so this reaction was almost nightmarish.


    ¡°Leave,¡± Burn turned to the Sator Merchant Group¡¯s directors and higher-ups, and they immediately paled at his sudden change in aura.


    They scurried away at his word, quickly slipping behind Morgan to the door and closing it from the outside.


    ¡°This is unexpected,¡± Morgan muttered.


    Burn walked to the sofa and sat, leaning sideways on the armrest. ¡°I also never heard of that.¡±


    Morgan examined the swords. She took one look at them and chose one of the three Burn recommended. ¡°This one can be partially used as a Vision Staff. You can choose this one, Yvain.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Master,¡± Yvain said.


    Yvain grabbed the long sword, excitedly examining it as Morgan sat beside Burn. They looked at each other again in complete silence while Yvain slowly felt suspicious of what they were thinking.


    ¡°Umm¡­ Masters¡­¡± Yvain hesitantly asked, ¡°Why are you two¡­ look so scary right now?¡±


    "Boy, you know that you are the third Vision and Force user in this world, right?" Burn asked.


    Yvain tilted his head. "Yes. That¡¯s right¡­?"


    "Do you know them, Morgan?" Burn turned to Morgan, expecting answers, as he gestured towards another sofa for Yvain to sit.


    Morgan nodded. "I know them quite well. One is the Vampire of the West, and the other is the Dragon of the East. They¡¯re so famous that there was a saying to metaphorize the power in this world, ¡®Vampire of the West and Dragon of the East¡¯.¡±


    "That Vampire of the West is Vlad," Morgan smiled.


    Burn tilted his head, closed his eyes, and immediately felt tired. Of course, it was him...


    "And the Dragon of the East is on the moon right now," Morgan chuckled as she mentioned it.


    Burn frowned and opened his eyes, narrowing them. Of course, the two of them were her acquaintances. "The Dragon is with your treasures on the moon?"


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    "He''s the guardian of my treasures," Morgan said, with a finger lightly touching his palm, sensing the weariness in Burn due to her connection to these colleagues.


    ¡°Well, that is what I should expect from you,¡± Burn muttered. ¡°But that¡¯s not the important point now. Yvain, you mentioned that your Force awakening had something to do with your Vision?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Yvain confirmed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s possible,¡± Burn turned to Morgan once again.


    ¡°You want me to answer that too? I knew Vlad and Isaiah, but they can¡¯t use both Vision and Force at the same time. They awakened both, but manifesting both¡­ they said it¡¯s impossible,¡± Morgan explained.


    ¡°We, a Vision master and a Force master, also know it¡¯s supposed to be impossible. I can try to awaken Vision now, and Morgan can try to awaken her Force, but what you said, Yvain,¡± Burn looked at Yvain, ¡°Sounded like you can actually use both at the same time.¡±


    Once again, silence filled the room.


    ¡°Is it¡­ that big of a deal?¡± Yvain nervously asked.


    Hearing the boy¡¯s hesitant question, Morgan and Burn chuckled.


    ¡°Force and Vision are like water and oil. No. Force and Vision are like¡­ even two opposing poles of magnet attractions can still be united, but they¡¯re even more opposite to each other than anything in this world,¡± Morgan explained.


    ¡°So to us, you sounded like lying, Yvain,¡± Burn said.


    Yvain groaned. ¡°But I didn¡¯t! I awakened my Force while I was being enlightened for my Vision!¡±


    Burn and Morgan narrowed their eyes.


    ¡°You mean¡­ your specialty?¡± Morgan whispered, and Burn turned to her with raised eyebrows.


    ¡°Yes, Master!¡± Yvain stood with a bit of desperation and excitement. ¡°My specialty!¡±


    Morgan slowly but surely understood and she immediately stood too. ¡°Balance?!¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Yvain nodded with all the power he had.


    ¡°What?!¡± Burn exclaimed.


    ¡°Caliburn¡ª¡± Morgan turned to Burn. ¡°T-this¡­! This might be¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Balance? You mean, his Vision¡¯s specialty complements his Force style?!¡± Burn immediately stood up like the other two.


    The three of them, with their mouths open, fell into a frozen state.


    And then¡­


    ¡°OOOOOOOOOOHHH!¡±


    ¡°AAAAAHHHHAAAHH!¡±


    ¡°WAAAAAAAHHHHH!¡±


    .


    .


    .


    .


    .


    ***


    After a burst of excitement, the three sat back down on the sofas.


    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± the three pondered, with dark, serious expressions on their faces.


    It was almost like the three of them shared the same singular active brain cell and couldn¡¯t figure it out.


    ¡°We should¡­ actually sit on it and wait for more information and development,¡± Morgan laughed helplessly.


    ¡°I guess so, Masters,¡± Yvain smiled tiredly.


    But Burn, his gaze burned into Yvain as he sighed.


    ¡°Master Burn¡­?¡± Yvain looked slightly afraid at his gaze, but then, the boy saw him smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s too amazing. I¡¯m fucking jealous right now,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan and Yvain were a bit surprised by Burn¡¯s words. The man leaned on the sofa as Morgan smiled at him and hugged him from the side, and Yvain chuckled at his words cheerfully.


    Unknown to Burn, the look in his eyes wasn¡¯t jealous¡­


    ¡­but proud.


    ¡°To think that you might be chosen by God or something¡­ isn¡¯t that like¡­ stupid lucky?¡± Burn sneered. ¡°And you,¡± he turned to Morgan. ¡°You with your infinite soul, fuck, I feel out of place. God loves you both.¡±


    Morgan couldn¡¯t help but laugh, and so was Yvain.


    ¡°You said that even though you¡¯re the strongest of us three?¡± Morgan looked at him lovingly.


    ¡°And you having us both on your side?¡± Yvain added.


    Ah, right. He was the one who was stupid lucky.


    The three were immersed in their shared emotions for a bit, before Yvain decided to tell Burn what he wanted from him. Both Morgan and Burn listened to him, wondering what it would be.


    ¡°I want to know¡­¡± Yvain raised his face. ¡°...about your agreement.¡±


    Burn and Morgan¡¯s eyes widened, and their


    pupils shrunk.


    Yvain grasped the fabric on his knees.


    ¡°Can you tell me everything¡­ about what is happening between you two?¡±

 117 - Entrance Ceremony

    The World Tree, Yggdrasil, once called all representations of beings to assemble. It was known as the first Great Mythical Assembly, led by a human apostle named Romeuf.


    Previous assemblies had been rare occurrences, with many creatures passing away before a new one could take place. However, there was to be another assembly the next day, and the one summoning all beings this time was none other than the Original Saint, Saint Morgan.


    "I heard it''s for a court of justice," one dwarf said to another.


    "This time it''s going to be held at our elven kingdom''s palace," an elf mentioned to another elf.


    "Oh dear... so it''s my turn to attend this time...?" a unicorn pondered aloud.


    "Why can''t I attend in your stead, father? You''re ill!" a centaur asked his father.


    "Hmmm... an assembly..." a dragon mumbled in his sleep.


    "Finally. Another assembly!" a beastwoman exclaimed to her people.


    "Grrr..." a werewolf growled, narrowing his eyes at the letter that arrived.


    "Ouch, my... my old bones... I wonder how everyone is," Vlad smiled.


    "That human boy..." a merfolk muttered as he gazed at the surface of the ocean.


    ***


    Today~ the trio of unlikely companions - Burn, Yvain, and Morgan - squeezed into the confines of the carriage bound for the esteemed Saint Lucia Academy in the heart of Inkia Capital City.


    As the wheels clattered smoothly over cobblestones, the occupants of the carriage found themselves in a situation as comfortable as a cat in a balloon factory. The static was unbearable, but it was because of excitement.


    Yvain chattered away with the enthusiasm of a hyperactive squirrel. Meanwhile, Morgan, with a perpetual air of sinful beauty surrounding her, sat serenely as if she was privy to some grand cosmic legend that the world was too dense to comprehend.


    And Burn¡­ he was there, listening, watching, getting used to his surroundings.


    As they neared the Saint Lucia Academy, the imposing spires of the prestigious institution loomed into view, casting a shadow over the cute motley crew within the carriage.


    And so, with a final jolt, the carriage came to a stop, and Burn, Yvain, and Morgan disembarked.


    ¡°You are supposed to offer a speech as the number one best new student who passed the entrance exam, right? Have you prepared it well, Evan?¡± Morgan asked.


    ¡°Something like this is easy, Mama,¡± Yvain chuckled. Well, he had done countless speeches, orations, and declarations as a king since he was still very young, after all. He almost had nothing to worry about.


    Morgan smiled, ¡°Isn¡¯t this the first time you speak in front of your fellow age group? They¡¯re not your people, and not your subordinates. They all will be your fri¡ª¡±


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    ¡°¡ªslaves. All of them will be your tools for success. Manipulate them well, Evan,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Yes, Papa, Mama,¡± Yvain laughed.


    As they entered the academy premises, a sea of parents and children engulfed them, churning like a chaotic human blender set to mix.


    The parents, overtly proud but subtly competitive, flaunted expensive valuables and designer outfits as if trying to outshine each other based on their offspring''s academic achievements.


    The children, on the other hand, sported a mix of excitement and dread, caught between the thrill of new beginnings.


    The entrance ceremony unfolded like a theatrical performance by amateur actors who had rehearsed only once and hoped for the best.


    As they were herded into groups of children and parents, they were all unceremoniously shoved into a grand hall simultaneously. Out of 337 test participants, a mere 68 children made the cut and were sorted into four classes.


    Oh, the hierarchy of it all! There were the A, B, and C classes, where the students were ruthlessly divided based on their perceived potential.


    And then, of course, we had the esteemed S Class reserved for the chosen few - those budding prodigies who had managed to awaken their Vision or Force, essentially the cream of the crop in potential.


    How delightful, to witness the systematic sorting of futures as if they were cattle at market, all in the name of education and proficiency. It truly warmed the heart to see such care and consideration given to the delicate task of pigeonholing bright young minds.


    In this grand spectacle of academic segregation, one couldn''t help but marvel at the precision with which these children were labeled and categorized, like products on a supermarket shelf.


    Because clearly, nothing screamed nurturing educational environment quite like being slotted into a predetermined slot based on a single test.


    But fear not, dear participants, for this was surely the most effective way to unlock your true potential and mold you into the scholars of tomorrow. (Scoff¡­)


    So, they sat tight and savored the sweet taste of being reduced to mere statistics in the grand experiment of education. Oh, the joys of standardized sorting!


    As the esteemed Headmaster of the Saint Lucia Academy, Princess Bianca Lumine graced the stage with a regal air that exuded wisdom and warmth, her piercing gaze swept over the assembled students and parents.


    Oh, well, at least there was one silent acknowledgment of each individual''s potential.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, young scholars of Saint Lucia Academy, welcome to our humble abode of knowledge and enlightenment," Princess Bianca began, her voice carrying a blend of authority and compassion.


    "Today marks the beginning of your journey towards greatness, a path paved with challenges and triumphs."


    With a playful twinkle in her eye, she added, "Remember, in the grand tapestry of academia, each of you is a unique thread that weaves into the fabric of our illustrious institution. Embrace your differences, for it is diversity that breeds innovation and excellence."


    Her words were like a gentle caress, guiding her audience towards a brighter future.


    "Together, let us embark on this adventure of learning, where curiosity reigns supreme and the pursuit of knowledge knows no bounds. May you all shine as brightly as the stars above, for in this academy, the sky is not the limit - it is only the beginning."


    CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!


    As Princess Bianca Lumine concluded her speech, a wave of awe and inspiration washed over the children and parents gathered in the hall.


    The children''s eyes sparkled with excitement, their faces alight with newfound determination. Parents exchanged proud smiles, their hearts swelling with hope for their children''s future.


    But there were also some parents, nodding vigorously, pretending to hang on her every word while mentally drafting their grocery lists. Some children squirmed in their seats, daydreaming about the delicious buffet promised after the ordeal was over.


    Like Yvain¡­


    The air was thick with the scent of ambition and freshly printed certificates, mingling to create a heady cocktail of success.


    When Yvain finally stepped up to the podium, his royal demeanor clashed with the mundane backdrop of the academy auditorium.


    They didn¡¯t know why, but everyone fell silent.

 118 - Evan’s Speech

    When Yvain finally stepped up to the podium, his royal demeanor clashed with the mundane backdrop of the academy auditorium.


    They didn¡¯t know why, but everyone fell silent.


    There was a sense of quiet authority emanated from his poised demeanor. His voice, smooth as silk and laced with subtle depth of experience, resonated through the hall.


    "Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed scholars, seekers of knowledge, welcome to this inevitably enlightening gathering," Yvain''s tone exuded a calm and a bit of a nonchalant aura, tinged with a hint of sly humor.


    "Today, we embark on a journey through the realms of academia, where the pursuit of knowledge is both noble and astonishingly mandatory."


    Everyone chuckled. Mandatory? It was almost like someone forced him to be here.


    All his words were delivered with a hint of regal majesty, but beneath the refined exterior lay a layer of understated wit that danced between the lines. As he continued, his speech subtly weaved a tapestry of intelligence and jest.


    "As we tread the hallowed halls of learning, let us remember that while textbooks may enlighten the mind, a well-placed quip can sometimes illuminate the soul," Yvain remarked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips.


    "After all, what is academia without a touch of irony to spice up the lecture?"


    "But," Yvain''s smile faltered, "All the drama, irony, quips, and subtle sarcasm should only be the supporting actors in our grand production of goals."


    "My Mama insisted I should cheat when the opportunity arose, while Papa declared that true men never resort to cheating¡­ Yet, Papa greased the wheels for my test after we missed the admission deadline..."


    The audience erupted in laughter.


    Yvain joined in, "Thanks to that, the examiners put me through the wringer more than the other contenders. I practically had four guided arrows aimed at me!"


    "Oh, it wasn''t all terrible. It actually stirred up my Force! But really, who put it in Papa''s head to make a hefty donation to the academy for some infrastructure repairs?"


    Pfff¡ªhahaha!


    Ahahahahah!


    Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap!


    "The kicker is I never even wanted to attend the academy in the first place. My Mama had just recovered from a three-year ordeal, and all I wanted was to be by her side. But of course, both my parents were hell-bent on shipping me off here. This is the best place children could go, after all.¡±


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    Now, the parents, the children, and the academy people all clapped in pride.


    ¡°And wouldn''t you know it, we missed the admission deadline because of that."


    Ahahahah! Hahahaha¡­


    Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap!


    His speech, a masterful blend of eloquence and manipulation, left the audience in awe. Parents whispered about his promising future, children eyed him with a mix of admiration and envy, and the Headmaster smiled a bit too widely.


    ¡°This boy¡­ who is he?¡± Bianca muttered.


    And so, the entrance ceremony concluded, setting the stage for a year filled with academic challenges, social drama, and the occasional triumphant speech that would cement Yvain''s reputation as the academy''s golden child¡ª


    Bianca smiled, ¡°My boy must befriend him at all cost.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Food!¡±


    Yvain¡¯s eyes sparkled.


    The air buzzed with excitement as 200 guests, including the elite students of Saint Lucia, mingled and sampled delicacies fit for royalty.


    The spread was a sight to behold, rivaling even the opulent feasts of the palace. From succulent roasted meats to decadent desserts that sparkled like gems, every dish was a masterpiece crafted by the academy''s esteemed chefs.


    The aroma of exotic spices and rich flavors wafted through the air, tempting even the most disciplined of appetites.


    Guests adorned in their finest attire flitted from station to station, their eyes widening in delight at the culinary marvels before them. Laughter and chatter filled the air as they indulged in the lavish spread, sharing tales of triumph and anticipation for the academic year ahead.


    The academy staff enjoyed along in the festivities, looked on with pride as students reveled in the celebration. They knew that Saint Lucia had indeed solidified its reputation as the premier academy in the world, not only for its academic excellence but also for its ability to host a feast fit for kings.


    Yvain was determined to try as many kinds of food as he could when he saw his "pretend parents" surrounded by the other parents.


    His eyes turned in another direction and caught a familiar face.


    ¡°Your Highness!¡±


    Blair turned towards his voice, her face brightening.


    ¡°Look, it¡¯s crane meat! Wanna try?¡± Yvain asked without noticing the two other people near her.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this Young Master Sator?¡± a young man greeted him, munching on a meat skewer himself. ¡°Nice to meet you, I¡¯m Locan Inkor.¡±


    Yvain raised his head and smiled before bowing to him. Of course, noticing him allowed him to notice another person too, ¡°It¡¯s an honor, Your Highness the First Prince and Your Highness Princess Nahwu.¡±


    Nahwu narrowed her eyes. ¡°This¡­ you know him, Blair?¡±


    Blair raised her face and nodded excitedly. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen him in action, but being the best student of the entire entrance exam must mean he¡¯s stronger than me, right?¡±


    Yvain chuckled. ¡°I was shocked I got the honor, not you.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Why me?¡± Blair blinked.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t answer all the questions in the written exam. I thought they¡¯d give me a bad score,¡± Yvain smiled.


    ¡°W-well, the written exam is quite difficult,¡± Blair felt curious. Then how did he¡­


    ¡°Professor Lim said he answered the most difficult five questions more creatively and revolutionarily than the professors ever could,¡± Princess Nahwu stated coldly.


    Yvain tilted his head. ¡°Huh? Me?¡±


    Blair¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°C-can you tell me how you answered them? Which questions?¡±


    Locan calmly observed Yvain, his eyes suspicious, but the reasons completely different from the young elf beside him. Nahwu intently listened as Yvain explained things to Blair. Just like she thought, he didn¡¯t feel like a normal boy.


    He felt very¡­ important. And he almost didn¡¯t even try to hide it.


    ¡°Ah, about that question, what if we talk about it more with my Mama and Papa? Mana is so interesting, right? It¡¯s almost like light, but also like air. Let¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Evan Baby.¡±


    The four turned.


    The Sator couple approached. It was almost as if a fantasy novel had sprung to life.


    ¡°Your Highnesses, please allow me to introduce to you, my parents. Monsieur Morgante di Sator and Madame Bunny Fay di Sator, my Papa and Mama.¡±

 119 - Die Again

    ¡°Your Highnesses, please allow me to introduce to you, my parents. Monsieur Morgante di Sator and Madame Bunny Fay di Sator, my Papa and Mama.¡±


    Morgante di Sator, the chiseled epitome of male perfection, could have easily been mistaken for a holy knight turned fashion model.


    His golden eyes sparkled with an otherworldly allure, making mortal hearts swoon ¨C or perhaps tremble in fear of his divine judgment.


    And then there was his wife, Bunny Fay di Sator, the embodiment of every dark-haired beauty trope known to mankind.


    Her long locks cascaded like a waterfall of midnight silk, framing a face so achingly gorgeous it could bring kingdoms to their knees.


    With a seductive beauty mark teasingly placed by her eye, she exuded a charm that was both enchanting and dangerous.


    Together, they were a walking paradox ¨C him, the celestial paragon of power, and her, the sultry enchantress straight out of a forbidden fairy tale.


    It was as if Fate herself had decided to blend all the clich¨¦s of allure and power into one power couple, leaving mere mortals to gawk in both admiration and envy.


    Oh, the joy of being blessed with such devastatingly beautiful genes, thought the rest of humanity as the Sator couple passed by, turning heads and breaking hearts with every ethereal step¡ªand clearly, they believed these two were Evan di Sator¡¯s parents.


    Well, they couldn¡¯t quite put their fingers on it. Was it his nose? His eyes? His lips? Not really. But they just felt like Evan di Sator was this couple¡¯s son.


    ¡°Your Highnesses, greetings,¡± Morgan nodded, and so did Burn.


    He observed Nahwu, Locan, and then Blair, before turning to Yvain. ¡°Good work.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean? I did a good job?¡± Yvain muttered tiredly. ¡°For what? I didn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    Blair now became the main target of Burn and Morgan¡¯s stare, silently hiding behind Yvain. But it wasn¡¯t for long, as Yvain stepped aside to specifically show her to his masters.


    Yvain smiled, ¡°Her Highness is the one I want you two to meet. She¡¯s special.¡±


    Locan furrowed his eyebrows, smiling, ¡°What is it about my sister, Sir Sator?¡±


    Despite his protectiveness towards his sister, Locan immediately cowered under Burns¡¯s gaze. Meanwhile, Nahwu flinched when Morgan¡¯s pair of blue eyes landed on her.


    ¡°We must also invite the two of Your Highnesses for lunch too. We¡¯d love to host such talented individuals,¡± Morgan said, turning to Burn, ¡°Right, Tiger Love?¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± Burn smiled. ¡°Sure, if Madam wishes so.¡±


    And just like that, Locan and Nahwu¡¯s doubts vanished into thin air. Yvain and his family weren¡¯t just regular folks after all. They practically oozed extraordinariness!


    ¡°My Evan said that he witnessed you demonstrate your Vision Magic in the entrance exam. He was so mesmerized by it that he begged me to invite you over for lunch. How can I say no after I heard how magnificent you are?¡± Morgan said.


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    ¡°Th... that¡­ Umm¡­¡± Blair stuttered, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of tomato red. Classic Blair, caught off guard by the dazzling aura of Evan¡¯s folks.


    Well, well, well, it seems Blair wasn¡¯t prepared for the full force of Evan¡¯s powerhouse parents. They were like a masterclass in flawless intimidation, making perfection look like a walk in the park.


    "We should be able to invite you in a week. There¡¯s a meeting we must attend tomorrow. What do you think, Your Highnesses?" Morgan asked.


    Blair raised her face again and nodded, "Y-yes¡ª"


    "Wait," Nahwu suddenly cut her off. With a suspicious expression, she said, "We heard you just recovered, Madam Sator. Is it okay for us to intrude?"


    Morgan smiled. "Nothing to worry about."


    Nahwu sneered. "Then, please have us. You indeed look completely healthy, not like someone who had just made a miraculous recovery."


    Even Blair sensed something wrong with what Nahwu said, almost like she was being rude to Evan¡¯s parents.


    "Should we invite everyone, Madam?" Burn suddenly asked, and Morgan turned to him, eyebrows raised. "We don¡¯t have to invite the rude ones, right? Think of your health."


    Morgan chuckled, and her soft laughs made people around turn to how captivating it was. "Yes. But it¡¯s fun to have more differing characters on the table."


    Burn clicked his tongue. "Bunny."


    Nahwu narrowed her eyes at how brazen this couple were. Who did they think they were? She was the elven princess!


    ¡°Right, it should be around this time that we return, right? No, it was yesterday¡ª¡± Morgan stopped her own words when she felt a sharp pain in her chest.


    ¡°COUGH¡ª¡± she immediately closed her mouth as blood seeped through her white gloves and fingers.


    ¡°Mama?¡± Yvain widened his eyes in horror. It wasn¡¯t the first time he had seen Morgan cough up blood, but each time was terrifying. Burn didn¡¯t wait and brought her up in his arms. So it was time for another loop, huh?


    Well, yesterday, they should¡¯ve fought the Alliance¡¯s Junior Fleet Admiral, and the world would have perished. Just a day after, and a new loop was created.


    Of course, the buffet¡¯s guests turned to them. Burn¡¯s metal heels sounded somewhat sharper than usual, forcing the sea of guests to part to give him a way.


    Yvain froze. After everything Burn and Morgan had told him when he asked them about the truth, he couldn''t imagine how painful it was to have one¡¯s literal soul ripped away to pay for a time loop. Without realizing, in complete horror, he muttered, ¡°Mama¡¯s going to die again¡­¡±


    Yvain snapped out of his daze and ran to follow Burn out of the hall.


    The family left without a word, leaving the onlookers in a flurry of gossip, their tongues wagging with malicious intent. The rumors swirling around the Sator couple took on a darker tone, infused with a venomous essence.


    ¡°Maybe they hid from the public eye all this while because of Madam Sator¡¯s illness,¡± one voice sneered.


    ¡°Their son may be talented, but clearly, not everything in that perfect facade is as flawless as it seems,¡± another chimed in, dripping with sarcasm.


    ¡°Well, they are dripping with wealth. Why should we waste our pity on them?¡± a cold, mocking laugh followed.


    ¡°Monsieur Sator''s undying love for his ailing, beautiful, and attention-seeking wife is almost pitiable. Such a sadistic form of devotion, isn''t it? Must be a real joy living in that mausoleum of a home,¡± a voice remarked, laced with disdain and dark amusement.


    The conversation flowed with icy tones, each word laced with a potent cocktail of mockery, cold wit, and a touch of schadenfreude, painting a picture of a society reveling in the misfortunes of those deemed untouchably affluent yet secretly vulnerable.


    Locan glanced at Nahwu, who looked very upset about the development.


    ¡°Feeling like chewing and swallowing your own tongue?¡± Locan asked.


    Nahwu frowned. ¡°They¡¯re still suspicious.¡±


    ¡°Even suspicious people are human. Thieves needed bread, and murderers were broken. That¡¯s why God still roots for them. Who are you to judge?¡± Locan said.


    ¡°Brother, I¡¯ll find Evan after all,¡± Blair said as she bolted away. Locan was about to stop her, but he held himself back.


    Blair ran out of the hall, and two other children ran after her. She turned and saw Matthew and Alan, looking equally worried. The two nodded at her.


    ¡°If you want to find him, let¡¯s go together.¡±

 120 - Sick Mom Trope

    Yvain was standing in front of a room the academy provided for Burn and Morgan. His face was down, knowing he couldn¡¯t do anything for his master.


    His hands were beside him, clenched. Now that he had gained more muscle and height, it was obvious how tense his body was.


    ¡°This world is in danger, Yvain.¡±


    ¡°Everything your Master had done for you¡­ for your sake¡­¡±


    ¡°...We had to do this. And¡­¡±


    Well, Burn didn¡¯t try to sugarcoat things.


    ¡°You were supposed to die.¡±


    Yvain closed his eyes. Even now, he felt like it was better to die if he couldn¡¯t be useful. He thanked God for giving him the strength he had now, but it wasn¡¯t enough. He must¡­ get even stronger.


    ¡°Sir Sator¡­?¡±


    Yvain flinched, his gaze meeting Blair''s concerned eyes as she stood there with Matthew and Alan.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Blair''s voice sounded distant, unable to fathom the sight of Yvain in such a state of vulnerability. Witnessing his unraveling facade was chilling, casting shadows over all she had previously known about him.


    ¡°Yes. This has happened before. Please don¡¯t worry,¡± Yvain tried to smile.


    Blair and the other two felt chill run down their spines. In truth, in that moment, the weight of Yvain¡¯s existence bore down on him like a heavy burden, suffocating any flicker of hope within.


    The thought of being rendered useless clawed at his soul, seemingly a proof of his perceived inadequacies. Despite the strength he tried to muster, he found himself drowning in a sea of despair.


    Matthew''s laughter cut through the tension, but it held a hint of helplessness. "You don''t look okay at all."


    Alan''s sigh added to the somber atmosphere. "Sir Padparadscha¡­ of course he wouldn¡¯t look okay."


    Yvain managed a weak smile, trying to push aside his struggles. "Thank you for your concern. Mama will recover soon. We don¡¯t even need to call a doctor. Let''s go back to the buffet."


    Blair exchanged a worried glance with Matthew and Alan. The lack of doctor needed for the situation raised questions in their minds. Could it be that they had grown accustomed to her condition, or was there truly nothing more that could be done?


    Matthew placed a reassuring hand on Yvain''s shoulder. "Stay strong, okay?"


    Alan shook his head, his voice filled with concern. "Is there nothing that can be done¡­ for your mother?"


    "What''s the matter?" Yvain furrowed his brow, sensing their unease.


    After a moment of hesitation, Blair softly replied, "It''s nothing, Sir Sator. We understand."


    ***


    Inside the room, the atmosphere hung heavy with tension and seriousness. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken fears and the sharp pang of anxiety. Everything felt hushed, as if the very walls were holding their breath in anticipation.


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    Burn''s gaze was steely, his features set in a cold mask, while Morgan''s expression betrayed a mix of vulnerability and defiance. The space between them crackled with unspoken words, a battlefield of emotions clashing in silence.


    After they heard Yvain¡¯s and the others¡¯ footsteps disappearing, Morgan sighed in relief. The two put their ears away from the door.


    "We nailed it!" Morgan declared triumphantly. "The classic ''sick mom trope¡¯ card has been played!"


    ¡°This crazy woman¡­¡± Burn rolled his eyes, muttering, "What a plot twist, heh."


    With a mischievous glint in her eye, Morgan teased, "Oh, come on, Burn. It''s practically a rite of passage for every hero to have a parent on the verge of death. It''s always the moms for some reason."


    Burn raised an eyebrow and strolled over to the couch. "Right, so I''m the stoic, anguished father who goes from loving husband to heartless villain in a single hospital visit?"


    "Pfft," Morgan snickered, plopping herself unceremoniously onto his lap. "You were practically born for that role, Villain. Embrace your destiny."


    Burn let out a mock gasp. "I feel so honored to be typecast in the world''s oldest cliche. What a time to be alive."


    As they shared a smirk, the weight of their fictional narrative seemed to momentarily lift, replaced by a shared sense of absurdity in their exaggerated roles.


    ¡°Still hurt?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan shook her head. ¡°Not that bad.¡±


    Yesterday, they were supposed to die. The stage should be set as the second White Dwarf made its grand entrance, adding a dash of flair to the usual interstellar scenery. Along comes the Junior Fleet Admiral, armed with a brilliant idea: "Let''s spice things up by throwing in an order to obliterate the world!"


    Because, of course, what''s a typical day without a generous sprinkle of imminent destruction and a hint of recklessness, right?


    Morgan shrugged, expressing a sense of acceptance. "I had believed that a new loop would come into existence a little further down the line. However, it appears that this development simply validates our past efforts and actions. We are on the right track."


    "However, this time, it''s only you who will die. Lately, I''ve been thinking that perhaps it''s better for both of us to die together. It means we¡¯ll be separated at some point," Burn muttered.


    "But it just means that whatever it is, it won¡¯t be too dangerous. That¡¯s... a flag I raised. I¡¯ll take it back," Morgan closed her eyes.


    Burn snickered at that.


    "I mean, who can kill you?! Maybe I¡¯ll die because I¡¯m too weak to fight alongside you," Morgan said.


    "You do have a point, but that¡¯s still insulting to my protecting capability. How about we take the time to visit the moon and get your treasures?" Burn asked.


    Morgan nodded, ¡°We will do that. Let¡¯s do that.¡±


    And now that they talked about it, Burn suddenly recalled something and clasped Morgan''s waist tightly. "Do you happen to possess a fine long sword in your treasures?"


    Morgan arched an eyebrow and replied with a slow shake of her head. "No. But hold on a moment. Perhaps Isaiah might have one."


    "Isaiah...?" Burn inquired. "The dragon?"


    ***


    Emperor Burn''s office at Soulnaught Palace was a bit busy today. The room exuded an air of sophistication, with intricate tapestries adorning the walls and gleaming silver candelabras casting a soft, flickering light.


    As visitors entered, they were greeted by the sight of ornate furniture upholstered in rich velvet, the kind that practically screamed, "I''m too regal for you." The scent of exotic incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of arrogance that seemed to permeate every corner of the room.


    Emperor Burn himself sat upon a grandiose throne-like chair, his expression a perfect blend of superiority and boredom. His eyes, sharp as daggers, scanned the room with a mixture of disdain and amusement, as if silently judging every soul that dared to cross his path.


    ¡°This is the guest he¡¯s been waiting for¡­¡± the man muttered as he read a letter in his hand.


    ¡°Yes, sir?¡± his subordinates raised their faces.


    Burn stood from his chair. ¡°Send word to Sator Merchant Group that the guest has requested attendance. Junior Fleet Admiral Rudolf Blitzen¡­¡±


    ¡°When should we prepare for the meeting, Sir?¡±


    ¡°In three days. Don¡¯t let them enter the premises,¡± Burn answered.


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    CLICK! SLAM!


    ¡°C¡­C-Caliburn~!¡±


    A beautiful, blonde-haired woman entered the room. Even though seemingly shy and awkward, she walked across the room and reached one hand forward toward Burn.


    ¡°Momo, come. All of you, out,¡± Burn said as he shooed away the blushing visitors and subordinates.


    Once they were all out, the beautiful woman¡¯s face twisted into a frown.


    Landevale exploded in red, as red as her original hair. ¡°W¡­why do I need to act like that¡­ in front of people?!¡±

 121 - Deception

    ¡°W¡­why do I need to act like that¡­ in front of people?!¡± Landevale protested.


    Galahad sighed. ¡°This is how Her Majesty acts. You need to be more confident, more otherworldly, more elegant, as if it¡¯s your middle name. Not only that¡­ a bit more playful, and nothing in your eyes but what you care about... Me.¡±


    ¡°H-how can I¡­ uuugh¡­!¡± Landevale couldn¡¯t hold back her embarrassment.


    ¡°Barge in at the most inconvenient time. Be the star of the show and steal it whenever necessary. That¡¯s how she is. And I just need to begrudgingly let you, sigh, and sometimes contain you with embrace and sharp sarcasm,¡± Galahad said. ¡°¡­Or a kiss.¡±


    Landevale slumped on the office sofa, hiding her face behind her hands. ¡°Stop¡­ reminding me¡­ that I need to kiss you eventually¡­! We''ve survived without kissing for days now¡­¡±


    Galahad actually enjoyed this.


    ¡°Hmm¡­ should I just let you be embarrassed and tease you all the time? Maybe it¡¯s more believable if we''re not actually acting¡­¡±


    ¡°Galahad!¡±


    ***


    Yvain strolled back into the buffet area, his demeanor calm but with a hint of unease evident on his face.


    Despite the recent commotion, he managed to flash a reassuring smile at the concerned guests, chatting amiably with them as he assured everyone that his mother was doing fine.


    Blair, Matthew, and Alan kept close to him, their brows furrowed in wonder at how he could maintain such composure and speak so smoothly in the midst of the chaos. They exchanged glances, silently marveling at Yvain''s ability to handle the situation with such grace and confidence.


    One of the nobles couldn''t help but notice how the four friends stuck together like glue, already establishing themselves as a group of gifted individuals.


    He leaned in and whispered to his companions, "That''s Matthew Padparadscha from a neutral giant power in Inkia. Alan Mossflower is with the Prime Minister''s faction, and the girl is the First Prince''s beloved sister."


    Curious, another noble asked, "So, where does the Sator Merchant Group''s allegiance lie?"


    The first noble chuckled knowingly. "They are merchants, my friend. You think they can''t be swayed with a bit of coin?"


    "They''re too big to be bought. Did you see Monsieur Sator and his Madam earlier? They seemed like dangerous people."


    "I suppose you''re right. You can''t get that rich without tricks and bodies in your backyard..."


    ¡°But hanging around with these clearly faction coded individuals is¡­¡±


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    ¡°Right?¡±


    Meanwhile, Nahwu left the buffet, grasping her temples and massaging them with her fingers. It had been a while since she could go home and meet her sister.


    She felt a twinge of relief that Emperor Burn had decided to postpone the war with Inkia due to his new wife''s illness. Thanks to that, the academy¡¯s entrance test could be held successfully.


    But well, she couldn¡¯t go home these days because of it too.


    It was a surprise to many that the Emperor even had a wife, but rumors suggested she became ill after an assassination attempt, rumored to be from Inkia. Was it just an excuse to wage war on Inkia, or had the attempt truly caused the illness?


    While assassination was a drastic measure, Nahwu reasoned that if it prevented a war, perhaps it was justifiable. After all, the tyrannical Emperor had even consumed a merfolk and a unicorn!


    But what if the assassin had targeted the wrong person, hitting the Emperor''s wife instead? Despite her own doubts about the wife''s character for marrying such a man, Nahwu couldn''t shake the thought that perhaps the innocent woman suffered in the bid to stop the war.


    As Nahwu''s thoughts raced, she struggled to reconcile her conflicting emotions and the complex web of political intrigue unfolding before her.


    She didn''t want to think at all. The moment she thought and was proven wrong, she felt like banging her own head and starting over, but her pride prevented her from doing so.


    "Your Highness! There you are," a voice called out. It was a young, beautiful woman wearing a professor''s badge. "I''ve been trying to find you!"


    "Miss Aborac," Nahwu smiled warmly. "I haven''t seen you either!"


    "Oh, well, you know. Just meetings with the board of Democratic Teachers. Ah, there are new curiosity products from our Outsiders Distributors! We''ve checked them out. Would you like to see?" she offered eagerly.


    "Yes, indeed! Well, I''ve been planning to go home tomorrow. Perhaps I''ll bring my sister some curious trinkets from various parts of the world," Nahwu responded thoughtfully.


    Miss Aborac said, ¡°Please follow me.¡±


    As they walked and chatted, seamlessly, Miss Aborac slowly added, ¡°Ah, come to think of it, we just heard another piece of information about that tyrant emperor from the west.¡±


    ¡°You mean Emperor Burn?¡± Nahwu asked.


    ¡°Yes. We heard that not only did he eat sentient creatures, but he also¡­¡± Miss Aborac whispered a couple of things to Nahwu.


    Nahwu stopped in her tracks, fell silent, and tried to process the information. ¡°How could¡­ someone like that become the king, then? How could no one¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard for us to even comprehend¡­ and that man is going to attack our Inkia... oh, how bleak the future of our generation¡­"


    Miss Aborac smiled silently after observing Nahwu''s expression. She subtly shifted the mood again. ¡°Oh, Your Highness, please don¡¯t carry too much weight from these worldly matters. You and the elven community will undoubtedly choose the right path, I am confident of that!¡±


    ¡°Of course we will!¡± Nahwu responded firmly.


    ¡°Indeed. It¡¯s challenging to focus on politics and war while we are in the process of licensing the Vision Resonator for identifying talents in Vision Art,¡± Miss Aborac remarked.


    ¡°Talents? What do you mean? Vision is equal for everyone. It cannot be measured by talent,¡± Nahwu remarked with a tilt of her head.


    Miss Aborac chuckled enthusiastically. ¡°That¡¯s why this is such a groundbreaking innovation! The Vision Resonator, theoretically, can even awaken individuals who have never delved into their soul before!¡±


    Nahwu arched her eyebrows. ¡°Really? I must inform my sister about this.¡±


    Miss Aborac smiled. ¡°It could potentially even aid a Vision user in becoming stronger, you know?¡±


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± Nahwu was left speechless. ¡°Is something like that truly possible¡­?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely!¡±

 122 - Yvain’s Role

    The entrance ceremony buffet had come to an end, and behold, the esteemed Sator couple making their regal departure towards their awaiting carriage.


    The madam, looking as if she had just completed a marathon, was being carried, a picture of exhaustion and pallor, while the lord, with a demeanor as warm as a frozen tundra, exuded an aura of unapproachability.


    Trailing behind them like a dutiful shadow, their son sauntered back to the carriage with an air of elegant worry.


    Rumor had it, courtesy of the household grapevine, that due to their luxurious abode in Lord Wilderwood''s prestigious capital mansion, their offspring would not have the pleasure of partaking in the charms of dormitory life at the academy.


    Oh, the burdens of privilege and opulence!


    Sator Household were just about to hop on their carriage to home when a wild Padparadscha appeared¡ªaccompanied by a whole entourage, no less. His parents.


    ¡°Evan! Wait!¡±


    ¡°Monsieur Sator, Madam and Sir.¡±


    Princess Bianca Lumine, clearly the spokesperson of the group, swooped in with a classic line: "We heard you''d invited our precious son for lunch. Hope we''re not too much of a bother."


    Morgan mustered up her energy to play the gracious hostess from her fainting couch in the carriage. "Oh, no bother at all, Your Graces. It''s our humble honor."


    Then, the Mossflower duo, Marquis and Mini-Marquis, chimed in. "Oh, we''ve heard about your meetings through Wilderwood estate. We''ll be sending our messenger over with a request. Look out for it, won''t you, good sir?"


    Burn raised his face¡ªand it was enough to send shivers down spines like a pro. He graciously accepted the request. ¡°Please do send the requests. I will surely find time suitable for our coffee and tea together.¡±


    Duke Padparadscha, usually a man of unshakeable power, suddenly found himself stammering a thank you, realizing he was in the presence of¡­ what was the word?


    Matthew whispered to Evan, "Your dad is scarier than the king¡ªlike, no joke."


    Yvain couldn''t help but stifle a laugh, while Alan attempted to shush them discreetly.


    "Oh, but really now, where might Her Royal Highness Princess Blair have vanished to?" inquired Yvain.


    The two boys gazed wearily at him. "You... you''re fixated on her, aren''t you?"


    "Well, I do hope she graces my Mama with her Vision," Yvain quipped, leaving the boys feeling a tad sorry for the Princess. This lad was only interested in her magic...


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    "And gentlemen," Yvain grinned mischievously, "Papa mentioned he''s quite intrigued by your Force. Perhaps a demonstration post-lunch would be in order?"


    Matthew and Alan shrank in trepidation. Demonstrate their powers to Evan''s daunting father... Oh, the joys of social obligations.


    Alan grimaced, "Not only terrifying, but also utterly embarrassing..."


    As the adults wrapped up their pleasantries and bid farewell, Yvain gave a casual wave to his newfound companions before the Sator Household carriage whisked them away.


    Observing the carriage speeding down the road, Duke Padparadscha turned to Marquis Mossflower with a sly grin.


    "I heard Princess Blair will grace our children¡¯s little playdate lunch with her presence as well. Surprising that you''ve allowed your precious son to mingle with the opposing team," Duke Padparadscha remarked.


    Marquis Mossflower nonchalantly shrugged. "It''s beneficial for my son to rub elbows with neutral factions like yours... and the Sator household, Your Grace."


    Duke Padparadscha let out a hearty laugh. "Well, isn''t this just a thrilling turn of events!"


    The Marquis flashed a knowing smile. "We can''t dictate our children''s choices, can we? Here''s hoping this interaction prompts the royal family to consider granting their Princes and Princesses some freedom as well."


    "Absolutely," agreed Duke Padparadscha with a wink. "Isn''t that right, dear?"


    Princess Bianca grinned, seemingly oblivious to the Duke and the Marquis. "Monsieur Sator is just soooo dreamy~!"


    Her husband froze, and the Marquis shot her a suspicious glance.


    "Honey, why can''t you be like Monsieur Sator? He''s so soft and gentle with his wife, not bothered by what others think," Princess Bianca said, wrapping her arms around the Duke¡¯s.


    Duke Padparadscha let out a long-suffering sigh. "He can pull it off because he has that... certain aura. If I tried that with you, we''d be the talk of the town for the next six months. The gossip will be¡­ disgusting."


    ¡°Aww~! You just lack confidence~!¡±


    ***


    "I''m going to stay after all, Masters," Yvain suddenly declared in the carriage back home.


    "Staying? What''s that supposed to mean?" Morgan quipped. "You''re skipping out on the great assembly in the elven kingdom?"


    Yvain shook his head. "Remember that new tool I told you about, the Vision Resonator? Something¡¯s wrong, and I¡¯ll investigate it after all."


    Burn and Morgan exchanged a look, raising an eyebrow in unison.


    "I sense there''s something fishy going on with it. School''s starting in two days, so I might as well dive into it. I¡¯m afraid something bad will happen if I don¡¯t do a thorough check on it before the year starts," Yvain explained.


    Burn shot a pointed look at Morgan, silently questioning the wisdom of letting Yvain loose on a potentially dangerous mission. But then she shrugged and gave a dramatic sigh, "Well, the heart wants what it wants. Investigate away, just try not to get yourself killed, alright?"


    Yvain nodded.


    ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± he said earnestly. He just wanted to be useful.


    Aware of Morgan¡¯s inevitable worry, Yvain turned to Burn with a grin. ¡°Master Burn, I was thinking, having some backup from your network of spies in Inkia could be rather handy, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    Burn was immediately amused. ¡°Very well, I was planning on introducing you to them anyway. Wilderwood¡¯s been dipping into that pool too.¡±


    Yvain beamed with newfound confidence. ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± he said, feeling a newfound sense of assurance.


    At least now he knew how to ask for help.


    "How long until you''re back?" Yvain inquired, fully aware that the mythical grand assembly aimed to clear Burn''s name from the accusation, anticipating a lengthy expedition ahead.


    "In two days," Morgan promptly replied.


    Burn interjected, "Weren¡¯t we also planning on a trip to the moon? As I recall, you mentioned the lack of magical shortcuts making it a rather lengthy journey, did you not?"


    "Yep," Morgan confirmed with a nod. "But fear not, for tomorrow we meet Isaiah. Why not hitch a ride back to the moon with him?"


    Burn and Yvain exchanged incredulous glances.


    "Hitch... a ride?" they echoed in disbelief.


    Morgan''s smile widened. "Uh-huh. Let''s take a joyride on his back."

 123 - Grumbletoe

    How tall was the tallest dwarf?


    The answer was six feet tall.


    There dwelt a dwarf by the name of Grumbletoe, born into a world where small was the norm and shorter was better¡­ for efficiency.


    The rumors flew faster than a dragon on wings - whispers of a dwarf who dared to defy the laws of nature and sprouted to a baffling height of six feet. His fellow dwarfs gawked up at him in disbelief, their disbelief matched only by their envy.


    As Grumbletoe loomed over his kin like a cheeky mountain, he faced a whole new set of challenges. Doorways became his arch-nemesis, and low-hanging branches conspired against him at every turn.


    Yet, despite the comedic calamities that befell him, Grumbletoe remained undeterred. He strutted through the tiny villages with a swagger that only a vertically advantaged dwarf could muster, leaving a trail of impressed - and slightly bemused - spectators in his wake.


    But hey, at least he was hired as the King¡¯s guard now!


    "Huh? Me? Really, to the Great Assembly?"


    King Wekkoun Anville of Storm Anvil just loved to keep our hero on his toes.


    "Yep, I''m bringing you along as my shield. You''ve somehow managed to out-muscle every other pint-sized warrior in our realm," the King remarked with a hint of begrudging admiration.


    And wouldn''t you know it, the former tough guy of the dwarf army took a liking to our unlikely hero. Maybe it was his superior genes or perhaps just dumb luck, but now he''s getting schooled in the art of Force by the one dwarf who knows a thing or two about flexing those muscles.


    So there he was, following the King as his sole guard to the Great Assembly, where other mythical creatures assembled.


    As Grumbletoe and King Wekkoun trudged into the elven kingdom within the great forest, they were met with a sight that even the grumpiest dwarf couldn''t help but begrudgingly admire.


    The capital gleamed in the dappled sunlight, with buildings soaring high, supported by colossal trees that made even the mightiest oak look like a mere twig.


    The elven architecture, adorned with delicate engravings and intricate designs, seemed to mock the dwarven preference for sturdy stone walls and underground tunnels. Each structure appeared to delicately balance on the branches, as if daring gravity to even try knocking them down.


    The elves, flitting about like colorful butterflies in their flowing garments, seemed to move with an otherworldly grace that would make any dwarf feel as agile as a mountain troll.


    And the air! Ohh, the air.


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    It was filled with the sweet scent of flowers and the distant murmur of elven music, enough to make any dwarf secretly wonder if they should switch their mountain homes for these ethereal treetop abodes.


    But of course, Grumbletoe couldn''t resist muttering under his breath about the impracticality of living perched atop glorified twigs, while King Wekkoun just grunted in agreement, secretly impressed despite himself.


    ¡°At least you don¡¯t have to bow your head too low for doorways now, right, Grum?¡± Wekkoun smiled.


    Grumbletoe snorted, his grizzled face breaking into a reluctant grin. "Aye, I do prefer not feeling like a blasted giant amongst these twig-dwellers," he grumbled, though a hint of admiration crept into his tone.


    ¡°I heard Master Vlad is telling his child to go to the assembly,¡± a beautiful voice said.


    ¡°Well, then, he¡¯s not going to see us himself?¡± a deep, dark voice asked back.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know whether he¡¯d come or not. He rarely wants to leave the church, right?¡± the beautiful voice said again.


    Grumbletoe and Wekkoun swiveled towards the sound of the contrasting voices and were met with a sight that made even the elves second-guess their own beauty standards.


    The female resembled a walking daydream, prompting Wekkoun to mentally draft plans for a statue in her honor. And the male¡ªTHOSE MUSCLES were practically giving off their own dramatic soliloquy!


    Ah, perfection in living form! The flawless proportions and graceful movements on display begged the question: were these two a walking advertisement for divine genetics?


    Despite their modest attire with quaint cuts, attempting to disguise their undeniable allure was as futile as trying to hide a fire-breathing dragon behind a potted plant.


    ¡°I wonder how his child looks,¡± the woman said.


    ¡°You¡¯ve never met them?¡± the man asked.


    The woman shook her head, her blonde hair flowing in a gentle sway. ¡°What kind of vampire do you think they are?¡±


    The man shrugged. ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± the woman hummed, ¡°Like Kissu-Shotto Aserora-Ouriyon Haato-Anda-Bureido~!¡± She made three poses from three camera angles, stretching her neck up with each phrase of the name as she spoke the reference.


    ¡°How do you think they are?¡± she asked again.


    The man hummed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He struck a pose, covering half of his face with his right hand, fingers outstretched. ¡°Like¡­ DIO!¡± His face was harshly contoured with dark lines appearing randomly out of nowhere.


    King Wekkoun turned to Grumbletoe, muttering, ¡°I wonder why those aren¡¯t censored for copyright.¡±


    Grumbletoe shrugged. ¡°Maybe they thought they¡¯d censor it later if we got struck.¡±


    ¡°When you think vampire, you should think of C*astlevania first, right?¡± King Wekkoun asked. ¡°I will avenge my wife, and shit¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah, the censorship isn¡¯t working well,¡± Grumbletoe deadpanned. ¡°And your wife is still alive and well, sir.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± the man suddenly frowned, and the woman, holding his hand, frowned as well.


    She shook her head with a solemn expression. ¡°That can¡¯t be. They¡¯re our Master Vlad¡¯s child, so they can¡¯t be that version of a vampire¡­¡±


    King Wekkoun turned pale too as he listened to the two strangers nearby. The three of them raised their faces, grim and solemn.


    ¡°They can¡¯t be like Edw*rd C*ll*n, right?¡±


    Grumbletoe felt like he was reduced to a mere sketch with no color, his face no longer deadpanned but reduced to flying ashes in the wind. ¡°Mr. Asterisk Censorship¡­¡± he muttered, ¡°...couldn¡¯t censor that even if he tried¡­¡±

 124 - Arrival

    That day, behold as the mythical community gathered in the elven kingdom, the Great Forest.


    Well, in this era, the elves, once all about that hermit life, were now all about joining society because, you know, FOMO was real even in the magical realm, basking in the tranquility afforded by an era devoid of interspecies conflict.


    Thanks to a certain woman¡­ saint¡­ witch¡­?


    Not only them, in the midst of the expanse of the continent, the dwarves undertook the ambitious task of constructing Storm Anvil Mountain.


    Wasn¡¯t that just on brand, the dwarves building their mountain? Because what else would they have done with all that time and underground expertise, throw picnics?


    Meanwhile, the beastkin, ahh, the beastkin, with their primal instincts intact, established the Great Jungle in the east as their domain. Chilling, being all one with nature and whatnot. They probably had a "no humans allowed" sign somewhere.


    Far beyond the reaches of the forest, the merfolk flourished in their aquatic paradise, living it up underwater, as the waves sang tales of their majestic kingdom beneath the seas¡­ or gossiped about the recent underwater scandals.


    It must have been nice to have scales instead of dry skin, am I right? No. Some were rather dry. Like the werewolves and the centaurs.


    Correct. The nomadic werewolf packs and centaur groups roamed free, embodying the spirit of wanderlust that stirred within their souls. They must have had the best campfire stories.


    Yet, not all mythical beings embraced this newfound era of peace and prosperity.


    The brutish orcs and conniving goblins, creatures of chaos and discord, lingered on the fringes of society, forever stuck in a chaotic loop. Some creatures never got the memo about peace and love, huh?


    Their penchant for battle and strife kept them tethered to the tenuous threads of peace, often finding themselves at odds with the vigilant human armies tasked with maintaining order.


    Magic and mayhem, they said.


    Frequent extermination quests by commissioned mercenaries, or just simple expeditions by noble households or official orders from the authorities above.


    As these mythical beings did their thing, intertwining their stories in the grand tapestry of existence, it was clear that coexistence had been both a delicate ballet and a big middle finger to fate. Because why not defy chaos with a bit of sass and style, right?


    In a realm where magic met drama, legends crossed paths, and destinies played poker, the mythical communities showed off their resilience and adaptability like it was a¡­ Tuesday, perhaps.


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    That was why, amidst the grandiose assembly of majestic beings, let us not forget the presence of the proud individualists.


    King of the Storm Anvil, Wekkoun Anville, graced the palace with his presence at long last, bestowing all with his esteemed greeting.


    Queen of the Great Forest, Tashr Reyrie, deigned to acknowledge him with a regal nod, as did the formidable couple, Selen Blackmantle, the Sovereign of the Great Jungle, and her Minotaur husband, with his tribe surprisingly integrated with the Beastkin a couple of decades ago.


    As they awaited the Merfolk Monarch, the daunting figure of the Werewolf¡¯s Alpha King, Onulph Sam, and the noble Centaur¡¯s Great Tribe Chief, Adroros Borion, made their punctual appearances.


    To their collective surprise and perhaps dismay, even the representative of their erstwhile foes, the Vampires, made an appearance.


    Behold Master Vlad, the Original Saint¡¯s Cardinal, accompanied by his alluring daughter, Salsabella Wallachia.


    The dragons and the unicorn representatives¡­ well.


    Perhaps they¡¯d just crash the party tomorrow.


    "Please grace us with your presence in these humble abodes, dear guests, and do follow the elf servants meticulously assigned to cater to your every whim."


    Off scurried the elf servants, leading the Dwarf King and the Vampires to their esteemed guest lodgings, clearly designed with the exquisite tastes of elves in mind. It was perfection, of course.


    Lo, our beloved Grumbletoe finally found a bed made just for him without even having to ask for an extension! And as for Wekkoun, with his above-average height for dwarfs¡ªwell, he might as well pass for a pint-sized dwarf next to the other dwarf, standing tall like a human-sized ten-year-old lad.


    Wekkoun was four and a half feet tall, for reference.


    As for the grand Alpha King and the majestic Great Jungle Sovereign, along with her hulking Minotaur husband, they were graciously bestowed with regal chambers befitting their lofty positions and, might one add, their massive physiques.


    The beds they were led to appeared as sturdy as if they were built to withstand a stampede of raging rhinoceroses without so much as a groan.


    Meanwhile, the majestic Centaur Tribe Chief, gently nestled in a room fit for a mythical creature of his stature, complete with carpets softer than a unicorn''s mane and more pillows than a spoilt princess'' chamber.


    Clearly, the elves had not forgotten the intricacies of accommodating a being with the body of a horse and the torso of a... well, a human. Bravo to their attention to detail!


    As the esteemed guests settled into their allocated abodes, the elf servants couldn''t help but exchange knowing glances, a hint of pride dancing in their eyes. It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing, this Great Assembly.


    Meanwhile, in another secluded room, a certain elf servant ran away from it, her face bright red after delivering a report to the room¡¯s inhabitant.


    Inside, a literal blonde goddess lay on the bed, her hair painted an abstract flow like a golden river atop the opulent bed, contrasting her uncovered skin and flesh.


    Her breathing was a bit erratic, her tired yet satisfied eyes focused on the man sitting near the window, reading a report that had just arrived, hands shaking and nose bleeding.


    ¡°The expected guest?¡± Morgan asked, in the midst of her afterglow.


    Burn wiped his nosebleed with his thumb, his hands still shaking after their previous activities. ¡°The Junior Fleet Admiral,¡± he said, sighing. ¡°Fucking Bitch. Why did the news about him arrive when I was about to?¡±


    ¡°When will he come?¡± Morgan chuckled.


    ¡°Galahad managed to hold him for three days. It means we need to go there after this assembly,¡± Burn answered.


    Morgan nodded. ¡°Okay. Set the reports down and teach me how to give head. You promised me that, didn¡¯t you, Bunny?¡±


    Burn closed his eyes, setting the papers aside. As he stood up, he saw Morgan slowly rise from the bed. He stroked her hair, gathering the locks in his fist.


    Bracing himself, clearing his mind for another mental trial-slash-torture, he said, ¡°Start with your lips, Momo.¡±

 125 - Great Assembly

    As the clock struck midnight, in swam the Merfolk Monarch, with a giant bubble of floating seawater, gracing the elven palace with his esteemed presence.


    Queen Tashr, in all her wisdom and benevolence, had commissioned a grand aquatic chamber, ensuring it was fully waterproofed - because, you know, of course, merfolk tend to have a thing for water.


    And wouldn''t you know it, just when you thought one royal guest was enough for the night, in sauntered a majestic Alicorn in the wee hours of the morning.


    Of course, the Alicorn was given the same styled lavish accommodations as the Centaur Tribe Chief, because, clearly, equine creatures must stick together in their custom-designed chambers.


    As for the dragon¡­ well.


    ¡°Is Isaiah not hither yet?¡± Morgan asked in the morning as she walked down the corridor to the assembly.


    Tashr, who followed her closely, shook her head. ¡°We did foresee him to arrive anon.¡±


    ¡°He is ne¡¯er one to be tardy. Perchance somewhat hath transpired,¡± Morgan muttered.


    Tashr laughed. ¡°What mishap could betide the strongest dragon this world hath ever witnessed?¡±


    Morgan took a deep breath. ¡°Thou art right. I am too impatient.¡±


    As the grand double doors swung open, announcing the entrance of Morgan Le Fay, the Original Saint, and the Elven Queen Tashr Reyrie, the assembly hall buzzed with anticipation.


    The room was a veritable menagerie of mythical beings, each more illustrious than the last. Could it get any more dramatic? Brace yourselves for the mythical meet and greet.


    There stood the Dwarf King Wekkoun Anville, his regal beard practically brushing the floor and could probably double as a royal rug, as he exchanged a knowing nod with a majestic alicorn who exuded an air of superiority, Eos Kirmizi.


    The Centaur Great Tribe Chief Adroros Borion towered over the crowd, his expression a mix of stoicism and pride.


    In a corner, the Beastkin Sovereign, a female Weretiger named Selen Blackmantle, purred softly as her minotaur husband Theor stood protectively by her side. The Werewolf Alpha King Onulph Sam exuded an aura of dominance, his piercing gaze surveying the room with a wolfish hunger.


    The vampire father-daughter duo of Cardinal Vlad and Salsabella Wallachia stood in a shadowed alcove, their pale faces betraying no emotion as they observed the gathering with an air of detached curiosity.


    And near a shimmering floating blob of water, the Merfolk Monarch Aidyl Navarre, resplendent in fins and scales, added a touch of aquatic grace to the eclectic mix.


    It was a sight to behold, this gathering of mythical beings, a veritable circus of power and politics. And in the midst of it all, Morgan and Tashr Reyrie stood, their presence commanding attention and respect amidst the colorful tapestry of creatures that surrounded them.


    "Welcome, my friends. It¡¯s been too long. How delightful to see you all again after millenias of uninterrupted ''me time''. Thank you, sky disturbance, for bringing us here," Morgan said in the common tongue.


    The mythical beings all turned towards her and obediently knelt, including the esteemed Five Elven Tribe Elders and the revered Queen Tashr.


    "Since this room has the prestigious seal of approval from the world tree, feel free to prattle on in your native tongues. I know some of you have brushed up on your Common, like the Dwarfs and the Vampires, but fear not, we''ve got translation covered," Morgan said.


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    As she spoke, a majestic golden pot holding a dainty miniature tree gracefully descended from the sky.


    When one envisioned a world tree, one might expect something truly awe-inspiring. Grand and majestic, perched atop a lush hill¡­


    Yet, in this world, our world tree was... petite. Every bonsai parent would squeal. It was in a perfect symbollic shape that had been groomed by the horticultural elite; small but oh so sophisticated, demure, nothing else could compare to its elegance and charm.


    ¡°Then, let us begin.¡±


    CRASHH!!!


    As the assembly of mythical beings marveled at the miniature world tree descending gracefully, a sudden crash shattered the tranquility.


    The glass ceiling exploded into a shower of shimmering shards as a figure dramatically barged in, creating a grand entrance that even the most dramatic soap opera stars would envy.


    The humanoid creature''s enchanting appearance held an air of arrogance and nonchalance, as if she owned the very space she invaded.


    Dragon horns adorned her head like a crown, emphasizing her regal demeanor. With light blue hair tumbling around her shoulders and reptilian eyes glinting in an amber hue, she exuded a dangerous allure that left the onlookers both captivated and wary.


    ¡°NYAHAHAHAHAH!¡±


    A maniacal laugh escaped her lips, filled with the kind of mischief that promised trouble of the grandest scale. The echoes of her laughter reverberated through the room, mingling with the astonishment and apprehension of those gathered.


    ¡°Nayanika is here~!¡±


    She surveyed the assembly with a smirk, her gaze flickering with undisguised amusement at the stunned expressions before her. This dragon-like creature seemed to thrive on chaos and revel in disrupting the peaceful proceedings, her very presence a challenge to the established order.


    ¡°Oh, we meet again, Miss Original Saint~ I heard you got married!¡±


    With an imperious tilt of her head, she spoke in a voice laced with sardonic amusement, her words dripping with sarcasm that cut through the tension like a dagger.


    "So this is why you were late, Isaiah," Morgan smiled at Nayanika.


    The woman looked at her confused. ¡°Yep! I was the one who held him! Undagi and Rinai are facing him right nyaow! Oops~ I wasn¡¯t supposed to say that! I mean~ Isaiah is sick and couldn¡¯t attend!¡±


    Morgan chuckled. ¡°You have been through quite a lot, then, Isaiah?¡±


    Nayanika blinked, frowned, and pointed at herself. ¡°Why do you keep addressing him?! It¡¯s Nayanika who¡¯s right in front of you!¡±


    The female dragon suddenly felt a chill as a tall shadow of a man emerged behind her. When she turned, she saw him ¡ª "I¡­ Isaiah...?¡±


    Isaiah stood at 7 feet tall, with long black hair reaching the floor, and a pair of horns, one broken. His amber reptile eyes gazed down at Nayanika, while two male humanoid dragons lay unconscious, being carried by him like two sacks of potatoes.


    "Thou thought thy two little boyfriends can hold me, child?" Isaiah asked coldly.


    Nayanika became pale.


    "Stand thee in the corner," Isaiah commanded with his superior dragon tongue. As he threw the two male dragons around the mentioned corner, Nayanika dejectedly faced the wall.


    Morgan, meanwhile, effortlessly repaired the shattered mess with a mere wave of her hand. As for the poor souls in the room, their facial expressions remained frozen in a futile attempt to comprehend the spectacle before them.


    Some of them were younglings who only heard the legendary figures of days gone by from¡­ well, legends ¨C such as Isaiah, the Dragon of the East, and Vlad, the Vampire of the West.


    ¡°Once again, let us begin,¡± Morgan said as she took the lead seat. Cardinal Vlad and Isaiah sat on her right and left, as she was the north star.


    "Ah, how nostalgic," Vlad muttered, a wistful look in his eyes. "The only member who isn''t here is Merlin..." he mused, his voice trailing off as he gazed into the distance.


    Morgan''s eyes flickered at his words, her expression briefly clouded.


    In a soft tone, she addressed the room, "I have something important to share with all of you later. But for now, let''s direct our attention to the matter before us. Allow me to introduce my husband."


    As the double doors swung open with a foreboding creak, a man of ominous presence stepped through the threshold. His demeanor was as cold as the chill that seemed to follow him, sending shivers down the spines of those gathered.


    Each calculated step he took echoed through the room and corridor, heavy, a menacing rhythm from the metal heels that seemed to announce his arrival with an air of authority and danger.


    He opened his lips, introducing himself.


    "Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon, son of Arthur Souljust Pendragon,"


    The second sword of Arthur, forged and birthed by none other than the Lady of the Lake, Nimu?.


    Excalibur.

 126 - Sapiophagy

    "Son of Viviane, we meet again," Vlad said, sighing. "You two seem perfect for each other indeed."


    "Thank you, Master Vlad," Morgan smiled. "Now, we will start with¡­ the accusation. I want to hear what any of you know about my husband."


    Burn sat, his back to the door. His eyes scanned the room, knowing full well that he had become the focus of the assembly. He had never met any of them before in all his previous loops, not even when he tried.


    Wekkoun hummed. Behind him, Grumbletoe looked curiously at Burn and Morgan, noting that they were the pair of humans they had spotted the day before.


    ¡°Dwarfs are a very curious race. We always poke our noses where they don''t belong in the name of ''technological curiosity.'' That is also the reason we are possibly the race most interested in outsiders. And most likely to end up in trouble with them,¡± Wekkoun said.


    He continued, ¡°We trade many things with outsiders and dissect their technology, bit by bit, although most of the time, we cannot understand how it works. Naturally, it becomes crucial for us to gather information from them, and we have sold quite a lot of things in the process¡­¡±


    Morgan asked, ¡°Including information in return as well?¡±


    Wekkoun nodded, confirming this.


    ¡°I am sure they received similar pieces of information, but it''s surprising that the dwarfs got it not from Inkia, but from the outsiders¡­¡± Tashr said.


    ¡°No, we acquired it from the outsiders, but they claimed to have obtained it from the Inkians. We do not know where the slander and accusations originated, but they offered quite a great piece of information in return for more information about His Majesty¡¯s past with the mythical community,¡± Wekkoun explained.


    "So they spread it by offering to buy more information about it¡­ that¡¯s clever," Morgan turned to Burn, who just shrugged.


    "They also came to us, dangling shiny armor and fancy tech, while casually dropping the bombshell question, ''Is it true that Emperor Burn of Soulnaught feasts on merfolk and unicorn meat for longevity? Got any juicy details?'' Can you believe the nerve?" Adroros, the Centaur Chief, recounted with a cold annoyance.


    "And when we tried to find any truth to the rumor, Inkia was talking about it as if it was a confirmed truth. They were running with it like it was yesterday''s news, spreading the rumor like wildfire without a care in the world," Wekkoun said.


    "First of all, unicorns are so rare and not easily encountered. We are only able to take hold of Master Eos Kirmizi through the announcement for the assembly by the World Tree, so we can''t easily confirm anything," Tashr said.


    "As for the beastkin, news like this is not that culturally important to us," Selen the Weretiger said. "Most of the non-humanoid creatures came to us to build a society in the Great Jungle, and including my husband, some of us still consume other mythical creatures, of course, under a strict law."


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    Selen turned to Burn. "Well, we don''t consume sentient creatures, though. That''s just¡­ we''re beasts, but not monsters anymore. Still, we don''t judge as much."


    "Same with us Lycans," Onulph said. "Sometimes, our youths lose control and go on a rampage due to our nature. It doesn''t happen anymore, but until 50 years ago, there were still accidents in which people were consumed, but we settled that lawfully and ethically as soon as possible."


    Onulph turned to the vampires, "I''m sure¡­ so are the vampires."


    Vlad and his daughter nodded respectfully to Onulph.


    It was clear that the stereotypically dark mythical creatures and those who could only find sustenance through the life of other creatures were more accepting of it, understanding that there might be a reason behind the action, no matter how depraved it seemed.


    ¡°Verily, I do concur,¡± Isaiah said. ¡°Dragons hath consumed sentient creatures through yon annals of history. In a world where ''twas eat or be eaten, we were the ones partaking in feasting. Born with the privilege of absolute power, nary did anyone protest. If they wished not to be consumed, they should have stayed afar from our treasures¡­"


    Isaiah turned to Nayanika. ¡°Well, some also doth hunt sentient or non-sentient creatures for sport, merely to savour or out of ennui."


    The woman facing the wall flinched.


    ¡°Now that we¡¯ve listened to everyone¡¯s knowledge about the rumor, which is still¡­ surprisingly vague, how about we ask whether it¡¯s true or not,¡± Morgan turned to the Merfolk Monarch, Aidyl Navarre and the alicorn, Eos Kirmizi.


    But before they could speak, Burn raised one hand.


    ¡°I hunted and ate the previous merfolk king named Karlung Navarre and a unicorn named Morelust¡­ something, I forgot his name,¡± Burn said. ¡°Don¡¯t correct me on their names if I made a mistake. I have no respect for them.¡±


    Just after he finished talking, every single throat lost their voices.


    "Karlung... kuh¡ªHAHAHAHHAH!¡± Aidyl suddenly laughed, bubbles forming in the floating blob of seawater, his voice muffled by the water. ¡°It¡¯s Kallank, but hey, Karlung works just fine!"


    ¡°And the unicorn I knew was named Moslast, but sure, let¡¯s roll with Morelust instead,¡± Eos laughed, a playful neigh escaping through his nose.


    Morgan closed her eyes, massaging her temples with her hand, trying to hide her frustrated smile. Here she was, doing her best to protect his reputation, but he...


    ¡°Pfft, look at you, the Holiness. You always act all righteous and holy, but it''s just your pretentious nature! You hypocrite!¡± Nayanika turned from the wall, pointing arrogantly at Morgan.


    ¡°You stopped us from eating or harming fellow children of God, saying all sentient creatures are equal and all that, but you marry a cannibal!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°Ah¡­ a¡­ an inter-species cannibal!¡± she corrected hastily.


    ¡°The word you¡¯re looking for¡­¡± Morgan slowly turned her face to the female dragon, ¡°...is Sapiophage.¡±


    Morgan''s usually serene visage contorted into a mask of terror-inducing wrath, her eyes ablaze with cosmic fury that froze even the bravest souls.


    The air around her crackled with otherworldly energy, causing the ancient trees of the elven kingdom to shiver, tremble under her power. The majestic palace''s towering trees quivered in fear, their branches reaching out as if seeking solace from the impending storm of Infinite Witch¡¯s rage.


    Her beautiful features twisted into a horrifying, yet enchanting embodiment of anger, a sight that could make demons cower and angels weep.


    ¡°Darling Bunny, remember how I told you I want to raise chickens and eat their eggs for breakfast every day?¡± she reminded Burn.


    The man widened his eyes, never imagining he would see Morgan make that kind of expression. ¡°...Yes, Momo.¡±


    ¡°How about we raise one female dragon and harvest her unfertilized eggs for breakfast every day instead?¡± Morgan smiled as she rested her chin on her demure white fist, veins bulging from tension.


    Each word that escaped her lips dripped with sarcasm sharper than any blade, cutting through the air with chilling precision. The heavens themselves seemed to darken in response to her wrath, as if even they dared not witness the full extent of her fury.


    ¡°You dare drag me down to your level, child, so be it. Let¡¯s go down together.¡±

 127 - Soul and Body

    It was a rare sight for Her Holiness, the Original Saint, to actually threaten someone. Usually, she only spoke the truth and would do exactly as she said.


    But Burn didn''t know that.


    The members of the assembly stood up in horror. The Dwarf King''s typically stoic expression faltered, the Elven Queen''s regal composure wavered, and even the usually aloof Vlad showed a flicker of concern.


    ¡°Miss Momo¡­ nay, Your Holiness, please reconsider thy decision,¡± Vlad said.


    The mighty Alicorn''s shimmering mane seemed to lose its luster in the face of Morgan''s wrath, while the Centaur Chief''s usually grounded demeanor shifted to one of uncertainty.


    Tashr looked at every single face, begging them to say something to Morgan. Anything. And her eyes landed on Burn, who was still sitting there, enjoying the spectacle.


    The Beastkin Sovereign''s fierce gaze dimmed, the Werewolf Alpha''s bravado wavered, and the Merfolk Monarch''s tranquil aura rippled with unease.


    But it was the female dragon who bore the brunt of Morgan''s ire, her humanoid form visibly trembling as if even the scales on her back couldn''t protect her from her scathing words. Each member, no matter how powerful or majestic, paled in comparison to the Holy Saint¡¯s wrath.


    "Thou must forgive me, Miss Momo," Isaiah calmly pleaded, his voice filled with remorse. "I do confess mine own fault and humbly beseech thee to cease thine anger and accept my sincerest apology."


    It was his fault that he had allowed these dragon younglings onto the assembly¡¯s premises.


    ¡°Lord Pendragon, please say something,¡± Tashr begged.


    Nayanika found herself trembling like a fragile leaf in a storm, her normally prideful scales now resembling a chihuahua''s shivers.


    The Holy Saint''s icy glare had turned her fiery bravado into a mere flicker, reducing her majestic presence to that of a scared kitten trapped in a dragon''s body.


    Her attempt at a defiant snarl was more of a nervous twitch, her ears drooping as if they''d forgotten how hold up. The aura of power she usually exuded now seemed to have taken an extended vacation, leaving behind a stammering, pathetic mess of a creature.


    ¡°Calling my husband a cannibal¡­ how must I take this offense?¡±


    As Morgan''s words echoed in the chamber, Nayanika couldn''t decide if she wanted to roar in indignation or simply hide under a rock until the storm passed.


    After all, being on the receiving end of the Original Saint''s wrath was like asking for a sunburn in a supernova - painful, unnecessary, and likely to leave a lasting scar on her reptilian ego.


    In that moment, Nayanika realized that even a dragon had its limits, and facing the music from a saint was definitely one of them.


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    ¡°My wet nurse warned me about women like you¡­ I was hoping she was right,¡± Burn suddenly said.


    Silence.


    Just as every being inside that room turned to him, Burn saw the look on Morgan¡¯s face. She looked so done with him, her anger evaporated.


    ¡°Momo Baby, I don¡¯t think I can eat lizard¡¯s eggs. Let¡¯s¡­ stick to chickens¡¯, okay?¡± Burn said. ¡°And let¡¯s agree that you¡¯ve chewed her out enough; it can be considered another act of Sapiophagy, figuratively.¡±


    Burn was meant to say, ¡®You¡¯re delightful, I want to eat you instead,¡¯ but he refrained in front of the other race leaders.


    He knocked on the table and hummed. ¡°Do you guys know the reason why people''s souls seem to ¡®leak¡¯ out when they are born with Soulnaught Syndrome?¡±


    Morgan took a deep breath and composed herself the moment Burn decided to explain himself. At the same time, everyone seemed to notice how the pressure had been lifted from their heads.


    ¡°If every single soul has an equal chance to learn and manifest magic through their soul, then why can''t someone with Soulnaught Syndrome access that privilege, no matter what?¡± Burn asked once more.


    Everyone started to listen closely to what he was about to say.


    ¡°I have a proven theory,¡± Burn explained, ¡°that it is due to the innate disconnection between the soul and body.¡±


    Morgan widened her eyes. That... actually made sense.


    ¡°The body, or mortality, is a tool the soul uses to exist in this world. It can also be called a confine, if you will. But someone with Soulnaught Syndrome is born with a soul not entirely within their body,¡± Burn continued.


    ¡°It means... there''s something causing them to be born with a weak connection?¡± Morgan asked.


    "Existence detachment, perhaps? I do remember from my earliest memory that I don¡¯t feel any attachment to this world or my time here in my earliest memory. Almost like I wasn¡¯t supposed to be created, or exist at all,¡± Burn answered.


    Morgan¡¯s eyes faltered.


    ¡°That¡¯s not¡­ an acceptable reason,¡± Morgan said. ¡°God will never do that to anyone.¡±


    ¡°I believe so too, Morgan,¡± Burn nodded. ¡°I am sure there¡¯s something else causing it, because any attempt to fix it with holy power is unsuccessful.¡±


    Burn shook his head, smiling. ¡°Sometimes I¡¯m afraid God had no hands in my creation, or I was wrong and He was just trying to bring me back to Him as fast as possible.¡±


    He knew any kind of sickness, no matter what form, was a way to absolve creatures of all sin, promising paradise after death. If life was a test, then his test was sickness.


    And Soulnaught Syndrome was just one of many incurable diseases.


    ¡°But I just chose to sin and rejected the promised reward,¡± Burn said, staring straight at Morgan¡¯s wet, glistening eyes. He sighed, ¡°This world needs order.¡±


    Burn had come to find out that the outsiders had lots of religions from their worlds. One world could have thousands of religions, with people worshiping multiple deities, sometimes without any connection to the others.


    It was strange that in this world, Nethermere, there was only one known God, and no one ever questioned it.


    "Regardless of the reason, I''ve found a way to strengthen the connection between my soul and my body." Burn stood up and walked over to Morgan, smiling. "Like a man and a woman, like the opposite poles that bring the earth together, I need to find the ingredient to fix the disconnection."


    Shaking his head, Burn continued, "It can''t be only one, it has to be two. I''ve studied many literature, countless mythical books, and magical herbs¡ªyin and yang, cold and hot, the sun and the moon, anything and everything."


    "I''ve almost consumed every single plant in this world. Healing and toxic, poison and medicine¡ªnothing works," Burn said, turning to Eos the Alicorn and Aidyl the Merman. "Until I found out that both merfolk meat and unicorn meat can save a life, but they cannot be eaten together."


    "It might sound counterintuitive, but apparently, it''s because unicorns have the power to purify with their light, while merfolk have the power to allure their opponents into the darkness of the ocean."


    Burn continued, "Like fire and water. You could burn the hell out of people or drown them, the two of you are exact opposites. Unicorns come from the light of the sky, and merfolks come from the deepest part of the ocean''s abyss. It just feels... right."


    "Just like soul and body," he concluded.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I hunted for the most depraved member of your races and ate them without remorse.¡±

 128 - Pandora Box

    It was a bit ironic that by eating the bodies of two of the most depraved souls from the two races that could symbolize soul and body, Burn could fix his broken soul.


    It just came full circle.


    ¡°Merfolks were born in the deepest abyss of the ocean. It could also be seen as the womb of a mother, creating the body. While unicorns were born amongst the clouds and the light from the sky, like the soul, and the seed from a father,¡± Morgan muttered, as Aidyl hummed in understanding.


    ¡°Yes, also, merfolks usually lure men, while unicorns can only touch virgin women¡­¡± Burn shrugged, and Eos snorted.


    ¡°Kallank actually forced our daughters to lure more sailors underwater and steal their treasures. He used threats to make humans and other creatures pay hefty sums to cross the ocean; he''s worse than pirates,¡± Aidyl said.


    The Merfolk sighed a bubble, ¡°Those I mentioned were just the tip of the iceberg.¡±


    "And Moslast, because we unicorns can only touch virgin women, decided to become a serial rapist targeting only virgins. If you didn¡¯t kill him, he might become a bicorn and lose all his reasons, becoming a complete monster,¡± Eos said.


    ¡°The only reason he can still maintain his unicorn form was that he still gave these virgin victims some measly magic like long-lasting youth or love potion ingredients.¡±


    Burn''s grin widened. "Certainly, the effect of my recovery could still be achieved by consuming the two of you, creatures free of sins unlike those two. However, selecting them is undeniably more efficacious. They are easier to track and target, given their multitude of existing enemies."


    "Or perhaps you''re just..." Morgan sighed, "trying to maintain order, as you said."


    Burn neither denied nor confirmed it.


    Eos muttered, "But abandoning one''s humanity to survive..."


    "Or just to maintain order is..." Aidyl frowned.


    "I agree," Burn nodded. "Some people might rather just die. But I am someone who''d rather eat two sentient creatures than die full of spite."


    Morgan immediately yelled as she tried to contain her tears, "You were ten years old, Caliburn! You were a child!"


    "My dear Madam..." Burn embraced her head as he stood beside her seat. "It doesn''t matter whether I was a child or not; I still killed and consumed two sentient creatures."


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    The feeling of detachment he had experienced since birth might have been the reason he was able to do something so depraved.


    Burn smiled as he looked down at her. "You did say you''d cry a lot again, but I didn''t think you''d cry this much."


    "I''m sorry, Caliburn..." Morgan whispered.


    "No," he sighed. "I''m sorry, and thank you."


    Tension hung heavy in the air, as the weight of the full truth settled upon them like a heavy shroud of guilt.


    Consuming other sentient beings, even when those beings were criminals themselves, felt inherently wrong and irredeemable. The moral conundrum of survival clashing with the horrors of his actions gnawed at their consciences.


    While they could all find common ground in condemning the act, the circumstances that had led to such extreme measures added layers of complexity to their judgment.


    The victims had also been criminals, a detail that blurred the line between justice and barbarity. How could they reconcile the necessity of survival with the deeply disturbing nature of his choices?


    And as a child at that.


    The realization that they now bore the burden of this dark knowledge like a stain on their souls weighed heavily upon them.


    It wasn''t just a matter of physical sustenance anymore; it was a question of his very humanity. How could he ever look at himself in the same light after crossing such a moral boundary, even in the name of survival?


    ¡°Art thou¡­not of human kind?¡±


    Isaiah asked suddenly.


    Burn turned to the long black-haired dragon.


    "I am a human," Burn replied.


    Isaiah shrugged. ¡°If thou wert born a dragon, thou mightest need not ponder such a conundrum. In sooth, in certain circumstances, none would question it at all.¡±


    Onulph straightened up. "Yes. If you were born a lycan, you might never need to think like this either. Our culture can sometimes be questionable to humans, too."


    "And just like vampires, where we must kill other creatures to survive, sentient or not," Vlad added.


    Tashr sighed. "Actually, ancient elves, humans and dwarves also consumed parts of their deceased relatives to mourn and pay respect. Of course, such a tradition was born out of ignorance and confusion, but that era did exist."


    Wekkoun nodded. "I''m sure all of us, or at least our ancestors, have a history of consuming food that could talk at some point in our pasts."


    ¡°Don¡¯t need to ask me,¡± Selen, the female weretiger, snorted.


    ¡°Okay, sorry, we¡¯re half vegetarian. I mean, half herbivore,¡± Adroros pointed at his horse body. ¡°We can rarely eat meat too, but I understand. I... we... we eat horses sometimes.¡±


    ¡°You eat horses?!¡± Eos neighed in shock.


    ¡°And we eat fishes too¡­¡± Aidyl closed his eyes tightly, trying to clear his mind of the existential crisis. ¡°...fuck¡­ this is such a pandora box¡­¡±


    Morgan laughed and cried, wiping her tears. ¡°We should stop¡­¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t know how they had reached this point, but the bond between different races and species felt unexpectedly wholesome and warm. Being in this moment, the raw truth unfolded with ease, revealing itself in the gentlest manner.


    The thing was, this wasn''t the only terrible sin he had committed in the past, nor would it be the last. Despite the comforting connection he felt now, he knew that walking this path required him to possibly abandon his humanity once more. Again, and again.


    CLICK¡ªSLAM!


    The grand double doors to the assembly hall swung open. The entrance of the second Elf Princess Nahwu pierced the comforting ambiance like a drawn sword, her presence commanding attention and disrupting the peace that had settled in the room.


    ¡°Mother, don¡¯t be tricked! This man¡ª! This tyrant, he killed his father to seize the throne and also killed his rebelling brother!¡±

 129 - Blind Trust

    When Nahwu returned to the elven kingdom, she was taken aback by the bustling atmosphere. Apparently, there was a Great Assembly happening in the palace, and she had no idea about it.


    "A Great Assembly? Does that mean all the races in the world are having a meeting right now?" she questioned her servant.


    The elf maid nodded in response. "Yes, the topic is the unfair accusation against the Holiness¡¯ human husband, Caliburn Pendragon."


    Nahwu''s expression darkened. "Who did you say?"


    Making her way down the corridor to find her sister, Nahwu was shocked to see all the gifts she had brought back from Inkia thrown out of the room.


    "What''s happening here?" she demanded to know.


    The elven servants froze, bowing nervously as her sister, Princess Shorof, emerged coughing.


    "Sister..." Nahwu''s concern evident in her voice.


    Shorof shook her head. "The Holiness ordered these items to be removed from my possession, fearing they could contain suspicious devices linked to the accusations against her husband."


    Nahwu was bewildered. "But why? I got these gifts for you, how could they be...?"


    "Naha, Inkia has accused the Holiness'' husband of a serious crime. She suspects these items could be hiding something," Shorof explained.


    Nahwu was at a loss for words, feeling hurt and offended that her thoughtful gifts were now being labeled as potential spy tools.


    ¡°This¡­ this is absurd!¡± Nahwu exclaimed angrily.


    She turned away and left, seemingly intent on barging into the Great Assembly. Shorof called her name, trying her best to stop her, but she couldn¡¯t with her weak body. Nahwu pushed through.


    However, as she listened to the meeting and learned that Caliburn Pendragon wasn¡¯t in the wrong, she was admittedly shocked. But her shock was short-lived.


    Despite the fact that the two consumed creatures were criminals, and despite him having to eat them due to his illness while still being a literal child, he was still a monster in her eyes.


    ¡°Mother, don¡¯t be tricked! This man¡ª! This tyrant, he killed his father to seize the throne and also killed his rebelling brother!¡±


    Nahwu''s arrival was a spectacle in itself, as she had stealthily eavesdropped on the meeting from behind the concealed doors, absorbing every word with a mixture of indignation and disapproval.


    With an air of palpable anger and accusation, she cast her piercing gaze upon the assembly, her eyes ablaze with a fervor that matched the intensity of her entrance.


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    The good-natured atmosphere that had enveloped the room upon Nahwu''s arrival seemed to wither under her disapproving scrutiny, as if her mere presence had the power to sour the mood.


    Her expression, full of disdain and hostility, painted a vivid picture of her displeasure at the congeniality that had been flourishing before her arrival.


    With a wicked gleam in her eyes, Nahwu sneered, ¡°Assessing a person''s character is a complex task. Yet, when evidence contradicts the narrative, even the most oblivious can discern! His past is steeped in villainy; disproving one accusation alone cannot absolve him of his sins!¡±


    After her passionate tirade, Nahwu suddenly realized that the room was filled with apathetic faces, devoid of interest or sympathy.


    Neither the elven representatives, including her mother and the five revered elders, nor the other assembly members, all exuding an air of seasoned wisdom, displayed any reaction to her outburst.


    Perplexed by the lack of response, Nahwu eventually noticed another peculiar detail: from her vantage point at the entrance of the assembly hall, she couldn''t see the accused man''s face. He stood beside the Holiness¡¯ seat, embracing her shoulders and head with his face looking down.


    As Nahwu barged in through the imposing double doors, the same entrance Burn had used, she could only discern the man''s towering silhouette and his impeccably trimmed white hair, stark against the shadows obscuring his face. It almost felt unreal.


    His face was completely dark¡ª


    The harsh lighting from the glass ceiling in the hall was certainly strong, but not strong enough to shroud his features entirely from view.


    And it was then, within his embrace, that she beheld the face of the Holiness: a chilling sight, with her radiant blue eyes set in a visage cloaked in the same darkness¡ªan utterly terrifying sight.


    Morgan rose, and every single person inside the hall immediately felt sick to their stomachs.


    The trees trembled.


    ¡°O God, forgive me. This mortal hath been complacent,¡± Morgan whispered, but everyone heard her in their middle ears. Her whispers echoed like silk and velvet, but it was the kind of gentleness that would choke them to death.


    Her words slithered into their very cores. Her whispers dripped with a unique smooth cruelty.


    ¡°I will correct this stray lamb back to her humble path, the path thou blessed for every creature with souls thou whispered into.¡±


    She advanced. The wooden table in front of her disintegrated as she walked slowly and deliberately forward, clearing her path, as if no atoms or particles in this world dared to block her steps. As if the very fabric of reality itself dared not impede her progress.


    Now, Burn had known Morgan quite well. She had three kinds of emotional outbursts. The first was her crazy problem-solving methods and insane perspectives. The second was wrath. This was the one on display right at this moment.


    And third¡ª


    ¡°Morgan, I did kill my father. Can you listen to me?¡±


    The third kind was the scariest.


    Morgan stopped, her face turning to Burn, eyes moist and full of grievance. It was the look that could infect him with pain, even more devastating than the ripping of his own soul to curse the time.


    ¡°You asked me once to explain myself. You asked me to defend my perspective. I¡¯ll do it now.¡±


    After spending so much time being the victim of Morgan¡¯s memory-extracting magic, he was able to detect the flow of mana she used to invade his mind.


    But this time, she didn¡¯t actually use the spell on him.


    She got mad even before knowing the truth from him. She got mad for him, blindly trusting that he didn¡¯t commit the sin. She didn¡¯t read his mind¡­ yet she trusted him.


    "I killed my father to stop his suffering," Burn confessed. "He might have looked like a mighty knight on the surface... but something was corrupting his soul."


    Burn¡¯s face darkened. ¡°The symptoms were the same as Princess Shorof''s, the current first elf princess''s, illness.¡±

 130 - Mana Poisoning

    Inside the grand hall, as Morgan''s raw wrath unfurled like a storm, the air grew thick with a tension so palpable it could choke an ogre.


    Princess Nahwu, usually the epitome of valor and poise, found her composure slipping faster than a greased gnome on a banana peel. Her fiery facade cracked like a cheap potion vial, revealing a mask of sheer horror.


    The assembly was rendered speechless, their mouths hanging open like rusty portcullises. Some whispered prayers to God, hoping for salvation from the tempestuous figure before them.


    Tashr now resembled a stuttering squirrel caught in a dragon''s gaze. Her attempts at a calm voice amidst the storm reduced to stammering syllables lost in the howling winds of Morgan''s fury.


    As the chaos unfolded, the Hall''s tapestries seemed to pale in comparison to the vivid hues of fear painted across every face present. Oh, how quickly the facades of civilization crumbled in the wake of raw, unbridled wrath.


    Morgan was the one who built this assembly. Morgan was the one who built this civilization. All privileges they enjoyed today were due to her millennia of hard work.


    So when they heard her prayer, ¡°O God, forgive me. This mortal hath been complacent,¡± they caught a glimpse of legends and stories told by their parents, of a figure so holy the Apostle was forced to call her his equal in God¡¯s favor, the Original Saint.


    ¡°I will correct this stray lamb back to her humble path, the path thou blessed for every creature with souls thou whispered into.¡±


    It was done. They had no more say in it.


    Blood will spill.


    ¡°Morgan, I did kill my father. Can you listen to me?¡±


    In the grand assembly hall of mythical creatures, Burn''s confession hung in the air like a dark cloud. The assembled elfs, dwarfs, unicorn, beastkin, merfolk, dragon, vampires, centaur, and werewolf were observing in confusion.


    Morgan and Burn stood at the center of attention, locked in a tense exchange that seemed to ripple through the gathered creatures.


    Morgan''s eyes, filled with unknown emotion, bore into Burn, a hint of vulnerability softening her features. It was a stark contrast to the stoic facade many expected and knew from the powerful witch.


    ¡°You asked me once to explain myself. You asked me to defend my perspective. I¡¯ll do it now,¡± Burn''s voice cut through the charged silence, drawing the focus back to him.


    The creatures exchanged knowing glances, not daring to raise a single word. They were privy to secrets that transcended time, and yet the unfolding truth before them held a certain¡­


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    "I killed my father to stop his suffering," Burn''s admission echoed off the ornate walls, each word heavy with a truth that resonated with some and clashed with others.


    "He might have looked like a mighty knight on the surface... but something was corrupting his soul." The gravity of his words was not lost on the assembly, for they too understood the weight of sacrifice and the complexities of fate.


    ¡°The symptoms were the same as Princess Shorof''s, the current first elf princess''s, illness.¡± Burn continued.


    Slowly approaching Morgan, Burn offered his hand.


    ¡°I believe you. No need for me to read your mind,¡± Morgan responded, her eyes misty yet steely.


    ¡°No need for you to read his mind, I already did,¡± Vlad interjected. Unlike Morgan, his Vision specialty was mind spells. Over time, he could effortlessly pluck secrets from people''s minds without even toggling his ability on and off.


    The others turned to Vlad, and the old vampire said, ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth. The whole time, even before this topic surfaced.¡±


    ¡°Believe it or not, folks. The truth was there for the taking, long before this discussion even began,¡± Vlad shook his head.


    For the first time ever, Morgan didn¡¯t reach her hand out to him, standing still in front of him. Seemingly after the previous experience, she was even more careful about using her spells on him. And just like the previous experience, Burn only wanted to smile.


    He knew in his bones that she would be even more upset if he did smile, though.


    "Don¡¯t want to touch me because I did kill my father, Madam¡ª?¡± Burn quipped, but before he could even finish, Morgan had already enveloped him in a hug.


    ¡°Well, that only leaves one burning question,¡± he mused as he peered down at Nahwu. ¡°Why the sudden urge to declutter Princess Shorof¡¯s room of her precious gifts? It couldn¡¯t possibly only have to do with concerns about bugs or leaks, could it?¡±


    Morgan shook her head, as he expected.


    ¡°These days, people wouldn¡¯t recognize it, but the symptoms Princess Shorof had indicate a certain type of mana allergy caused by excessive exposure to corrupted mana. In the past, this illness was called mana poisoning,¡± Morgan explained.


    ¡°I suspected that the items had been contaminated to a certain degree with corrupted mana trapped inside,¡± Morgan remarked.


    At this, every face darkened, even Nahwu¡¯s.


    ¡°Impossible! M-mana poisoning? You mean... that illness that killed 60% of the world population?¡± Nahwu was visibly shaken. The items she had brought home and gifted to her sister were tainted.


    She turned to her mother, who coldly turned her face away. Nahwu went pale, then dashed out of the hall in search of her sister. As she found her sister coughing blood in front of her room, she realized the numerous gifts she had given her over the years¡ªeach one cherished and displayed in her room.


    In a flurry of desperation, Nahwu rudely halted the working servants, plunging into her sister¡¯s room''s chests and objects in a frantic search. Digging deep, she sought out anything with fragile encasings.


    With a surge of her Force, she shattered the first couple of objects she laid hands on, only to be met with a repulsive sight. A vile, black ink-like mud substance seeped out of them, mocking her efforts and drowning her in a pool of despair.


    ¡°Naha? What¡¯s wrong?¡± from behind her, Shorof approached Nahwu, her sickly frame wavering. The sight of the revolting substance coating Nahwu''s hands caused her to gasp in terror.


    With a panicked lunge, she grabbed her sister, attempting to rid her of the foul mess.


    "What in the world is that, Naha?! Get rid of it!" Shorof''s frantic swatting was met with a forceful push from Nahwu, sending her stumbling backwards.


    "Don''t touch me!"


    Nahwu''s voice cracked as tears streamed down her face, her expression a fractured mask of disbelief. Her shattered words pierced the air, "It''s all my fault... I''m... I''m killing you, Shorof..."


    As Nahwu crumbled before her, her once vibrant features drained of color, Shorof stood frozen in shock, grappling with the weight of her sister''s anguish.


    Shorof could only watch when Nahwu suddenly ran away¡ª

 131 - The Age of Chaos

    Around 500 years ago, corruption ascended from the abyss.


    Monster races multiplied rapidly, growing more than usual, and they became several times stronger individually. Races like orcs, goblins, and kobolds soon infected the world with chaos.


    Although they were sentient, their hunger was not only for food and survival but also for war. When they were infected by the corruption, they tasted power beyond what they should have had and soon became greedy for world domination.


    Before anyone could respond, an evil dragon rose as the Demon Lord.


    Not only orcs, goblins, and kobolds, but also giants, ogres, and trolls rose up with him, supporting his march. Some of the beastkin races, as well as vampires and werewolves, began to succumb to corruption, awakened by their desires.


    In the name of spreading chaos and raising humans and other races as livestock and slaves, they joined the Demon Lord. Not only them, but even other races like elves, dwarfs, centaurs, griffins, merfolk, and dragons began to betray each other.


    The Age of Chaos. It was what that era was called.


    In the middle of that, suddenly, God sent down an apostle. His name was Romeuf Lumine.


    However, because he was born into a poor, almost fallen noble family, the world couldn¡¯t discover him sooner, and he suffered great trials before he could lead humanity to fight back against evil.


    He fought valiantly with other heroes, including Urien, the first King of Soulnaught; Merlin, the first Archmage; and the Infinite Witch, Morgan Le Fay.


    Almost at the end of the war, before they were about to kill the Demon Lord, Romeuf actually died after facing the Demon Lord alone. It was an ambush, and there were still unexplained events occurring at the time that led to Romeuf¡¯s death.


    This incident prompted the legendary first Holy Grail ceremony by King Urien, who caught Romeuf¡¯s blood on the cross and drank it to make a holy oath.


    After a while, the Demon Lord ambushed Urien too, but Merlin and Morgan arrived just in time to help him. Other heroes came to assist, and after a week of intense battle, the Demon Lord was eradicated.


    Among them were the original heroes from legend, sitting in the same assembly room today: Morgan, Isaiah, and Vlad.


    It was Shorof and Nahwu¡¯s great-grandfather who fought in the war alongside them from the Elves¡¯ righteous side, and it was Wekkoun¡¯s grandfather who accompanied them from the Dwarves¡¯ side.


    At the time, even the Merfolk were joining the war, led by Aidyl¡¯s great-grandfather.


    The Centaurs, Werewolves, and Beastkin leaders were always chosen from the strongest members of their tribes, so the heroes from their races who fought in the war in the past were mostly their relatives¡¯ elders. But they also shared the pride and glory.


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    The one who delivered the final blow to the Demon Lord¡¯s heart was Urien Soulnaught himself. However, it was Romeuf who originally led them. He died, leaving behind a legacy as a martyr.


    ¡°Mana poisoning was very common at the time, and it was almost undetectable because the symptoms were very similar to those of a common cold at first. But normal people would soon suffer a great deal in the blink of an eye,¡± Morgan said.


    ¡°But how could we not notice that Shorof was being poisoned by corrupted mana all this time?¡± Tashr''s face fell in shock. ¡°Even though the symptoms were not very particular¡­ how could we¡­¡±


    ¡°The amount of corrupted mana was not small, but small enough to not cause immediate harm,¡± Morgan explained.


    ¡°Shorof is a very strong girl, and it took time for those items to actually cause an effect on her body. Not to mention, this is the Great Forest, where the World Tree lives,¡± Morgan continued.


    She then explained further that, in this place, where the purification effect was the most intense, those people obviously needed to do something about the corrupted mana to not only hide its presence but also keep it as an effective poison that wouldn¡¯t be purified so easily.


    ¡°Your Holiness is saying that it''s obvious they designed this especially to harm Shorof?¡± Tashr was in shock, but more so angry. ¡°They¡­ actually dare?!¡±


    After the long war between the pure souls and the Demon Lord, the world was corrupted with filth. Black, ink-like mud was polluting almost everywhere in this world, and even this continent¡¯s land couldn¡¯t be cultivated for a while.


    Morgan and other saints spent a hundred years purifying this continent completely. The other four continents in the world and the rest of the islands were still too barren and corrupted for any living being to survive there. Not to mention the oceans.


    Of course, these continents wouldn¡¯t be empty either. Demons, or so people called corrupted creatures, still lived there. But they weren¡¯t many, and they lived miserably in the barren land anyway.


    The only creatures still freely walking and multiplying on those corrupted lands were the undead and ghouls.


    For the rest of millennia, Morgan worked to purify the land and the water, alone, because she was the only one strong enough to do so, and no other Saints were as free as her.


    Not to mention, there was still strife and wars among the survivors of the war. Morgan was tireless. She not only ran around purifying the world little by little but also acted as a judge for humans and other creatures, stopping wars and maintaining order.


    ¡°Did you know who poisoned your father?¡± Morgan softly inquired of Burn, who looked cold and rigid ever since the truth about the disease surfaced.


    ¡°Caliburn¡­¡± Morgan grasped his arm, looking at him worriedly.


    Burn shook his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t know it was Mana Poisoning. He suffered secretly for a very long time, and no doctor or physician¡ªno one¡ªcould diagnose him. I only found out three months before his last breath, and after that, his condition worsened rapidly.¡±


    Morgan¡¯s eyes shook. ¡°Not even the experienced Elven physician can diagnose Shorof¡­ what can human physicians, who could mostly live a hundred years, know? Did you blame yourself?¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t answer, but his jaw was stiff. He did kill his father to end his suffering, although forcibly.


    He was so stubborn¡ªthat man.


    But now that he knew the origin of the illness, Burn was as angry, or even angrier, than Tashr. He was actually about to ask Morgan about Shorof and why she removed the items from her room later, after this meeting concluded, but now, he regretted not asking her earlier.


    When the topic of his father¡¯s death emerged, he decided to reveal it, but he didn¡¯t expect¡­


    Morgan hugged him tighter.


    ¡°There¡¯s something¡­ I need to say to everyone here. It¡¯s been long overdue,¡± Morgan said. She lifted her face to him and said as gently as possible, calming Burn, ¡°I know you want to go and find the culprit as soon as possible now, but can you¡­ can you listen to what I¡¯m about to say first?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Burn squeezed her upper arm in his embrace. ¡°That is important, but you are the most important thing to me right now.¡±

 132 - Hidden World

    ¡°Master Vlad, do you remember what I said to you before I left with Caliburn after I woke up?¡± Morgan asked.


    Vlad frowned. Usually, his demeanor was a peculiar mix of eccentricity and unsettling gentleness. Most assumed he was senile; in reality, he was an expert at performing the role of the benign old man, all while plying guests with sickly sweet beverages.


    ¡°You told me your father died,¡± Vlad answered.


    Gasps rippled through the hall. Clearly, this news had not made its rounds, and shock painted their faces in shades of pale.


    Burn had caught the sentence at the time but had tucked it away in the back of his mind for a long time. At first, it was due to a lack of curiosity; now, it felt like an unapproachable elephant in the room¡ªone he wished Morgan would reveal without him asking.


    But his thoughts were yanked back to the present by Isaiah¡¯s abrupt inquiry, ¡°Lord Merlin has passed away?¡±


    Burn immediately turned to Morgan. Merlin¡­?


    They had resumed their seats, but Burn found himself wedged between Vlad and Morgan¡ªmuch too close to her.


    ¡°He might not die yet, but to me¡­ to us, he¡¯s as good as gone,¡± Morgan replied, her chill slicing through the air.


    Burn couldn¡¯t help but notice her hand clenched tightly, her long nails digging into her palm, while her complexion seemed to rival that of a ghost. Ignoring the frowns from the table across, he focused on Morgan¡¯s expression¡ªvoid of emotion, yet heavy with meaning.


    ¡°He betrayed us. A traitor not just to us, but to this entire wretched world.¡±


    For millennia, Morgan had tirelessly endeavored to purify the other four continents, one painstaking inch at a time, borrowing God¡¯s divine power. But let¡¯s face it: the amount of divine energy one can conjure all at once has its limits, much like a poorly funded charity drive.


    It took Morgan and the other saints a solid century to cleanse the last continent¡ªthis continent, the last fortress for souls not yet tainted by the Demon Lord¡¯s influence.


    This land was only mildly corrupt¡ªthink of it as the least-stained shirt in your closet. Imagine the monumental effort required to clean up the rest of those continents that were absolutely drenched in corruption.


    Spoiler alert: it was like trying to scrub a grease stain from a white couch.


    Understanding the uphill battle ahead, Morgan decided to hoard her Infinite Soul energy like a squirrel preparing for winter and began her research on that how to purify the land with her mana or if there was a magic she could create to help the world.


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    After countless sleepless nights and a few too many hermitage-fueled revelations, she ultimately concluded that holy energy could be kicked into high gear with a bit of magic. Who knew?


    So, armed with optimism and an overabundance of soul energy¡ªtwo things even more powerful than her borrowed divine energy¡ªshe set her sights on crafting a ten-circled magic spell.


    This masterpiece would utilize all that accumulated energy she¡¯d been stockpiling over the ages. The goal? Purify the entire world in one fell swoop. Because, obviously, what could possibly go wrong with that kind of ambitious plan?


    She was on the brink of perfecting her magic circle design when suddenly, Merlin betrayed her.


    ¡°Noticing my accumulated energy over hundreds of years, he attacked me, drained my power to open a dimensional gateway, and vanished into thin air. That was three years ago,¡± Morgan concluded her story.


    The reason for her disappearance¡­ and¡ª¡°The reason for the crack in the sky?¡± Burn suddenly asked.


    Morgan cast her gaze downward.


    ¡°This world¡­ was actually hidden from other worlds. Our galaxy¡¯s location was so hard to detect, surrounded by thousands of glaring stars and shrouded in curtains of nebulas, dark matter, and a whole host of radio-disturbing nuisances, we were practically invisible from all sides,¡± Morgan explained.


    She pressed on, ¡°And as if that wasn¡¯t enough, Romeuf once asked me to create a formation in the sky, something like an illusion barrier, to keep our world safe. Apparently, God told him to do it.¡±


    It was the first time she had created a ten-circled magic circle.


    ¡°When Merlin opened the dimensional gateway, you can likely guess what followed. The surge of magical energy he drained from me not only flung open the gates but also managed to attract those¡­ outsiders,¡± Morgan whispered.


    Burn¡¯s eyes faltered.


    Morgan Le Fay was precisely the treasure those outsiders sought. And it was she who inadvertently invited them in.


    ¡°Everything¡­ can be linked to me and my weaknesses,¡± Morgan said as she turned to Burn. ¡°You might¡¯ve noticed by now, but I am what they call the Original Saint.¡±


    Burn frowned, but there was nothing else to hide here.


    ¡°The Elysian Kingdom has been searching for me for hundreds of years. While those boys suffer, I couldn¡¯t reveal my identity partly because of human greed and partly because my father¡ªno, Merlin¡ªthreatened to disown me if I exhausted any more energy on ¡®useless things,¡¯¡± Morgan explained.


    She elaborated that over the years, Merlin had criticized her methods of ¡®fixing¡¯ the world. Whether through her magic or her unconventional approaches, her judgment regarding humans and other creatures was just, but it often required her to demonstrate excessive strength.


    Moreover, she still had to purify this world while hiding her identity. Just look at the other saints. Once they were born and crowned as the new saints, they were bound by their kingdoms and couldn¡¯t freely go on expeditions to purify the world.


    That was how she became the Infinite Witch rather than the Original Saint.


    ¡°I thought he was just asking me to remain calm-minded when solving things, but apparently, he was trying to cultivate my power over the years so he could use it himself,¡± Morgan recounted.


    As she spoke, everyone wore expressions of disbelief. Merlin¡­ that Merlin¡­?


    ¡°There must be¡­ a reason for him to suddenly¡­¡± Wekkoun softly asked, looking at everyone at the table, hoping for a thought or insight.


    ¡°I did hear from Romeuf once that Merlin was not of this realm¡¯s birth,¡± Isaiah suddenly said.


    Now, all eyes turned to him.


    Isaiah shook his head and offered his speculation, ¡°Perchance he didst open a gateway of dimensions to return unto his own world?¡±

 133 - Can’t Do Shit

    Burn actually didn¡¯t blame Morgan for not telling him or keeping her secrets. At first, he knew it was because she was guarded against him, playing it safe, keeping him at arm''s length like a fine ancient vase too precious to touch.


    And these days, it was because there were just a lot more urgent matters that needed to be addressed. The stakes were much higher, with chaos brewing all around them. Surely, facing an impending apocalypse took precedence over sharing family drama.


    More than that, Morgan had read his memory and probably cringed at the rollercoaster of his schedule, realizing he was just a mortal juggling the universe with mere arms and legs. Although powerful, he was not all-powerful.


    And let¡¯s be real¡ªshe had promised him she¡¯d spill the beans as soon as the last loop came to a close.


    Morgan Le Fay had just recovered and was trapped in a loop with him¡ªwhile before, she had too many responsibilities and too much on her plate as well, which somehow always seemed to explode on her like a surprise party from hell.


    This woman¡­


    ¡°Force of evil always exists,¡± Morgan suddenly said. ¡°I was complacent, as I said. I let them approach and harm you and the mind of your youth, all because I wasn¡¯t guarded enough. Five hundred years, and what did I achieve? A joke.¡±


    Morgan stood up. ¡°Romeuf was right. I wasn¡¯t fit for sainthood. Forgive me¡ª¡±


    ¡°And what did he do? Dying alone on the cross, leaving all responsibility to you? What was he, a baby who can¡¯t wipe his own ass?¡± Burn suddenly interjected.


    Defeating the Demon Lord and purifying the effect of the corruption¡ªall of that wasn¡¯t done by him.


    She did.


    At least most of it. Especially the nasty jobs.


    ¡°A man who can¡¯t clean his own mess is just that, and he dared say you weren¡¯t fit for sainthood? What about him¡ªwas he fit for apostlehood? I¡¯ll say that, and if the whole world points at me for being a villain, so what?¡± Burn was fed up.


    Burn stood, and his height immediately towered over her. He just looked at her and said, ¡°He can¡¯t do shit.¡±


    ¡°And fucking Merlin,¡± Burn continued. ¡°I knew there was something wrong with this famous mage everyone admires. So what if he¡¯s your father?¡±


    Morgan was speechless, and so were the assembly members.


    Just three silently deafening seconds later, she softly smiled at him and said in a choked voice, ¡°I love you.¡±


    ¡°Good job falling in love with me,¡± Burn replied. He turned to the assembly. ¡°Now, there¡¯s clearly someone targeting us.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s just my reputation on the line. It''s plainly obvious they had the resources to harm my father and Princess Shorof. If you ask me, I¡¯d flip the sky upside down just for fun, but honestly, who even knows who orchestrated all of this chaos?¡± Burn continued.


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    The mythical community was called "mythical" because they were all linked to legends. Their grand accomplishments were so over-the-top that even the most creative of storytellers would roll their eyes and call them myths. But hey, they were real¡ªtotally not just elaborate bedtime stories. They were still true, living souls.


    Most of them had lived for thousands of years and were more experienced in dealing with issues like corruption and ailments such as Mana Poisoning.


    Meanwhile, Burn, bless his human heart, entered the scene a mere 27 years ago. His army? Yep, all human. His kingdom? Human, too.


    Despite their undeniable might, not one of them stood a chance against anything remotely mysterious¡ªlike that whole debacle from 500 years ago that still got brought up awkwardly at assemblies like this.


    Yes. No matter how strong they were, they wouldn¡¯t be able to do much if they needed to fight something of unknown origin.


    Thus, Burn must borrow the strength of the mythical creatures.


    Initially, he thought it was merely the world moving on its course, but now it appeared that someone was secretly steering it, slowly and calmly, over a long period of time.


    ¡°The corrupted mana within the items can only be harvested from corrupted places. I have wandered through those places alone all this time and encountered nothing strange. Of course, the other four continents were far too vast for me to guard by myself¡­¡± Morgan muttered.


    ¡°Even if one wishes to harvest some corrupted mana from there, they need only to avoid you. Not to mention, you were attacked just before you could finish the magic circle that could purify the whole world,¡± Vlad remarked.


    Isaiah furrowed his brow and spoke in solemn tones, ¡°Thou didst bid me guard the moon, and I thought all was well¡­¡±


    ¡°With thine infinite soul, canst thou still purify the world if the magic circle be completed?¡± Isaiah inquired further.


    Morgan shook her head and turned to Burn. ¡°I am now using my soul for something else.¡±


    ¡°How could she still do it when she had lost her accumulated soul energy over hundreds of years?¡± Burn glared at Isaiah, who nodded apologetically.


    Vlad frowned and ignored Burn¡¯s words, yelling at Morgan, ¡°You¡ª!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Isaiah turned to Vlad, looking worried.


    The old vampire sighed, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later, Isaiah.¡±


    Isaiah looked very puzzled, but he kept his silence. Vlad obviously knew what Morgan had used her soul for long ago and was now reminded of it again.


    Burn looked at Vlad and almost rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize,¡± Morgan grasped his hand.


    The other mythical community leaders frowned. These old heroes¡­ it felt as if they were speaking in a different set of syntax. They couldn¡¯t understand at all.


    But why did it feel like Burn just merged into the senior group so seamlessly?


    Among the heroes of the past, there were six central figures: Apostle Romeuf, Archmage Merlin, King Urien, Morgan of the Fairy, the Vampire of the West, and the Dragon of the East.


    Burn was a famous genius, someone who apparently killed two mighty mythical creatures and dared to consume them at the age of eleven.


    By the mere mention of his Soulnaught Syndrome, he would almost remind them of King Urien. He was also his ancestor, who built the Soulnaught Kingdom, after all. But Urien was famous for his righteousness and wouldn¡¯t be fierce enough to do what Burn had done.


    In terms of his governing style and penchant for maintaining order, he could be compared to Romeuf. But again, Romeuf was an apostle, not someone branded a villain like Burn.


    So what was left was Archmage Merlin. Burn¡¯s talent might be comparable to that of the genius mage, as well as his ruthlessness. Now, after Merlin was revealed as this world¡¯s traitor, they seemed even more similar.


    However, seeing Burn near Morgan Le Fay eased everyone¡¯s doubts. He might look cold and pragmatic, with his ruthless methods and inhumane resolve, but when the Holiness herself fell for him, could they still dare to doubt?

 134 - Sisters

    Shorof felt weak.


    After hearing the truth from her mother, she ran to find her sister, no matter where she might be. Even before the assembly had ended, she waited anxiously in front of the hall''s double doors.


    When she finally met her mother, she asked what had happened. Her mother summarized the situation for her.


    Without a second thought, Shorof dashed away, ignoring her fragile state. She searched for her sister in the secret places she had frequented since childhood.


    In that moment, she didn¡¯t care about her own condition.


    Shorof didn¡¯t care about the looks in people¡¯s eyes; she let them see how weak and haggard she was as she searched for her sister.


    Near the Great Forest, there was a small river. Shorof couldn''t recall Nahwu ever hiding there before, but she remembered a secluded spot by the river¡¯s edge, surrounded by stones and plants.


    Shorof used to hide there, leaving some of her belongings behind. She visited every few days to relax, and one day she noticed some items were missing. A couple of days later, she spotted those very belongings in her sister¡¯s room.


    She smiled, realizing that her sister secretly admired her. Nahwu had taken the least noticeable and least precious items for herself. It was clear Nahwu knew that the spot was Shorof¡¯s hideout, yet she never spoke about it.


    When Nahwu went to the academy, Shorof noticed that what had been left behind in the palace was now absent; Nahwu always kept those items close, bringing them with her to school.


    In turn, Nahwu returned with many items from the academy, as if compensating for the belongings she had ''borrowed.''


    Shorof was still healthy before, so she also gave her some items she bought herself. However, slowly, she became sick. Her body grew weaker and weaker, and she could no longer search for accessories and items her sister would like.


    As she became more ill, her sister gave her more items from Inkia.


    Finally, Shorof found the secluded place. And Nahwu¡­


    Sitting near the river¡¯s edge, she was washing her hands that were tainted black by the black ink mud-like substance found inside those items.


    Crystals, intricate lamps, small statues and carvings, watches, intricate toys, puzzles, boxes, and curiosity products¡­ she brought a lot of interesting little things¡ªnovel and all with great craftsmanship.


    But all of them were the things that made her sick.


    ¡°Naha¡­¡± Shorof called, her voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of nature.


    Nahwu remained as still as a statue, completely absorbed by the river''s flow. Silence wrapped around them like an uncomfortable blanket until Nahwu broke it, her tone filled with that familiar mix of resignation and irony.


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    ¡°It doesn¡¯t come off. This thing¡­ doesn¡¯t come off, sister.¡±


    For three entire years, Nahwu had been merrily sending her sister a parade of delightful trinkets, each crafted with the love and artistry one might reserve for a new love interest. Who knew that these charming little curios would turn out to be the gift that keeps on giving¡ªin a wholly toxic way?


    Every intricate lamp and shiny statue, each whimsically crafted toy was a dagger wrapped in shimmering paper. Unbeknownst to her, those seemingly innocent treasures harbored a sinister secret, a toxic sludge masquerading as joy.


    Nahwu chuckled mirthlessly, her heart sinking at the realization. The very items she thought would brighten Shorof''s days had instead painted her hands in this devilish black ink. Each claw-like tendril of darkness told a story of care turned toxic, a twisted fairytale written by the very hands that sought to nurture.


    Shorof looked at her sister¡¯s back helplessly. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault¡ª¡±


    ¡°It is my fault,¡± Nahwu said. ¡°If only I had listened to you and Mother¡­ If only I hadn¡¯t been arrogant and naive¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­ Sister¡­¡±


    Shorof sighed. She walked closer to her and slowly, gently leaned against her sister¡¯s back. Sighing, she said, ¡°I only have you. You are the most important person in my life.¡±


    Nahwu¡¯s eyes turned red, and she silently cried.


    ¡°You are righteous and kind, but you are young. When I was your age, I also had the same ambition and wished for reform. At that time, Father was still alive, and he enlightened me. He passed away when you were still too young,¡± Shorof said.


    But how could any of them blame their father, who had passed away early?


    ¡°You may not be sensible, but I¡¯m not the most sensible either,¡± Shorof softly said. ¡°Compared to you, I¡¯ve made many more mistakes and have let down both Father and Mother. In the end, though, they forgave me, and their love didn¡¯t change¡ªnot a single bit.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s different,¡± Nahwu said coldly to herself. ¡°I almost killed you.¡±


    ¡°But how would you know?¡± Shorof asked. ¡°Even our physicians, who have lived for hundreds of years and gained a lot of experience, couldn¡¯t detect it. My servants, who serve me every day, were also fine. How would you know?¡±


    Nahwu turned to Shorof with pained eyes and asked, ¡°What did Her Holiness say then? What was the method, and how was it that only you became the target despite many other people being near it?¡±


    Shorof shook her head. ¡°Her Holiness confiscated the items to study them, and she will find the answer soon. I heard¡­ Emperor Burn¡¯s father, Arthur Pendragon, also died from poison in the same way... by corrupted mana.¡±


    Nahwu closed her eyes tightly, her eyebrows creased so deeply that it almost looked like a grimace.


    ¡°You must apologize to His Majesty and Her Holiness,¡± Shorof softly said.


    Nahwu didn¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel worthy of seeing them again.¡±


    One was the Original Saintess, who had protected this world for millennia, and the other was a fierce and brave man forced to commit evil to survive.


    These were the crimes he carried out in private, but all of them could still be justified in some way or another. Clearly now, his motive for war could be seen as an attempt to maintain order. Killing his father, his brother¡¯s rebellion, fending off the outsiders, and now marching through the continent¡­


    He stood bravely to face the outsiders, whom Nahwu had initially thought represented a greater civilization with a broader and more liberated mindset. But after everything she heard today, how much of his inner motives had Burn kept to himself?


    His methods might appear rash and ruthless, but what if¡­ what if it was the only way to maintain order?


    Like how he had to consume the flesh of those two creatures to survive?


    Despite that, he still let rumors run rampant and didn¡¯t care about his own reputation.


    ¡°Sister will accompany you. Let¡¯s go, Naha.¡±


    Nahwu turned to her sister, her eyes filled with uncertainty. ¡°Has the assembly concluded?¡±


    Shorof nodded. ¡°Yes, and you must go to the World Tree to receive a blessing and be purified.¡±


    Seeing her sister look worriedly at her blackened hands, Nahwu felt a wave of sadness. ¡°And your illness? How will they treat it?¡±


    ¡°Now that we know the root cause, we will certainly find a way,¡± Shorof smiled. ¡°Her Holiness herself will oversee my recovery.¡±

 135 - Fence

    ¡°Merlin was your father?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan nodded as they walked down the elf palace corridor together. She answered, ¡°He was my father for the longest time.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t understand, but he didn¡¯t take the initiative to ask. They walked in silence for quite some time, and slowly Burn decided to inquire about something else.


    ¡°You told me there were three people you knew who would be able to defeat me,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan chuckled. ¡°But they won¡¯t be able to scratch you now.¡±


    After Burn had been enlightened and transformed his body by absorbing the heat of a dying sun, they wouldn¡¯t be able to match him.


    ¡°Who were they?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s Romeuf and Urien. The third one is Merlin,¡± Morgan answered. ¡°Before you became stronger recently, Romeuf and Urien might have been able to defeat you without working together, but they¡¯d still lose their lives, or they would need to sacrifice themselves to defeat you.¡±


    Burn smiled. ¡°What about now?¡±


    ¡°Now, even if they worked together, they wouldn¡¯t be able to scratch you. You¡¯d easily make them seem like a joke.¡±


    Burn laughed, satisfied.


    ¡°What about Merlin?¡± he asked then.


    Morgan shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    That was when Burn raised his eyebrows. ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    Silence again as they walked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen Merlin fight seriously. Not even when we faced the Demon Lord,¡± Morgan answered slowly.


    Burn frowned. ¡°So he could even afford not to fight seriously against the Demon Lord?¡±


    Morgan thought for a moment and then answered, ¡°Now that I recall, Merlin might have hidden his real power.¡±


    The implication was too grave. It could be that Merlin refrained from helping the heroes save the world with everything he had, or worse, he was never on their side.


    Burn remembered the story of the Original Saint, but the mystery of how she transformed into Morgan Le Fay remained. The Original Saint had been born 17 times in the Elysian Kingdom. But after that, where was she reborn?


    Was Merlin one of her last biological parents who gave birth to her?


    More than any type of betrayal in this world, being betrayed by one¡¯s own parents surely stood as one of the worst. Burn, with her hand clasped in his, pulled her close and kissed the back of her hand.


    Morgan didn¡¯t need to read his mind to sense how deeply upset Burn was for her.


    ¡°You were just awakened after all that and found out how you lost everything because of me,¡± Burn said.


    After the accumulated soul energy she had intended to use to purify the world was stolen by her own father, she awoke to find her disciple dead and the world in chaos. Yet, despite it all, she didn¡¯t kill him.


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    Burn smiled. ¡°You resented me fairly, and you fought well.¡±


    Seven loops, with more to come. Burn held no grudge.


    But Morgan¡­


    ¡°It feels like I¡¯ve had horrible luck with people for my whole life,¡± Morgan chuckled. ¡°Whether it was a horrible family, or horrible companions, or they¡¯d be like you, who¡¯s neither black nor white.¡±


    ¡°If I could choose, I¡¯d be completely black. But you dragged me over to the fence, and I¡¯m sitting on it now,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan mocked, ¡°You¡¯re never completely black. Even when you killed Yvain, you regretted it in your heart, although just a little bit, knowing that you¡¯d kill more innocent people for the sake of the greater picture.¡±


    ¡°When I took this path, I was ready to do so,¡± Burn replied. ¡°But you are always completely white.¡±


    Old Burn would¡¯ve gone and demolished Inkia the moment he knew they had something to do with his father¡¯s illness. Yet, after everything they had been through together, though he still wanted to demolish Inkia, he felt less urgency now.


    He used to solve everything with brute force, claiming it was the easier path. While that was true, it often glossed over many hidden aspects.


    In the other loops, he didn¡¯t know what became of the first elf princess, Shorof. Whether she died or suffered for more years, or if her illness was finally detected, he didn¡¯t know. In any other loop, he also wouldn¡¯t know the truth about his father.


    Of course, he didn¡¯t know the whole picture now, but when a hint finally led to the truth, he would pursue it to the ends of the earth. Wasn¡¯t it the perfect excuse not to resort to brute force anymore?


    Did Morgan from seven loops ago know about this?


    Even if she didn¡¯t know, she still did the right thing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask,¡± Burn said.


    Morgan turned to him and raised her eyebrows. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°When exactly did you fall for me?¡± he asked.


    Morgan¡¯s eyebrows relaxed, just like how he insisted they floated like clouds at dawn. Her soft smile looked as gentle as dew after a long night of storm.


    ¡°Since the beginning?¡± Morgan half-shrugged, half-sighed.


    ¡°What?¡± Burn frowned.


    Morgan didn¡¯t know exactly when, too, but he was never unpleasant to her.


    ¡°Even though I killed Yvain?¡± Burn asked. ¡°The resentful you from the past seven loops¡­ they¡¯re still you.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Morgan answered. ¡°But you killing Yvain was also part misunderstanding. Did you not see that Yvain didn''t resent you after we told him the truth?¡±


    Burn still wore a frown. ¡°Because he thought I was the one who caused your disappearance?¡±


    Morgan nodded.


    ¡°But I still killed him each time,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it necessary?¡± Morgan¡¯s lips slightly curled. ¡°You didn¡¯t want to deal with Velaryon, knowing that he was the real problem. The White Dwarf descended to this land partly because of your dealings with him.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t want her to absolve him of the blame for Yvain¡¯s death. Yvain¡¯s death was entirely his fault. He had no excuse.


    ¡°You killed him only once in the original timeline. After that, you refused to deal with him directly again in the next loop,¡± Morgan said.


    Burn killed him in the first timeline because Yvain refused to yield no matter what he did. In the next timelines, he killed the boy through other people to avoid the White Dwarf descending too early. He didn¡¯t want to create too much of a butterfly effect, making everything even more unpredictable.


    But no matter the reason, he still killed him.


    ¡°Your conscience is different from that of normal people,¡± Morgan said. ¡°Not like normal good people who blame themselves and break down, forever in shame, you have the conscience of a ruler.¡±


    Burn¡¯s eyes faltered.


    ¡°A ruler who isn¡¯t afraid to dirty his hands for the sake of the larger picture,¡± Morgan said. ¡°Because sometimes, being a generous, kind and wise ruler is not enough.¡±


    If she really fell in love with him from the beginning, was it when he kissed her to revive her from that coffin in the church and looked into his mind?


    But indeed, the first time Burn laid eyes on her in that first timeline, he couldn¡¯t help but see her as a dream.


    If she fell in love from that beginning, Burn might¡¯ve fallen in love with her from an earlier beginning, three years in the future.


    ¡°I fell in love with you first,¡± Burn said, his face emotionless.


    Morgan burst out laughing. ¡°What? Is this some kind of competition?¡±


    Even though his eyes looked cold and his face was expressionless, his hands weren¡¯t honest. They began to roam her body with explicit intentions.


    ¡°Caliburn¡­¡± Morgan smiled helplessly. ¡°Do you want to do it¡­?¡±


    Burn practiced self-restraint. ¡°We need to go to the moon first.¡±


    Morgan burst out laughing again, this time more unrestrainedly than before. ¡°Of course. Let¡¯s find a sword for you.¡±

 136 - Like Weeds in a Garden

    Before heading out, Burn made a beeline to see Shorof alone, while Morgan was busy talking with the mythical community, discussing the treasures Nahwu had brought for Shorof.


    She couldn¡¯t wrap her head around how they managed to hide such cursed goodies in the sacred shadow of the World Tree itself. It was like putting a mime in a musical, but she suspected they had crafted a curse using the corrupted mana with Shorof as its target.


    Meanwhile, everyone else, like her servants, wouldn¡¯t face severe effects.


    Burn stood in Shorof¡¯s empty room, imagining her peacefully slumbering among the very objects designed for her demise. Narrowing his eyes, he felt his expression grow colder.


    His mind wandered back to his father. What was the trick back then? What was the method?


    Once this loop wrapped up, he planned to storm the palace''s storage room¡ªonly this time, he''d drag Morgan along to examine the goods. After all, Soulnaught wasn¡¯t exactly a holy land, so surely a curse wouldn¡¯t require the stealth of a ninja.


    But then again, Morgan had already poked around the palace and found nothing amiss.


    How had they pulled off such a masterclass in deception?


    ¡°Your¡­ Majesty?¡±


    A voice slinked closer, as subtle as a cat in the shadows.


    Burn turned to spot Shorof, wheeling in Nahwu like a reluctant shopping cart, clearly supporting her haggard state. He graciously gestured for them to enter the room, leading the charge toward the bed.


    Nahwu approached with all the confidence of a deer in headlights, her gaze glued to her feet as if she were afraid her eyes might betray her.


    ¡°I want to examine your body,¡± Burn stated, not bothering to sugarcoat it.


    Shorof''s breath hitched. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Although not one to linger on pleasantries, Burn patiently waited for Shorof to plop down on the bed. He dragged a chair closer, settling in like someone preparing for an intense round of 20 Questions, grasping her wrist as if it were the last doughnut at a staff meeting.


    His impatience was an uninvited guest, but there was a glimmer of gentleness hiding behind it. He examined her body with his touch, confirming that she indeed had the same illness as his father.


    Nahwu, the silent accomplice, didn¡¯t dare to voice a single protest, as though any sound might summon the wrath of a thousand gods.


    ¡°My father¡¯s symptoms were more hidden. How did your symptoms end up staging a grand protest on your body?¡± Burn probed, unafraid to engage in a messy examination.


    ¡°Sir¡­ I don¡¯t have any reason to hide it¡­¡± Shorof replied, her voice a soft tremble. ¡°My family¡­ They tried their absolute best to hunt down a cure, which meant I didn¡¯t play the stoic martyr in front of them. Or¡­ maybe I just have a weaker resolve than Your Majesty¡¯s Royal Father.¡±


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    Well, that was possible. His old man, a stubborn knight who¡¯d probably duel death itself, would trade years of life just to keep his ailments tucked under a proverbial rug.


    And really, who could blame him? Those years had been like a stubborn fog: relentless, oppressive, and about as enjoyable as a soggy biscuit.


    Before Burn ascended the throne, there were many problems in the court. As strong and righteous as his father was, it would never have been enough.


    With the added weight of his age and the mysterious illness, it was easy for him to hide it for some years. However, it eventually came crashing down sooner or later.


    And it crashed all at once.


    ¡°Morgan and I must dash off for some business,¡± Burn announced, clearly not winning any awards for the warm-and-fuzzy club.


    ¡°You endure and have a chat about recovery methods with your mother. Right now, she¡¯s probably glued to Morgan¡¯s instructions, taking notes about mana poisoning.¡± Burn was never one for comforting words, but Shorof had committed no sins.


    Not to mention, he loathed this pesky illness known as mana poisoning.


    ¡°Her Holiness is leaving?¡± Nahwu tilted her head, catching the shadow that draped Burn¡¯s face, revealing just how far he was detached from her vibrant, noble-tinted view of the world.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re our only headache?¡± Burn shot up. ¡°The world is already one giant problem on her shoulders. And then there¡¯s me, not to mention those delightful outsiders.¡±


    Enemies were popping up like weeds in a garden, and tallying each potential harm was about as exhausting as herding cats.


    ¡°And she still has to fret over this unknown evil lurking in the shadows.¡±


    Burn turned away, not bothering to cast another glance at their faces. It was a blend of fury and a helplessness that only a toddler witnessing a broken toy could muster. The world had many problems, but once again, this wretched hellhole was the soil he was born in.


    Stepping out, his mind flickered back to his earlier chat with Morgan.


    ¡°The Demon Lord and I, who¡¯s stronger?¡±


    Morgan pondered.


    ¡°You,¡± she answered. ¡°But he¡¯s as sly as a fox in a henhouse, and corruption made him about as easy to kill as a cockroach at a pest control convention. He¡¯s almost like me, almost unable to die.¡±


    ¡°Romeuf met his end¡ªdespite being stronger than the Demon Lord. Urien too, if alone, would be a prime candidate for a quick trip to the afterlife.¡±


    The ¡®how¡¯ of Romeuf¡¯s crucifixion remained the world¡¯s worst-kept secret, an enigma wrapped in an unsolvable puzzle. Of course, the cross was a statement. But the truth?


    ¡°If you were alive back then, the Demon Lord wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance,¡± Morgan smiled, flashing him a look as warm as the sun that could light up a shadowy alley.


    In short, the Demon Lord wasn¡¯t even comparable to him.


    He knew Morgan was simply acknowledging that when it came to problem-solving, he was still the best this world had ever seen. He would handle everything better than the world did 500 years ago.


    He destroyed the first wave of the outsiders alone three years ago, after all.


    If the crises of the Demon Lord 500 years ago and the outsiders three years ago were at the same level, well, that just proved he had a knack for nipping chaos in the bud.


    The sound of his metal heels echoed down the corridor, growing fainter with each step. Once he was out of sight, Nahwu turned to her older sister, surprised to find her blushing like a ripe tomato.


    ¡°Sister? A-are you okay?¡± Nahwu asked, half-expecting Shorof to sprout hearts and flowers.


    Shorof shook her head. ¡°Nothing. It¡¯s just¡­ His Majesty Emperor Burn is such a complex character.¡±


    Nahwu tilted her head, channeling her inner confused puppy. ¡°Well, yes¡­ his intentions are easy to misunderstand.¡±


    Shorof nodded, glancing at her wrist as if it held the answers to the universe. The man¡¯s touch lingered on her pulse, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined it was as delicate as a feather caught in a breeze.


    His father had met a grim end; she would have too if this continued. How¡­ tragic.


    Yet somehow, he had taken it upon himself to be the executioner of misery.


    ¡°If they weren¡¯t able to find my cure by the end¡­ Nahwu, to end my misery, would you kill me?¡± Shorof suddenly asked.


    Nahwu widened her eyes. Her hand clenched as she answered softly, ¡°That¡­ could be the fate that might just be waiting to happen.¡±

 137 - Role Model

    ¡°In the past, mana poisoning was pretty straightforward. Everyone would get cursed just by coming into contact with it. So, how do you control the target?¡±


    ¡°Just like normal magic, it¡¯s safe to say that corrupt mana has also evolved over the last 500 years. If whoever was studying it took their time, they could probably learn to control it,¡± they replied.


    ¡°Without turning into a demon?¡±


    Morgan sighed as she listened to the mythical creatures trying to make sense of it all. She had the same debate in her mind the moment she realized it was corrupted mana.


    ¡°The idea of a curse is closely tied to magic, but it comes with some serious side effects. It makes sense to assume there¡¯s a new Demon Lord on the way,¡± Morgan said.


    Everyone turned to her, and she continued with a question, ¡°Does anyone here know of any suspicious activity happening around the world? We need clues.¡±


    ¡°Your Holiness, most of us live in a very secluded community. I imagine they are more active in human society, as it would be easier for them to manipulate humans through other humans,¡± Wekkoun replied.


    ¡°That¡¯s a fair point, but even I have some connections in human society. Nothing seemed off in the last 500 years,¡± Morgan countered.


    Tashr shook her head. ¡°Your Holiness, the connections you mentioned were through the Edensworn Royal Family. They¡­¡±


    ¡°But even if they couldn¡¯t see anything before their unfortunate end¡­¡± Morgan paused. ¡°¡­Velaryon?¡±


    A flicker of realization sparked in Morgan¡¯s eyes, but just as quickly, she dismissed the thought with a shake of her head.


    ¡°I still need to investigate further. Anyway, there¡¯s an order of urgency,¡± Morgan said, noticing Burn approaching them.


    He looked visibly pissed as he re-entered the assembly hall. Turning to Isaiah the dragon, he asked, ¡°Should we go now?¡±


    ¡°Yes, verily. Pray, allow me to behold these young dragons forthwith,¡± Isaiah declared, turning his attention to the trio of dragonlings¡ªNayanika, Undagi, and Rinai¡ªtwo of whom were blissfully unconscious while the other looked like she had just survived a natural disaster.


    Nayanika protested, ¡°I just¡ªwant to join the fun! AAAAH!¡±


    She screamed as Isaiah grabbed her horn and yanked her out of the assembly hall.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try to make Shorof take over the direct care of the world tree. Exposure to abundant holy magic and pure mana might help. We already know how to make purifying elixirs too. And if Master Eos agrees, her recovery can be accelerated,¡± Morgan suggested.


    Tashr and Eos nodded.


    ¡°Thank you, Your Holiness,¡± Tashr said.


    Eos the Alicorn chimed in, nodding his single horned equine head, ¡°I¡¯ll be glad to help.¡±


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    Morgan then turned to Vlad and his daughter, who had been quieter than a librarian in a ghost town the entire time. She smiled, and the vampire smiled too.


    ¡°We debated what kind of person you are, even guessing that you are like Edw*rd C*ll*n. But honestly, you look more like Bella Sw*n,¡± Morgan quipped, clearly enjoying the look of confusion on her face.


    ¡°COUGH!¡± Burn and Wekkoun nearly choked on their breathing.


    Salsabella gasped, her excitement at an all-time high. ¡°Oh! I know the reference!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°And my name is Bella too!¡±


    Burn and Wekkoun turned sideways, their lips twitching in a desperate attempt to suppress laughter while Grumbletoe stood behind the dwarf king, quietly reconsidering his career choices.


    ¡°I¡¯ve always been a huge fan, Your Holiness,¡± Salsabella declared. ¡°I am deeply inspired by your serial child rapist hunt event two hundred years ago.¡±


    ¡°Oooh, right. Who doesn¡¯t bond over charming anecdotes like that?¡± Burn muttered, and Wekkoun¡¯s spit entered his lungs.


    Morgan raised her eyebrows, her expression still warm and kind, but pretty clearly bewildered. ¡°My what?¡±


    Salsabella launched into her recollection. ¡°That one time you asked Father to hunt a child rapist using his mind-reading magic, but then he discovered there was a veritable buffet of them, and you enlisted the vampires to capture them all for an entire year?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that,¡± Morgan sighed dramatically. ¡°What a wonderful memory.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it is!¡± Salsabella chuckled. "It''s too bad I wasn''t born yet!"


    Morgan glanced at Vlad, who shook his head tiredly.


    "That¡¯s why I carried on my own rapist hunt! I¡¯ve expanded the target to include not only child rapists but also regular rapists,¡± she smiled brightly, showing her fangs to everyone present.


    Morgan raised her eyebrows. ¡°Did you learn the mind-reading spell too?¡±


    Salsabella nodded, ¡°Yes. Ah, I don¡¯t know what punishment you gave the rapists you captured two hundred years ago, but I created my own!"


    The other mythical community leaders, who were chatting with themselves started to turn in her direction, intrigued by the topic.


    "If I tell you how I punish those rapists now, will you tell me in detail how you punished them in the past?" Salsabella asked.


    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll tell you,¡± Morgan answered.


    The young woman with brown hair and red eyes beamed, ¡°I threatened to amputate their fingers, toes, and limbs one by one and made them watch as their body parts were consumed by pigs, unless they fucked those pigs before an agreed-upon time ran out, ¡®Bl*ck M*rror¡¯ style!¡±


    The hall fell silent.


    The vampire looked straight at Morgan, her eyes excited, expecting praise.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Morgan nodded. ¡°I understand the reference.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all you¡¯re going to say?¡± Burn interjected.


    ¡°I mean, why would you abuse those pigs?¡± Morgan smiled in disappointment. ¡°You should¡¯ve used goblins, not pigs. Those little demons raid villages and rape women as well.¡±


    Salsabella gasped. "I-is that how you punished them 200 years ago?"


    Morgan shook her head. "200 years ago, I still had a similar mindset to yours. I created a spherical vacuum around their assholes with magic and put a rat inside. I heated the vacuum and agitated the rat, forcing it to dig its way out through their assholes."


    "Oh, like rats in a heated bucket, but with magic?" Salsabella asked gleefully.


    "Yes. After that, though, I felt bad for the rats and used zombified rats I found in corrupted lands instead," Morgan said with a smile. "Let¡¯s not use pure animals for this kind of thing again."


    "Yes, Your Holiness! I won¡¯t use innocent animals anymore!" Salsabella vowed.


    The people in the assembly were speechless, completely oblivious to the fact that Isaiah had returned and was eavesdropping on this ridiculous exchange.


    The dragon ambled over to Tashr and whispered, ¡°We ought to raise our young ones with greater care¡ªlike unto Miss Salsabella. Thy daughters and mine own younglings truly should take heed from her example.¡±


    Tashr flinched, realizing that, among the youths, only Vlad¡¯s daughter had garnered Morgan¡¯s precious approval, while her own daughter, Nahwu, was busy being a pawn for their foes, and Nayanika?


    Well, she just wanted to win the award for ''Best Mischief Maker.''


    ¡°You are absolutely right, Lord Isaiah,¡± Tashr replied in agreement.


    Burn sharply turned to them, eyes narrow. ¡°No, you definitely shouldn¡¯t use Miss Bella as a role model.¡±

 138 - Dragon of the East

    As Morgan and Burn navigated the labyrinthine paths of the Great Forest, it felt less like an adventure and more like a family outing with Isaiah the dragon, who was currently sporting his impressive humanoid form.


    He was attractive, just a cut above the elves. Isaiah had an imposing figure at a striking seven feet tall, clad in an ensemble that could only be described as ¡°vaguely menacing.¡±


    His long black hair cascaded to the floor like an overenthusiastic curtain, ready to steal the spotlight at any moment. It was as if every inch of him was declaring, ¡°Behold, I am both majestic and terrifying!¡±


    His pair of horns sat atop his head like ill-fitting party hats¡ªone broken, as if he had lost a duel with an angry tree, a storyline that would no doubt grow more dramatic with each retelling. Ahem, shout out to the world tree¡ª


    Those amber reptile eyes, however, were the pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance; they radiated an aloofness that suggested he was far too worldly for the mundane concerns of mere mortals.


    Morgan often suspected they held all the warmth of a winter solstice, and the flippant nonchalance that accompanied his gaze could turn any serious moment into an accidental comedy.


    Indeed, Isaiah resembled a dragon who had just raided the nearest human fashion outlet but had decided sophistication was overrated. The very air around him seemed to sigh, ¡°Here comes Isaiah, our resident brooding giant.¡±


    The trees loomed overhead, their branches entwining like old friends gossiping about the latest forest scandal.


    ¡°Honestly, just like old times,¡± Morgan muttered, ¡°who knew searching for a space big enough for the world¡¯s strongest dragon to transform would be this complicated? At this rate, we might accidentally stumble into Inkia¡¯s border patrol.¡±


    Burn snorted, ¡°Maybe they would welcome the distraction.¡±


    Isaiah shuffled along, his solid frame somehow imposing even in human form. ¡°I would have the world tree not chastise me again for injuring his younglings,¡± he insisted. ¡°I have outgrown the last time thou beheld me.¡±


    ¡°A sprawling field, perhaps?¡± Morgan suggested. ¡°Or maybe one of those dramatic cliffs where you can pose majestically? Just be sure not to knock anything over, oh mighty one.¡±


    The woods seemed to sigh quietly, rustling with the wind, as if they too wondered about the true spectacle that awaited.


    Little did they know, Isaiah would soon transform into a colossal creature, eclipsing the sun with scales that shimmered like a hundred gemstones¡ªif only he could find a spot that didn¡¯t spell disaster for the nearby trees.


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    ¡°Pray, concerning Merlin, dear Miss Momo, let us unravel this matter anon,¡± Isaiah said. ¡°With Master Vlad as well.¡±


    Morgan smiled softly, which didn¡¯t escape Burn¡¯s eyes, and said, ¡°I would like that, but time is short.¡±


    Isaiah sighed. ¡°Thou art still as headstrong as in mine own boyhood.¡±


    Burn turned to Isaiah with raised eyebrows and widened eyes. ¡°Morgan is older than you?¡±


    ¡°The sole souls older than fair Miss Momo shall be Merlin and Master Vlad,¡± Isaiah answered calmly. ¡°I am but six hundred years in age; this is mine prime.¡±


    ¡®Only¡¯¡­


    ¡°The evidence lieth in the fact that mine common tongue remaineth still somewhat recognizable and comprehensible to mortals today, in comparison to the tongues of elder dragons,¡± Isaiah added.


    ¡°No, your Common is almost incomprehensible,¡± Burn shot back.


    Isaiah frowned. ¡°I really ought to master those mind-reading spells.¡±


    Morgan chuckled, ¡°Yeah, but even with those, you still have to learn the language in your head. It¡¯s not just copy-paste and poof¡ªyou¡¯re magically fluent.¡±


    Burn turned to Morgan, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°Seriously, how do you get to be such a language whiz? You pick up new slang faster than a kid grabs candy at a store. It¡¯s borderline scary.¡±


    He paused, thinking, ¡°Sure, you still had the basics of the languages you reacquaint yourself with, but somehow, you manage to make it look effortless.¡±


    Morgan shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve just always been good with memory.¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be just memory. You absorb and integrate information like no one I¡¯ve ever known. Not even me,¡± Burn said. ¡°You predicted Yvain¡¯s rampage only by reading my mind. And other small, seemingly mundane things you noticed just from being with me.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just memory,¡± Morgan insisted, ¡°and a bunch of experience.¡±


    Burn smiled faintly. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°You should tell that to yourself, anyway,¡± Morgan said. ¡°You chose what to change and what to keep to manipulate the butterfly effect to your own advantage.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just taking the fastest and easiest route. What¡¯s impressive about that?¡± Burn groaned.


    ¡°I comprehend it not, yet I can safely presume that thou art engaging in flirtation before mine eyes, art thou not?¡± Isaiah asked. And after a lengthy silence, he inquired once more, ¡°Honeymoon phase, perchance?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, Isaiah. He¡¯s cool,¡± Morgan sharply said, almost yelled.


    ¡°The phase doth not seem to conclude anon,¡± sighed the dragon.


    Soon, they found a forest clearing vast enough for Isaiah to transform.


    Burn watched as Isaiah prepared for his grand transformation in the clearing that, frankly, could have used a little less stylistic choice and a bit more shade.


    But then again, this was Isaiah, the Dragon of the East. He deserved this kind of dragon transformation debut. As he began to transform, the ground quaked underfoot. Isaiah¡¯s body started to expand like a particularly ambitious balloon at a kids'' party.


    First, his limbs elongated with an anatomical movement that was surprisingly graceful for something so unwieldy. Isaiah¡¯s scales erupted¡ªblack and gold sparkling like crystals and jewelry under fluorescent lights.


    Finally, with a final twist, Isaiah stood towering at a glorious one hundred feet, wings spread wider than his own height. One of his horns still lay broken, while the intact one reached an impressive 30 feet tall.


    ¡°Oh, yeah, look at you,¡± Morgan muttered. ¡°So, what did you feast upon up there on the moon, Isaiah? Moon rocks and stardust?¡±


    ¡°Rabbits,¡± the dragon replied, his voice echoing in their ears thanks to his magic ensuring their eardrums remained intact¡ªno need for his real dragon vocal cords to ruin the moment.


    He lowered his massive head, and the impact upon the ground sent shockwaves through the earth.


    ¡°Come hither, ascend and grasp my horns with grip most firm. Perchance conjure thee some seatbelts for thy safety, and a means to hold on, lest thou be tossed asunder in the skies.¡±

 139 - Father and Son

    Seven years ago, when Burn was still a sprightly 20, he recalled returning from an expedition on the kingdom¡¯s fringes, where he heroically exterminated orc and goblin populations that had taken to plaguing the nearby villages.


    He had just made his grand entrance, but it took him mere moments to see his father¡¯s concealed weakness¡ªan astute observation, really, considering the old man wore the mask of a hero while clearly crumbling beneath it.


    At the time, his brother was also present, blissfully unaware of the ailment his father had before him, likely preoccupied with something far less pressing, unclear what.


    Discreetly, after night deepened, Burn approached his father and inquired about the curious state of his body. The old man¡¯s shocked expression was a fitting response.


    ¡°I see. You saw what others couldn¡¯t,¡± he said, the air thick with inevitability. ¡°I¡¯m about to die.¡±


    Burn froze, caught like a deer in the proverbial headlights. His entire life, his father had been the sturdy oak in a storm, and here he was, withering like a fall leaf, all while displaying the stubbornness of a mule.


    ¡°What kind of illness do you have, Father? I¡¯ll find you the cure.¡±


    Because obviously, no ailment could withstand the sheer will of a son, especially when his father had once been the paragon of strength¡ªuntil now, it seemed.


    Nothing in the world had no cure. This was a truth Burn clung to. His father, a strong Force master, should have been impervious to the whims of fate. The idea that there was nothing Burn could do was ludicrous¡ªabsurd, really.


    If his father had been anyone else, maybe he could accept this grim fate. But Arthur was once a Force master of such caliber that even the fiercest storms would hesitate before approaching him.


    ¡°It¡¯s been long since you called me Father,¡± Arthur replied, wearing a smile tinged with irony. ¡°Why? Did I frighten you?¡±


    Well, considering the shocking revelation of impending mortality, Arthur thought, it¡¯s hard to blame him for feeling a tingle of fear.


    ¡°No matter what, you are still my Father,¡± Burn stated, squeezing those precious words out between the sarcasm and despair. He closed his eyes and stood beside Arthur, surveying the kingdom from the balcony.


    As they looked across the land, Burn thought how this was the moment that should be filled with triumph, not poetic tragedy. After years of struggle, they had just entered an era of stability. The irony of it all¡ªsaving kingdom while losing the very heart of his own.


    ¡°Are you resentful?¡± Arthur asked. ¡°All I did was stifling your ambition to grasp the throne all because I favored your brother over you.¡±


    He had never openly confessed his favoritism. It was just that his younger son possessed such staggering talent that Arthur was compelled to shower him with accolades¡ªwho wouldn¡¯t want to reward brilliance, after all?


    Yet, despite the unmistakable glow of his younger son''s achievements, Arthur quietly nudged his elder boy toward the throne.


    Until, of course, Burn, in all his audacious wisdom, took matters into his own hands, charming the court with his ambitions. They, in turn, decided that the throne was better suited for him¡ªnot his older brother, ever the backdrop to Burn''s blinding stage.


    Arthur, resigned and somewhat amused by his own defeat, allowed Burn to ascend as Crown Prince.


    From that moment, Burn¡¯s feats multiplied as if by magic¡ªeach accomplishment carving out his inevitable reign more deeply. Arthur had shuffled the pieces on the chessboard, but it turned out Burn was not only the best player; he was the board itself.


    Nothing could halt Burn now, a juggernaut of talent and ambition, leaving his elder sibling in a haze of unfulfilled promise.


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    ¡°Guess it¡¯s too late for regrets,¡± Arthur mused, half-smirking, as he observed the kingdom filled with the brilliant glow of his least favored son¡¯s future plans. ¡°After all, one must cherish the very ambition that outstrips the son one raised.¡±


    And there he stood, a father cheering from the sidelines of a game he unknowingly lost¡ªhis crown prince soaring ever higher, leaving behind traces of what could have been, all wrapped in a delightful package of adulting irony.


    ¡°I mean, I understand,¡± Burn said, a sneer carving lines into his expression. ¡°Even if I can¡¯t quite fathom why, you¡¯ve always had a soft spot for him over me. Lucky for you, my achievements have kept your favoritism under wraps.¡±


    ¡°Brother must¡¯ve been feeling a bit stifled with my presence too,¡± Burn added, a victorious glint flickering in his eyes.


    ¡°This is precisely why I hesitate to crown you,¡± Arthur replied, his voice laced with a weariness that belied the indignation he intended. ¡°Your arrogance is as galling as it is predictable.¡± But deep down, he knew this rationale was merely a mask; denying his preference for his elder son was a futile exercise.


    ¡°Ah, the burden of my brilliance!¡± Burn chimed, his sarcasm hanging in the air like a well-timed flourish. ¡°If only you could appreciate how suffocating it must be to share air with such mediocrity.¡±


    Arthur, grappling with his own inner conflict, felt the tension stretch taut between them. His lingering affection for the older son was a shadow that darkened every interaction with Burn.


    He then asked the young man, ¡°Are you not curious why I favored him over you?¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯m a bastard?¡± Burn replied.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re that woman¡¯s son,¡± Arthur retorted coldly. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, I know, but I hold a grudge.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dead; why do you still cling to that grudge?¡± Burn sneered, now finding amusement in the situation.


    ¡°Son, how could you not resent her too?¡± Arthur demanded, fixing his intense gaze on Burn. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Everyone says she was a good person. She helped countless individuals, and she¡¯s my mother¡ªthe one who brought me into this world. I can¡¯t imagine resenting her, even on my worst days,¡± Burn shot back.


    ¡°Perhaps this explains why I favored Clarent more. He¡¯s capable of hate,¡± Arthur snapped, his frustration bubbling over. ¡°While you? You seem devoid of both hate and love. Do you even know what it means to be human?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even hate me for everything I¡¯ve done to you,¡± Arthur added, his anger barely concealing his vulnerabilities.


    Burn shrugged nonchalantly, ¡°I¡¯m simply detached.¡±


    Arthur immediately grasped the situation: Burn had extinguished any deep sentiment for others, leading to a profound absence of hatred, too.


    ¡°Then, why did you offer me this conversation?¡± Arthur inquired, shifting his gaze.


    Burn met his eyes, his expression somber. ¡°You are a great king. While I could feign indifference about your fate, Father, I still harbored a flicker of hope that we might maintain this farcical relationship a bit longer.¡±


    Arthur scoffed. ¡°You realize you¡¯re the crown prince now? My demise merely clears your path to the throne.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Burn replied with feigned sincerity. ¡°What was I thinking? Clearly, I shouldn¡¯t have bothered confronting you or offered to find a cure. Silly me.¡±


    Arthur erupted in laughter, a sound that filled the air like a dark cloud.


    ¡°At least let me assess your body¡¯s condition,¡± Burn suddenly declared.


    Arthur narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. ¡°What? You¡¯re truly a riddle wrapped in a mystery.¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t decode my intentions. Just accept my filial piety in silence,¡± Burn sighed, grasping Arthur¡¯s wrist, attempting to locate his heartbeat. Raising his gaze, he scrutinized Arthur¡¯s face, his expression sharpening.


    A heavy silence fell before Burn¡¯s eyes faltered.


    ¡°See?¡± Arthur smirked. ¡°Sadly, boy, you¡¯re not exactly destined for the role of savior.¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± Burn was in denial, clinging desperately to the notion of his father¡¯s invincibility. The revelation of his father¡¯s fragility shattered his illusions, sending ripples of disbelief through him.


    ¡°You should refrain from tiring activity from now on. I¡¯ll handle everything.¡±


    Arthur offered a bitter smile. This son¡­ was it possible he had misread him all along? Had he mistaken his ambition and aloofness for mere arrogance?


    Burn¡¯s talent had overshadowed his older brother since childhood, a bright star destined to blind rather than illuminate. His obvious drive for the throne was merely proof of utter disregard for anyone else¡¯s existence. But perhaps this boy¡­


    He was merely maintaining a healthy distance to preserve the delicate balance of their family drama. Was he withholding affection to spare his older brother from deeper wounds?


    If only Burn had shown him just a bit more genuine emotion, perhaps he instead would become Arthur¡¯s favorite, and Clarent would¡­


    Was his younger son¡¯s yearning for connection had been hindered by his and Clarent¡¯s emotional preservation?


    ¡°I will take over the state matters from tomorrow onwards. You must recuperate from now on and not think about anything else,¡± Burn proclaimed coldly, as if the weight of the kingdom had always rested solely on his broad shoulders.


    ¡°I will get physicians and doctors privately, so don¡¯t worry about news leaking out.¡±


    Once Burn set his mind to something, it was as if he¡¯d hitched a ride on a runaway carriage¡ªno stopping it now.


    And yet, beneath the worry lay a flicker of pride. Perhaps, just perhaps, this audacious boy might surprise him¡ªif only he didn¡¯t trip over his own ambition first.


    And just three days later, Arthur suddenly fell gravely ill.

 140 - Crown Prince of Soulnaught

    ¡°Where are the physicians?!¡±


    Galahad and Percival paled, becoming two specters of alarm. Burn¡¯s abrupt demand for every physician in existence felt like calling for the cavalry in an already crowded battlefield.


    ¡°Your Highness, His Majesty is a remarkably strong man. Though it appears grim, he¡¯s merely¡ª¡±


    Burn shut his eyes, his fists trembling with a cocktail of fury and worry. Percival wisely fell silent.


    ¡°Where is my brother?¡± Burn demanded, his voice laced with barely concealed urgency.


    ¡°He mentioned he was preoccupied with state affairs and couldn¡¯t return just yet, sir. After your return, he immediately strode back to his principality,¡± Galahad replied, his tone almost apologetic. ¡°There have been unrelenting storms in his principality.¡±


    ¡°Call him. Make him return, no excuses, Galahad,¡± Burn insisted, a king amidst chaos. ¡°I¡¯m departing for a day. Percival, you¡¯re in charge of His Majesty.¡±


    The two exchanged glances, engaging in a silent conversation steeped in concern and resignation. His Highness, that stoic sentinel, usually remained a beacon of composure. This moment was an aberration¡ªa rare glimpse into panic overshadowing his usually unflappable demeanor.


    No, nothing was truly amiss; His Majesty simply had a slight cough¡ªnot the kind that warranted a royal summons of every doctor this side of the realm.


    Their physicians were already the best, and although they seemed puzzled, there must¡¯ve been something they could do before something fatal actually happened.


    That man was Arthur Pendragon, for heavens¡¯ sake!


    Yet here they stood, caught in the undertow of Burn¡¯s tempestuous anxiety. Leaving just a cough under Percival''s vigilant gaze felt like using a castle door to hold a single ant.


    After all, what could possibly go wrong with a bit of illness? Storms, the prince, and a cold¡ªsurely, nothing needed immediate attention, except, it seemed, Burn himself.


    ¡°Drag my brother home!¡± Burn bellowed before soaring into the sky.


    Galahad didn¡¯t dare dilly-dally. Just as he was about to dash off, Percival grasped his arm, as if anchoring him. ¡°Something¡¯s definitely off, but don¡¯t go playing the martyr just to retrieve His Highness Prince Clarent against His Highness the Crown Prince¡¯s whims.¡±


    With a somber nod, Galahad replied, ¡°I¡¯m quite aware of the Eldest Prince¡¯s temperament. He might detest the notion of being ordered around, but duty calls, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Alright. Perhaps we should summon Young Duke Leodegrance. You secure an audience with him,¡± Percival suggested.


    ¡°Sure, let me just speak with Landevale,¡± Galahad responded.


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    Burn arrived at his hidden refuge deep in the mountains, opening the door urgently. He scrambled through his storage room, as if searching for the Holy Grail among odds and ends.


    Eight years had passed since he first indulged in the peculiar delicacy of merfolk and unicorn meat.


    The merfolk, alas, offered only a small portion; he feasted only the lower half, the fishy tail, and discarded the humanoid part like a picky diner tossing aside limp greens. The unicorn, however, was a feast fit for a king, with its ample equine body¡ªa more generous offering, if you will.


    Of course, even ¡®culinary adventurers¡¯ like himself couldn¡¯t devour an entire unicorn and merfolk tail in one sitting.


    So, he resorted to a method straight from a high fantasy handbook: treating the meat with blessed salt harvested from the tiny sea washed by both the Luminus Kingdom and Wintersin Empire. Nothing says ¡°gourmet¡± quite like a sprinkle of blessed salt, right?


    Maintaining the temperature of his storage room was no small feat, either. He had sourced an eternal ice crystal from Wintersin, a task that required both patience and a small fortune¡ªAfter all, preserving unusual meats requires a touch of magic.


    With the cold emanating from the crystal, his collection remained pristine, reminiscent of a cold-hearted bard preserving the finest ballads.


    But leaving that aside, what remained of the merfolk and the unicorn were their bones and distinct body parts: the merfolk¡¯s fins and the unicorn¡¯s horn.


    With the utmost care, he packaged them in a box that looked suspiciously like a relic from a long-forgotten garage sale and sealed it shut as if it contained the secrets of the universe¡ªor at least a very niche museum exhibit.


    And as if that weren¡¯t enough, he proceeded to gather every medicine and poison ingredient he had hoarded over his lifetime, making it an extravaganza that took over half a day.


    Not a single vial was marred; it was as if he were preparing for an elaborate cooking show instead of a morbid collection.


    Surely, just one of them could do something for his father, right? Preferably something to help him get better?


    Burn tied it all together as if it were a gift for a particularly dreary holiday and set off in search of a big box and cushions¡ªa truly riveting adventure, indeed.


    After a day¡¯s toil, he returned home, only to find Landevale and Galahad poised at the door, ready to embark on whatever this misadventure might involve.


    ¡°Why are you still here?¡± Burn inquired of Galahad, who promptly bowed deeply, as if the very ground were deserving of his reverence.


    ¡°Sir, we¡¯ve just located Sir Leodegrance,¡± Galahad replied. ¡°Landevale and I will soon persuade His Highness the Eldest Prince to return home.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness, I¡¯ll get my brother to summon His Highness Prince Clarent,¡± Landevale said, bowing with Galahad.


    ¡°Why the roundabout route? Just summon Clarent back!¡± Burn exclaimed, nearly losing his grip on the box strapped to his back.


    Percival emerged from the palace, raising his voice in caution. ¡°Sir, let¡¯s not provoke His Highness Prince Clarent too hastily. After you barged into his principality to confront the cyclopian dungeon break, his mood hasn¡¯t exactly been rose-tinted.¡±


    ¡°What? As if he could handle it alone!¡± Burn retorted sharply. ¡°Is this truly the moment for sensitivities? Tell him Father is unwell¡ª¡±


    ¡°Caliburn!¡± boomed a voice that reverberated through the air, slicing through Burn''s irritation like a sword. A figure emerged from the palace, and every inch of Arthur radiated authority, a stark contrast to his bedridden state.


    Burn¡¯s frown deepened when he saw Arthur out of his sickbed, a sight so rare it might have warranted an entry in the kingdom¡¯s history books. ¡°You raise quite the ruckus for an old man like me¡­ cough, cough!¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I?! I am the Crown Prince of the Great Soulnaught, and I will stir chaos whenever it pleases me!¡± Burn shot back, the defiance echoing in the marble corridors. ¡°Return to your chamber, Father. This is my final request. After this, I¡¯ll assume command and decree your house arrest.¡±


    ¡°Presumptuous bastard!¡± Arthur thundered.


    ¡°Yes, I am!¡± Burn challenged, locking eyes with his father, bloodshot. ¡°I am your bastard. Return to your chamber.¡±

 141 - Aroche Leodegrance

    Burn summoned every physician he could gather, showcasing his impressive array of medicinal ingredients. Each one was not just rare, but practically legendary¡ªvanishing for over a hundred years between sightings. Some items might as well have come straight from the pages of myth.


    The physicians gazed at this collection of rare treasures as if they were on a treasure hunt, reveling in its absurdity.


    Burn proclaimed, ¡°Any additional ingredient you desire will be graciously supplied by this kingdom. Just utter the name, and I¡¯ll have it delivered.¡±


    ¡°Anyone capable of healing His Majesty will earn a noble title, complete with a territory to call their own. Oh, and I¡¯ll throw in a personal reward from my own funds,¡± Burn concluded.


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness!¡±


    Burn let them talk, hands flying in a flurry of panic and excitement while he ambled away.


    He took command of the corridors like a fire drill was in full swing, although it was amusingly peculiar that only he seemed to grasp the actual urgency.


    Yes, his words had power¡ªpower to stir a crowd or send a shiver down their spines. But even he wouldn¡¯t dare to pull back the curtain on the profound threat lurking over the King¡¯s life.


    If the word got out that a mysterious, incurable illness had claimed the King, the delicate balance the old man had toiled to maintain his entire life would come crashing down. Splendid.


    He¡¯d seen the shadows lurking¡ªthe kind that hinted death could stumble upon the King uninvited


    Just a few more years¡­ that¡¯s all he asked. Not that he was unprepared to shoulder the weight of the crown¡ªno, he was very much ready at this juncture¡ªbut what¡¯s a few years in the grand scheme of things? Dear death, it was hardly a crime to want just a smidgen more time!


    To fix everything.


    Burn clung to that tenuous thread¡ªblood or burden, who could tell? But yes! Why couldn¡¯t he hang on that single thread of a bloodkin connection he had longed for since the break of his consciousness? Burn knew that someone like him would never deserve it. Yet he sought, and sought, and sought.


    All he had was himself and his mortality. The path of survival he trudged upon was an abyss of desolation, but just when this state had started to stabilize, that chance was taken away from him again.


    Like how mortality took motherhood from Viviane, robbing him of the chance to extend her a hand of redemption.


    For once, he wanted his father to understand him. For once, he wanted to give him a chance to be his father... his real father.


    Walking toward the king¡¯s chamber, he beheld his father¡¯s form, now resembling a wilted old tree¡ªfragile, sagging. When had his once-mighty father become so weak? Just a few days ago, he had presided over the palace balcony talking with him¡ª


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    ¡°Your Highness,¡± a voice called, snapping him from his reverie.


    Burn turned, spotting the dark gray haired young man with a grin wide enough to charm the silver off a spoon: Young Duke Aroche Leodegrance.


    ¡°Roche,¡± Burn raised his eyebrows, remembering that this was the same charming fool of a big brother often seen orbiting Burn¡¯s ex-fianc¨¦e Landevale, just like now, walking with his ever-earnest knight, Galahad. ¡°Where is Clarent?¡±


    Aroche shrugged, his smile dimming ever so slightly. ¡°Even I, his so-called best buddy, can¡¯t drag him back. Is it that dire?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Burn replied, ¡°Father will be just fine.¡±


    Aroche tilted his head, ¡°That¡¯s precisely why he¡¯s avoiding you. Unless¡­¡± His voice trailed off, trailing his thoughts like a lost puppy.


    He searched Burn¡¯s eyes for the truth. Suddenly, clarity struck¡ªlike a knight being reminded of the words ¡®duty¡¯ and ¡®honor.¡¯ ¡°Tell me the truth, Burn. Is it grim?¡±


    Burn¡¯s gaze shifted to Galahad, who was now awkwardly pulling Landevale away like she was some kind of volatile explosive. With the two friends left in their own little bubble of reality, the silence spoke volumes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go drag him back, alright?¡± Aroche declared, his bravado rising to the occasion, but Burn¡¯s voice cut through with the sharpness of a well-honed dagger.


    ¡°No,¡± Burn said with a tone low enough to make a grave whisper seem loud. ¡°Let him be.¡±


    ¡°Let him be¡­ It¡¯s your perpetual dance, isn¡¯t it? You old soul, always bending to your indifferent older brother. Sometimes, I¡¯m compelled to think you might as well be the elder,¡± Aroche quipped.


    ¡°Must I reiterate why my name means little in his eyes? Again?¡± Burn replied, a hint of weariness lacing his voice.


    ¡°Precisely, you bastard,¡± Aroche clicked his tongue with exaggerated disdain. ¡°Fucking piece of shit, just take my sister back and get married.¡±


    Burn¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°She¡¯s the one eager to join the round table, to carve her own destiny.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s hardly insurmountable to be a knight and your wife at the same time,¡± Aroche shrugged nonchalantly. ¡°Remember when Clarent was enraged at you for breaking off your engagement? Fantastic entertainment.¡±


    ¡°And why should she be tethered by my title? Can anyone truly embody the spirit of a knight while serving as the Crown Prince¡¯s ornament?¡± Burn challenged, frustration sharp in his tone. ¡°So why does he fail to grasp this?¡±


    ¡°Did you forget your method of severing the relationship?!¡± Aroche yelled. ¡°You sent my sister away to a dangerous expedition while you threw a wild banquet with the nobles, your men and some random unmarried noblewomen!¡±


    Burn frowned. ¡°I already told her beforehand, and I sent Galahad with her.¡±


    ¡°Unlike you, your brother clings to traditions and promises as if they¡¯re divine scriptures,¡± Aroche pushed back.


    ¡°Ah, yes, which only emphasizes his disdain for me¡ªa bastard aspiring toward the throne,¡± Burn replied coldly.


    ¡°Burn, consider this,¡± Aroche sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Your blustery approach, wielding brute force as your sword, will elicit nothing but loathing. Especially from someone like your brother.¡±


    ¡°Ever heard of the saying, ¡®the wisdom of the strong¡¯? Perhaps it¡¯s time you did,¡± Burn sneered, a razor edge to his tone.


    ¡°Ah, a sage anecdote indeed. Fucking bitch. One day, you¡¯ll stir the pot enough to see what emerges,¡± Aroche cursed.


    ¡°As if there¡¯s someone actually crazy enough to mess up the pot I stirred?¡± Burn clicked his tongue. ¡°Not even Arthur Pendragon can do anything against me.¡±


    Aroche didn¡¯t say anything. Burn was essentially right. This friend of his wasn¡¯t one to be defeated. He sighed and nodded, offering his presence here within the palace, ¡°I¡¯ll stay here with you and help.¡±


    Burn raised his eyebrows at him, and to tell the truth, right now, Aroche was more of a brother than a friend, even more than his own brother.


    ¡°It¡¯s good that you¡¯re idle,¡± Burn smirked.


    ¡°Oh, shut up!¡±

 142 - Grief

    It was a very painful process, grief.


    The first bout was his denial of his father¡¯s imminent death. He summoned every possible resource, as if the right potion could scramble fate itself. Physicians, medicines¡ªevery impossible method known to man or myth¡­


    Then, anger surged.


    ¡°None of you can see anything?! Nothing at all that could explain his illness?!¡±


    ¡°Your Highness, I assure you¡­ we see nothing wrong at all. It appears it is simply His Majesty''s time. His coughing, his symptoms... they present no answer.¡±


    ¡°Really? I¡¯ve brought you merfolk¡¯s fins and unicorn horn, and they¡¯re utterly useless?! Don''t these magical ingredients have some sort of magical effect in rebuilding the body and purifying the soul!¡±


    ¡°But alas, Sir¡­ The cause is still unknown. Using these legendary components will only extend life at best, and frankly, given His Majesty¡¯s current state, those mythical remedies might just finish the job quicker¡­¡±


    Depression was next, while Burn, finally noticing he was halfway in grief, chuckled at the absurdities of life over yet another drink with Aroche.


    It was midnight, a month into his father¡¯s slow unraveling, and Burn finally realized the suffering brewing inside him¡ªone he¡¯d been battling for years yet somehow kept tucked away.


    ¡°Father,¡± he called, his voice echoing in the dim room.


    A low groan escaped his father¡¯s parched lips, a sound that might have been his new version of a greeting.


    Burn squeezed his eyes shut. ¡°Will you still force yourself to rise tomorrow, pretending you¡¯re on the mend? So all the servants and courtiers can see you, alive, albeit in a state of recuperation?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you need time to lay your glorious groundwork before my grand exit?¡± the man whispered.


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯re holding on?¡± Burn asked.


    Arthur chuckled, the sound deep and cracked. ¡°I could keep this charade up for months. What of a little suffering?¡± Then he noticed his son¡¯s brisk retreat. ¡°Where are you off to?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to fetch Clarent,¡± Burn replied.


    ¡°Caliburn, your brother despises me,¡± Arthur halted him with a choked breath. ¡°You could tell him I¡¯m on my deathbed, and he¡¯d likely shrug it off.¡±


    ¡°Father,¡± Burn snapped gravely.


    Arthur chuckled softly but was quickly seized by a fit of coughing. ¡°Ah, the sweet sound of you dropping ¡®Your Majesty¡¯ for ¡®Father¡¯¡­ It¡¯s as if I¡¯m finally shedding the weight of the crown, becoming just a man who happens to be your father rather than the sovereign of realms.¡±


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    Burn''s face contorted in a mix of rage and incredulity, and even Arthur felt a flicker of fear. ¡°You,¡± he said solemnly, ¡°are born for unbelievable feats. Yet, I must confess, your wrath can be so formidable that it sends shivers down my spine. God help us, what of your future, I don¡¯t know; I dare not imagine.¡±


    Silence.


    The old man¡¯s smile appeared genuine as he fixed his gaze on Burn. ¡°What? Out of cruel, sarcastic remarks? Surely you¡¯ve saved your sharpest barbs for me?¡±


    ¡°Who do you think my mentor was?¡± Burn managed a sardonic smile, his fa?ade cracking just enough to reveal the truth beneath. ¡°Now it seems everyone around me has caught the same affliction.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because your wit is far too keen, my son,¡± Arthur remarked, feigning offense. ¡°And let¡¯s not even discuss your utter lack of modesty! Shameless!¡±


    Bargaining. Burn, right about now, was bargaining.


    ¡°How long exactly can you tether to your mortal coil? Do you think the merfolk fins and the unicorn horn can help you with the pain?¡± Burn asked.


    Arthur shook his head. ¡°No, they won¡¯t help with the pain. I¡¯ve tried the prescription with the miraculous essence of the mythical ingredients, but I don¡¯t think it suits my condition. You keep them or use them to help someone else instead of wasting them on me.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t speak for a long time before settling into a chair near the bed.


    ¡°I''ll accompany your rest every night from now on.¡±


    The old man on the bed, seemingly surprised by his hard-boiled egg of a son¡¯s words, widened his eyes. No. How was it only now that he saw this side of him? It just proved to him how bad of a father he was, to only see this truth right on his deathbed.


    ¡°When have you become so big, son?¡±


    Burn sneered. ¡°When have you become so small, Father?¡±


    Then, over the course of the next month, Burn, who endured the night after night of his father¡¯s suffering, had come to an acceptance.


    Winter, in the 28th year of King Arthur¡¯s reign, the distinguished king, all of 52 years old, departed from the world. It was almost exactly two months after his first collapse from his mysterious illness.


    Clarent rushed to the palace, his face a portrait of stern resolve, taut as a bowstring, while the white snow outside seamlessly blended with his white hair, making him look like a winter spirit having a particularly difficult day.


    Upon entering the chamber, the first thing that struck him was his younger brother¡¯s wide back, a rather impressive silhouette hunched over a stool near the bed.


    It was as if Burn had taken on the role of a silent sentry, preparing for the long vigil in the shadow of mortality¡ªa role he never auditioned for but apparently landed quite well.


    The Round Table, in all their somber reverie, kneeling across the floor. Clarent couldn¡¯t help but wonder if they were silently mocking him, reflecting on how even a legendary assembly could be reduced to mere furniture and decoration in the face of such despair.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t he call me?¡± Clarent suddenly asked. ¡°Why didn¡¯t he summon me himself?!¡±


    ¡°Ah, he didn¡¯t, huh?¡± Burn asked in return. ¡°But why didn¡¯t you come?¡±


    Clarent gritted his teeth, his eyes bloodshot. ¡°With you here, what use am I?¡±


    ¡°Sure. And even with me here, he still died,¡± Burn replied, cold as winter iron. Clarent¡¯s eyes wavered, caught between hurt and rage, as Burn continued, ¡°You truly are of no use, Brother. Congratulations on successfully avoiding wasting your precious time.¡±


    ¡°Caliburn!¡± one of the kneeling men, Aroche, broke the thick tension by rising to his feet. ¡°Clarent, enough.¡±


    Burn stood from his seat, a dark statue against the pallor of grief, locking his gaze onto Clarent¡¯s. In that moment, Clarent''s gaze flickered with both fear and venom.


    ¡°It is rather unseemly for Arthur Pendragon¡¯s two swords to clash on his funeral day. If you have more to say, let¡¯s reserve it for when the old man¡¯s comfortably nestled in his coffin, six feet under.¡±


    With that, Burn exited the room, the sharp clatter of his metal heels echoing, like a clock ticking down to the end of this absurd circus, stealing away the last remnants of warmth in the room.


    ¡°Proceed.¡±

 143 - Rest Assured

    Morgan turned to Burn, her hand clasped in his. As his memories trickled into her brain, she realized Burn had conveniently omitted the precise moment he decided his father¡¯s life was best ended.


    "We art on the precipice of breaching the atmosphere. I prithee, hold fast!" Isaiah¡¯s voice thundered in their ears, leaving little room for objection¡ªor sanity.


    Morgan muttered a spell, wrapping them in a protective energy field, a magical layering worthy of a poorly planned apr¨¨s-ski party.


    Previously, she¡¯d conjured a mana rope to tie them snugly between Isaiah''s formidable horns, like holiday ornaments precariously balanced on a tree. As they clung to the great dragon''s head, the atmosphere''s intensity shifted, reminding her that airflow was not always a gentle caress.


    With a powerful surge, Isaiah broke free from the clouds, launching into the void above. They experienced a breathless moment of weightlessness, only to be immediately yanked into the hell of harsh reality.


    As Morgan closed her eyes, something sinister stirred within Burn¡¯s psyche, a memory floating up. There he was, perched beside his frail father, holding onto his hand as if it were the mana rope he was clutching right about now.


    Arthur had been deluding himself with a facade of strength, but the charade had frayed at the edges. His suffering was a slow rot that had corroded away not just his vitality but also his dignity.


    He was wrong. He couldn¡¯t keep the charade for as long as he thought he could.


    Burn understood this. Before Arthur became nothing more than a shadow of his former self, he took it upon himself to intervene.


    ¡°Rest, Father.¡±


    Arthur groaned, a sound that had long since lost any resemblance to the powerful figure he once embodied¡ªmore of a worn-out creaking old throne now.


    ¡°Rest. Let go of this wretched world,¡± Burn continued. ¡°I¡¯ll take over your burdens of reign.¡±


    The sudden absence of atmospheric pressure hit them like a sharp slap, a cosmic wake-up call they never signed up for.


    As the last remnants of Earth''s air were whisked away, they realized they were entering a critical phase¡ªone that no rational being, or any human, should ever experience, unless, of course, they were auditioning for a death-defying reality show.


    For one fleeting second, they felt the exhilarating thrill of freedom, as if the universe had granted them a VIP pass to the void. But that moment was about as brief as a blink of an eye.


    Then came the tingling sensation, the kind that suggested their bodies were hosting a bubbly cocktail party, but only the bubbles were coming from the gases dissolving into their bloodstream. Vacuum pressure!


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    Reality hit hard, the kind of slap that makes you reconsider your life choices. Morgan gripped Burn''s hand tighter, her heart racing.


    Burn remembered how he had used his Force to invade his father¡¯s bloodstream. With the vacuum of space eagerly closing in, he envisioned it as d¨¦j¨¤ vu¡ªthe scene replaying in his mind from ages ago.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it away from you even if you don¡¯t want to. Let it go, Dux Bellorum. Your time has come.¡±


    He recalled the last time Arthur opened his eyes, those eyes staring into the infinite abyss¡ªBurn¡¯s own eyes.


    Meanwhile, on top of Isaiah¡¯s head came the glorious realization that, oh joy, they could no longer breathe. The vacuum of space had snatched all the oxygen like a thief in the night, leaving them gasping for what was now just a haunting memory.


    Burn¡¯s vision blurred, and his brain screamed for oxygen, which was just rude, really. Light-headedness enveloped him as Morgan¡¯s eyes widened, almost instinctively holding her breath as if that would help.


    She muttered another spell, and the unbearable became somewhat manageable once more.


    At the same time, another memory crept into her mind.


    Arthur¡¯s eyes deepened, clarity breaking through his murky daze. Apparently, even in his state, he could manage a moment of lucidity. Arthur¡¯s heart was now under the gentle squeeze of Burn¡¯s Force, the rhythm slowing like a reluctant clock, inching toward a sorrowful pause.


    ¡°Rest assured. Take flight and be free, Knight of Logres. From now on, Soulnaught is under my care.¡±


    Burn couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that, in that moment, he was neither son nor future king in Arthur¡¯s eyes. No, he was more like the grim reaper¡¯s understudy¡ªan entity wrapped in inevitability, paradoxically comforting yet ominous, like a warm blanket made of lead.


    Someone who was reassuring, releasing Arthur from his duty.


    And just before the curtain fell, he managed to whisper¡ª with his last breath¡ª


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡±


    The frigid temperatures of outer space began to seep into their exposed skin, turning Burn¡¯s extremities into miniature ice cubes. He felt the cold biting at him, while his core temperature plummeted faster than he had ever experienced.


    Even with adrenaline coursing through him, he sensed the creeping chill¡ªa delightful precursor to hypothermia, just a lovely touch. He forced his focus on Morgan.


    Morgan muttered another spell, her smile radiating warmth¡ªif only she could bottle that for him. Burn couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, the sound evaporating in the vacuum.


    Sudden pain shot through his chest, a thrilling reminder of how inhospitable space really was. He felt the moisture in his lungs begin to boil¡ªquite the party trick for anyone who enjoys a little pain.


    The very air they¡¯d taken for granted had become a bittersweet memory, replaced by a deadly void where the freedom of flight was simply a cruel joke.


    As he saw Morgan concentrating, casting her protective spells, he mouthed to her, knowing his voice wouldn¡¯t reach her ears in this vacuum, ¡°I¡¯ve adapted now. You take care of yourself.¡±


    Morgan nodded, her expression serious as she slowly let go of her protection spell for Burn.


    Instantly, he felt the radiation exposure hit him, slamming into him like a disgruntled cosmic courier. Cosmic rays? Felt like a warm-up! This was nothing compared to the sheer joy of encountering the White Dwarf.


    The feeling was somewhat nauseating, more than the delightful throb of the White Dwarf. He wanted to vomit. Ah, good ol¡¯ radiation sickness¡ªor was it motion sickness? Hard to tell when your body¡¯s playing a game of ¡°guess what¡¯s killing you first.¡±


    The last time he felt this nauseous was when he tightly grasped his father¡¯s heart with his Force, quite literally forcing it to stop beating.


    Then, not long after, the realization hit¡ªno, he didn¡¯t know how long it took for that once-warm hand to become as cold as his current surroundings, like an unwanted guest in a frozen wasteland.


    The void he was navigating wasn¡¯t just physical; it mirrored the cold grip of loss he re-experienced now. But hey, who needed warmth when you had the vast expanse of nothingness to keep you company?


    A flash of Morgan¡¯s sad smile awakened him.


    Ahh, of course, he wasn¡¯t alone now.

 144 - The Moon

    The permanent crack in the sky was, amusingly, not that close to the atmosphere of the planet. There was still, in the grand scheme of things, a vast chasm between them.


    But comparing that chasm to the distance to the moon? Please. The moon was a vacation home in the distant suburbs of space¡ªway, way farther.


    So, even with a mighty dragon, they still needed three hours to reach their destination. And let¡¯s not overlook the delightful detour they had to take to dodge the ever-watchful outsiders.


    ¡°¡®Tis hardly a challenge to evade the reflection of their vessels'' radar signals,¡± Isaiah said, ¡°yet I did traverse this very path at dawn. Better to be cautious than to regret,¡± he added halfway there.


    Burn had seamlessly adapted to the vast embrace of space, converting his mana to satisfy his need for oxygen. All else, including the toll of their breakneck journey on his physique, had been effectively neutralized by his swiftly evolving form.


    Morgan, in stark contrast, encased her body in a veritable fortress of spells, whispered every few minutes like a well-rehearsed incantation.


    ¡°Thou art rarely one to encumber thyself with spells for protection, Miss Momo,¡± Isaiah remarked dryly. ¡°Thou typically dost depend upon thine infinite soul to rebuild thy form or merely shroud thyself in a cocoon of high-density mana to craft a comfortable atmosphere.¡±


    ¡°Since Merlin, I have come to appreciate the art of frugality,¡± Morgan sneered, sending her sound transmission with magic.


    Burn, however, knew the truth beneath her fa?ade. It was not frugality that had prompted her spells; it was because of the reserves of soul energy she would require to maintain the burden of the curse.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± Isaiah said, his voice barely masking the thrill of their descent as they neared the moon''s gravity.


    In mere moments, he had landed safely atop the sandy surface. Everything looked bleak and monotone; the sky was a void of black, unashamedly proclaiming it was ¡®daytime,¡¯ while the sunset¡ªif it could be called that¡ªwouldn¡¯t arrive for another week.


    ¡°The gravity¡­ is amusing,¡± Burn mused after jumping down from Isaiah¡¯s head, his tone betraying a mix of fascination and absurdity. ¡°Floaty, but not really. A real treat for the senses.¡±


    Morgan managed a smile, her spells now programmed to keep her safe until they returned to the radiant blue orb of Nethermere.


    She gazed at the planet, speckled with wispy white clouds and patches of green. Yet, most of it was a dreary shade of gray, an unfortunate reminder of the corruption.


    Suddenly, an unwelcome wave of sadness swept over her. Ah yes, the stunning contrast of celestial beauty versus bleak reality¡ªa tale as old as time.


    ¡°It is not thy fault, fair Miss Momo,¡± Isaiah declared, his massive body rendered light and agile in this low-gravity environment. ¡°Come, let us make our way to the chamber of treasures.¡±


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    Burn clasped her hand, and now, in this strange gravity, her movements resembled a graceful dancer, flitting about like a white deer. Or was it a little white bunny?


    ¡°You are the bunny, Caliburn,¡± Morgan retorted. ¡°Caliburn. Burn. Bunny.¡±


    ¡°Fine, you are Lady Chang¡¯e, then," Burn conceded.


    ¡°I can no longer indulge this folly. This is the moon, not your honeymoon,¡± Isaiah remarked wearily, adapting into making a pun of the situation.


    ¡°How did you usually visit this place without him?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan shrugged her shoulders. ¡°Fly here?¡±


    Burn felt that he shouldn¡¯t have asked.


    ¡°But I¡¯d need at least ten days just to reach here,¡± Morgan answered.


    With that, Burn understood why Morgan didn¡¯t want to leave by herself. There was no source of mana after they left the atmosphere, and she had to rely solely on her soul to produce mana.


    Not to mention, her body was built like a regular human¡¯s. Or worse. She wasn¡¯t some dragon equipped to withstand a jaunt to the moon and back in a few hours.


    But maybe the real reason she needed ten days was that she wasn¡¯t in a hurry. Why race when you could gracefully tank the brutal space environment with just your soul?


    Isaiah, on the other hand, wasn¡¯t as lucky. He preferred to sprint to their destination, desperate to escape the lovely embrace of radiation exposure.


    Among the countless moon craters lay a cave, modestly concealed under the towering grandeur of one of its mountains¡ªnot that anyone would be fooled by its humble appearance.


    Isaiah, ever the practical one, resumed his humanoid form before entering the small entrance, though it was abundantly clear there was a backdoor big enough for his dragon self to waltz through.


    But since he was burdened with Morgan and Burn, he graciously opted for the more intimate route. After all, nothing screams ¡°team bonding¡± quite like squeezing into a tight space together.


    What they entered could scarcely be called a chamber¡ªit was more of a great hall, a grandiose reminder of nature¡¯s flair for the dramatic.


    Grand stairs cascaded down from the entrance, designed with all the artistry of a seasoned architect rather than whatever cosmic force had shaped this cave.


    The tall pillars, intricately carved with magic that almost appeared to have grown organically from the cave itself, beckoned admiration¡ªeven if they were just rocks showing off.


    As for the stairs, calling them ¡°designed for better mobility¡± was a charming understatement.


    In Earth''s gravity, they¡¯d have been appropriate for giants; here in low gravity, they were like a welcome mat for humans, or at least, beings with similar proportions and the appropriate mass to avoid tripping and falling.


    But it wasn¡¯t yet their destination. No, no¡ªfurther, deeper into the cave awaited another entrance. As if the last one wasn¡¯t grand enough, now stood a majestic treasure chamber entrance, complete with giant, decorated stone gate doors that seemed to impose on their approach.


    Isaiah, the seven-foot-tall humanoid form of a dragon, shoved them open with one hand. Ah, the sweet, melodious sound of stone protesting like it hadn¡¯t had its morning coffee¡ªwhat a symphony of deep, groaning echoes!


    There wasn¡¯t exactly light illuminating the space, but rather¡­ a subtle glow. Nothing too impressive. Obviously, they hadn¡¯t bothered with lightbulbs in this ancient lair.


    Burn widened his eyes at the sight of countless gemstones and ores¡ªbecause who doesn¡¯t need a little bling in their life? Magic artifacts and piles upon piles of gold, like the dragons had decided to hoard every shiny object since the dawn of time.


    But the true star of this show, the pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance, was perched nonchalantly at the top, floating as if it had better things to do than sit on a shelf.


    It was an hourglass. An ouroboros coiled around its body, a snake quite pleased with its eternal loop, as if saying, ¡°Time? What¡¯s that?¡± But it contrasted with what floated inside it: infinite golden sand.


    Morgan reached forward.


    ¡°This is my catalyst, Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons.¡±

 145 - The Complete Picture

    A Vision user was only half as powerful without their treasures. Even this fact was true for Morgan.


    ¡°Why is it separated from you if it¡¯s your so-called ¡®catalyst,¡¯ your most important treasure?¡± Burn inquired, a hint of genuine curiosity lacing his tone.


    Morgan shrugged. ¡°Three years ago, after Merlin stole my entire soul energy, Nemo teleported back here. I enchanted a command for her to return if I ever found myself in a pinch.¡±


    Isaiah piped up, ¡°When Nemo didst appear, I perceived it forthwith. As we didst agree, her visage doth signify mine obligation to remain here until thou grantest the safe signal. Safeguarding our cherished treasure hath become mine utmost priority.¡±


    He gestured, and a screen¡ªa giant, transparent window¡ªmaterialized in the high ceiling, revealing a giant crack stretching across the world of Nethermere.


    ¡°Soon after, the rift did manifest in the void. I was compelled to bite mine tongue to refrain from investigating thyself, for I trusted surely that Merlin, thou, or Master Vlad had all matters well in hand.¡±


    ¡°Yet, a mere few hours hence, I received a telepathic transmission from Master Vlad. He found thee, unconscious in the frigid wilderness, whilst another assumed the role of a most pleasing welcoming committee for those who emerged from the breach,¡± Isaiah turned his gaze toward Burn.


    ¡°Well done, Sword of Arthur,¡± the dragon said.


    Isaiah shook his head, anger simmering just below the surface. ¡°I was unaware, dear friend, that ¡¯twas Merlin who chose to unleash his chaos upon thee and precipitated all those calamities. Master Vlad, too, was yet in ignorance. Thus, we could but bide our time until thou didst regain consciousness.¡±


    ¡°I should have cast aside all and rushed to inquire after thine welfare¡­¡±


    ¡°You did right, Isaiah,¡± Morgan said, her tone dripping with a mix of praise and irony. ¡°That was the right course of action. Clearly, you¡¯re not to blame for this entire disaster.¡±


    Now that Burn had acquired the complete picture, he could understand why everything had spiraled into chaos in the first timeline. Ah, the joys of hindsight.


    Merlin¡¯s action conveniently knocked Morgan out for a couple of years. In the interim, Burn took it upon himself to fend off the outsiders.


    Three years later, Burn killed Yvain¡ªsomething that was completely necessary in his eyes because Yvain himself refused to budge.


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    And let¡¯s not be too hard on Vlad; he was kind of busy trying to save his church from mobs hell-bent on torching it, all while safeguarding his sensitive vampire community. And don¡¯t forget, Morgan was tucked away in the church¡¯s basement, dying too.


    It was painfully evident that Vlad was preoccupied with the second prince of Wintersin¡¯s little drama¡ªpulled between keeping an army of God-worshiping vampires who were still hungry for blood in check and secretly guarding Morgan.


    And after the delightful mess of three years caused by the outsiders, poor Vlad found himself utterly incapable of reaching out to rescue Yvain. Proving once again that sometimes, even the saviors have their hands tied.


    At the same time, because of their agreement, Isaiah was confined to the moon.


    "One of the reasons you stayed here despite everything that happened in Nethermere was not only to guard our treasures¡­ but also to guard¡ª"


    The door to the chamber behind Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons cracked open, revealing a truly unnerving sight: a giant, lifeless body of a black dragon sprawled out in lazy repose.


    If it could stand on its back feet, it could tower at a terrifying 100 feet from back foot to head¡ªminus the tail, which could probably clear a small village. It looked like it had decided to take an extended power nap, blissfully unaware of its current predicament. Dead.


    Its scales glistened darkly, hinting at an unsettling sheen, as if it had bathed in the essence of despair itself while soaking up bad dreams as a midnight snack.


    The wings, folded like the curtains of a morbid theater, loomed ominously beside it, while an expression that might have been regal if it weren''t so deathly still creased its elongated snout.


    While the body was undeniably devoid of life, it bore an unnerving freshness, as if it had been laid to rest just a heartbeat ago.


    Perhaps it was simply on a long vacation from life, dying to reclaim its throne of nightmares. In this moment, it seemed the dragon might just fly off to the next horror show¡ªif it hadn¡¯t already called it quits for good¡ª


    ¡°My father, the Demon Lord,¡± Isaiah introduced, his voice heavy with gravity. ¡°Nay, but a remnant of his once-mighty essence.¡±


    This weighty truth was but half the rationale for his ceaseless vigil over the moon. It was the real reason he had to live here until today.


    ¡°Though his corporeal form no longer wields menace, it remains the vessel of a Demon Lord. To remove it from the planet, away from any source of mana and corruption, is the wisest course,¡± Morgan said.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Burn muttered. ¡°I wanna roast it for dinner.¡±


    At that, Isaiah nearly choked on his own saliva, while a grin crept across Morgan¡¯s face.


    But lo, all these matters began to align within his understanding. The world had been thrown into chaos three years past, yet its descent had been a slow unraveling over the course of five centuries.


    Still, there remained souls like Morgan, Vlad, and Isaiah, who bore the mantle of responsibility, endeavoring to mend the fraying seams of reality, bit by bit.


    Until, alas¡­ betrayal.


    ¡°I have heard that thou art in want of a blade,¡± Isaiah suddenly said with a smile.


    Burn¡¯s ears perked up.


    ¡°Verily, I possess a collection of fine swords from which to choose,¡± the dragon excitedly lured Burn to follow him, and he was baited like a little boy promised a trip to a brand-new toy store.


    On the other hand, Morgan was left there, her face slowly frowning at the rift in the void over the world of Nethermere. ¡°Nemo,¡± she called her catalyst, prompting it to float to her. ¡°Calculate this equation for me.¡±


    Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons started to glow, following Morgan¡¯s orders.

 146 - Worthy Sword

    ¡°Unlike Master Vlad, who hath mastered his Vision more than his Force, I find myself more inclined towards Force Art and have devoted much time to hone my skills. Five centuries have passed; I am not as I once was,¡± Isaiah said.


    The dragon smiled. ¡°I shall offer thee a worthy sword. In return, thou shalt spar with me.¡±


    Burn grinned. ¡°Sure, but just once. I have to bring Morgan back before tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°It shall not take long,¡± Isaiah nodded.


    Another door to a chamber creaked open, revealing an array of legendary weapons that dazzled Burn''s eyes. Each type of weapon, whether enchanted or merely unique, bore the weight of history''s annals.


    A mere glance confirmed that each one shimmered with glory, equal in worth to his last trusty sword, rest in peace.


    ¡°What weapon do you prefer to wield?¡± Burn asked.


    Isaiah hummed thoughtfully, ¡°A spear.¡±


    Burn nodded, suppressing a smirk. With purpose, he strode toward the rows of long swords, searching for just one¡ªsturdy and balanced enough for a general''s use.


    After all, practicality in the heat of battle should never be underestimated, even amidst such legendary distractions.


    ¡°All of them are decent,¡± Burn said.


    Isaiah grinned. ¡°Doth it render it difficult to choose?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll just choose randomly,¡± Burn touched the one with the longest blade.


    ¡°Pray, allow me to offer mine recommendations,¡± Isaiah said, stepping closer. He waved his hand, revealing a new chamber deep in the room. This one housed a massive, broken horn¡ªtowering at 20 feet.


    Burn narrowed his eyes and then turned his face to Isaiah and his broken horn on his head.


    ¡°Thou art correct. This one is mine,¡± Isaiah said.


    Burn frowned. ¡°No, this is weird. A sword made of the horn of a dead dragon, sure, but someone I know who is alive? That¡¯s almost gay.¡±


    The corner of Isaiah¡¯s lips twitched, and a vein popped on his cheek. ¡°By thy reasoning, utilizing the horn of a fallen dragon is verily necrophilic.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t being serious. I was asking if you were serious about offering me your horn,¡± Burn said dryly.


    ¡°Do not make it sound weird!¡± Isaiah turned blue.


    Burn sighed and pointed at the room. ¡°I mean, the way you store it is like storing a secret, erected dragon¡¯s dildo behind your other shiny regular toys.¡±


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    ¡°I possess not such inclinations!¡± Isaiah snapped. ¡°Moreover, thou nearly didst select the one with the longest blade. Is that not somewhat ¡®gay¡¯ as well?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just practical. If you want to argue, a spear is longer than a longsword,¡± Burn sneered.


    ¡°Desirest thou my broken horn or not?¡± Isaiah sounded tired now.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make it sound weird!¡± Burn yelled. ¡°Besides, I need a ready-made sword, not a legendary material to make a sword.¡±


    Isaiah snapped his finger, face deadpan, and the 20-foot-tall horn shapeshifted into a longsword with a long blade, perfectly to Burn¡¯s preference.


    ¡°Oooh, a two-in-one dildo,¡± Burn hummed, impressed.


    ¡°This wretch¡ª!¡±


    ¡°I love you, homie,¡± Burn winked with a little click of his cheek.


    ¡°Thy Holiness! Restrain thy husband!¡± Isaiah''s face was dark, gritting his jaw as he felt violent goosebumps.


    Burn chuckled as he called forth the sword. As he reached for the hilt and grasped it, he felt that he would never find a sword like this again.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Burn began to wonder. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you use this as your own weapon? If you can change it into a longsword, you can certainly change it into a spear too, right?¡±


    ¡°Utilizing mine own body part as a weapon doth feel most peculiar,¡± Isaiah replied.


    Burn narrowed his eyes in disgust at the sword again.


    ¡°I jested. I employed it not, for I favor this one instead,¡± Isaiah deadpan called forth one of the spears as it flew into his grasp. ¡°This is wrought from my late mother¡¯s horn.¡±


    Isaiah laid it out: dragon body parts, including those impressive horns, were still tied to the dragon¡¯s main body in some way. This meant they could shapeshift like dragons too, but only if the dragon gave it the old thumbs-up.


    Now, once a dragon kicked the bucket, those body parts were pretty much stuck like that forever. That meant if you had some horns still attached to a dead dragon, they¡¯d stay horns, and getting them off required some serious tools and a craftsman who knew what they were doing.


    Since those horns lost their shapeshifting options post-mortem, they became more of a raw material. Sure, you could process them to create fancy weapons or boost existing gear, but they¡¯d be a shadow of their former selves.


    Weapons made from those living, shapeshifting horns? Yeah, they were leagues tougher and more reliable. But good luck finding a dragon willing to chop off a bit of themselves for a weapon. They tend to be a bit attached to their bodies, after all.


    Unless, of course, they suspected their days were numbered and figured, ¡°Hey, why not leave a piece of me for the next generation?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I¡¯m flattered,¡± Burn remarked, grasping the long sword with a practiced confidence.


    He balanced it expertly in his hand, as if it were merely a dagger from the royal cutlery set, rather than a weapon meant for the kind of endeavors that generally ended with a fair amount of bloodshed. ¡°So, now, what¡¯s left is the oh-so-joyous spar.¡±


    ¡°Come with,¡± Isaiah commanded, his tone lacking the enthusiasm typically reserved for less deadly activities, like baking cookies.


    They departed the weapon chamber, venturing deeper into the cave. To Burn¡¯s surprise, they stumbled upon an expansive hall, illuminated by the faint glow of magical orbs, which did wonders for the cave¡¯s surprisingly dreary vibe.


    The cave stretched before them¡ªan enormous, empty expanse punctuated only by bare columns reaching skyward, resembling a forest that had long forgotten its own purpose.


    One might have thought a lack of vision had the resident artist pull an installation piece on a particularly uninspired Tuesday, leaving this hall as an empty testament to ambition gone horribly wrong.


    Burn swung his new sword, the blade cutting through the stale air. Adapting to its weight was an act akin to forging a new relationship¡ªexcept without the awkward small talk and inevitable breakdowns.


    For a warrior, after all, a sword was an extension of their very being, much like a limb. Acquiring a new sword was like going through a mid-life crisis, wherein one casually replaces their own arm with a flashy new model, replete with all the bells and whistles one could hope for.


    ¡°Ready?¡± he asked, with the sort of bravado reserved for a man who does not know the true meaning of worry.


    Isaiah raised his spear and chuckled. ¡°Please.¡±

 147 - Friendly Spar

    In both of his showdowns against the White Dwarf, Burn found himself in quite the pickle. Relying on his original Force Magic style? Forget it.


    The White Dwarf¡¯s long-range weapon had an accuracy that could make a sharpshooter weep, powered by an impressive ensemble of people, spaceships, and AI. Quite the party, wasn''t it?


    Burn¡¯s magic thrived on the intimacy of close and mid-range combat. Precision, timing, and countering techniques were his life¡¯s blood. But against this ridiculous long-range threat, you could say the whole dynamic of battle took a dramatic turn¡ªlike a bad plot twist.


    His ability to dominate at close quarters, controlling proximity, fast reaction and battlefield space management? Well, the thing was, the White Dwarf wasn¡¯t just powerful; it was also intelligent, having the ability to anticipate his every move and shutting down his typical tactics like a bouncer at a club.


    Simply overpowering the opponents like he used to with his physical or magical force was a bit out of reach at the time.


    But Burn adapted. Absorbing energy from the attacks became his new favorite pastime. As the war dragged on, he figured he¡¯d better expand his range to cover the expanding war.


    Enter the evolution of his style: aerial long-range swordsmanship. This twist gave his magic the reach and versatility he needed to combat an opponent that was basically playing a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole.


    Of course, that constant targeting and the requisite dance moves disrupted the rhythm of his original style. How charming. Burn¡¯s once-reliable strategies of closing gaps and controlling space now felt like trying to take a nap in a rock concert¡ªutterly pointless in the face of those precise long-range attacks.


    Every brave attempt to close in for the kill was met with the kind of accuracy that would leave even the most optimistic swordsman in despair.


    But his evolution allowed him to flip the script, cleverly overcoming the limitations of his original style.


    Well, it certainly wasn¡¯t a limitation in the first place, was it? If he¡¯d only possessed the strength he has now, any opponent¡ªno matter how precise, far-flung, or elusive¡ªwould have been nothing more than a fleeting annoyance.


    After all, being faster, stronger, and utterly unpredictable has its perks. He was still a whirlwind of chaos¡ªonly, you know, a very well-aimed chaos.


    Precise, ruthless, and undeniably dominating, he had found the sweet spot where he didn¡¯t have to compromise his style. Adaptation? Pssh, that¡¯s for the weak. That¡¯s the past now.


    Why dilute a masterpiece when you could simply overpower everything in your path?


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    CLASH!!!


    Thus, returning to a one-on-one battle like this was the best way to test it. The moment he clashed weapons with Isaiah, a thrill coursed through him; this was going to be great.


    ¡°Hah!¡± Isaiah snorted. ¡°How art thou but a mere mortal?!¡±


    ¡°It seems my expectations for dragons are too high,¡± Burn replied, a sneer playing on his lips.


    Isaiah, though accustomed to dominance, faltered, narrowing his reptilian eyes. This man¡ªthis human¡ªbore a strength that posed a genuine challenge. How could he acquire a body comparable in strength to a dragon like him? His grip tightened around the spear, its tip gleaming in the dim light.


    Burn lunged first, like a storm, his longsword slashing through the air. Isaiah pivoted, sidestepping and delivering a swift thrust of his spear. The blade met the spear¡¯s shaft with a resounding CLANG, the shock reverberating up his arms.


    ¡°Kgh!¡± Isaiah gritted his teeth, but also grinned.


    ¡°A little more effort, perhaps?¡± Burn teased, pushing back with surprising force¡ªa mere flick of the wrist sent Isaiah stumbling.


    With a growl, Isaiah regained his footing. He pivoted and unleashed a series of swift thrusts, spear darting like a striking serpent toward Burn¡¯s exposed side. Burn was quick, parrying each thrust with calculated grace, letting the spear slide off his blade, the metal singing defiantly as they danced.


    The effect of their fight might not have been visible, as even a contained spar like this also required greater strength.


    ¡°Is this your idea of finesse?¡± Burn quipped as he countered, swinging his sword horizontally. It sliced through the air, aiming for Isaiah''s midsection. An agile roll saved him, but it was a futile move; Burn followed swiftly, the long blade curving like water¡¯s flow.


    ¡°Too predictable dost thou render thyself!¡± Isaiah retorted, thrusting upward as he regained balance, testing the waters with another rapid-fire series of jabs, faking high and then targeting low.


    Burn blocked each blow, wit matching weapon. ¡°You¡¯re clever, I¡¯ll give you that,¡± he said, feet shuffling as he worked to counter the onslaught, his longsword dancing in a deadly arc. ¡°But brains don¡¯t win battles alone.¡±


    Isaiah smirked, sweeping his spear low to trip Burn, but the man leaped gracefully, spinning to deliver a backhand strike.


    CLASH!!!


    ¡°Art thou out of breath yet?¡± Isaiah taunted, knowing full well how this was going to end.


    ¡°Too bad,¡± Burn chuckled. ¡°It seems we met too late. Just a couple of weeks ago, we could¡¯ve had an equal opportunity to win.¡±


    CLANG!!!


    Suddenly, their clash no longer sounded as crisp. Isaiah¡¯s spear was knocked back¡ª


    ¡°Thou growest ever more audacious, Son of Arthur!¡±


    It was a split second, but suddenly, black scales erupted across Isaiah''s skin. Those scales were not mere decorations; they were the heralds of his transformation, glistening darkly under the pallid light, as if the shadows themselves were peeling away to reveal a creature of nightmares.


    Matching his burgeoning stature, which was almost 8 feet now¡ªfrankly, just enough to make the average doorway feel like an obstacle course¡ªhis spear seemed to have taken some performance-enhancing steroids.


    It elongated and thickened, transforming from a mere weapon into an absurdly large extension of his very will.


    Isaiah¡¯s eyes glowed amber, burning with a smoldering intensity that could rival a campfire on a chilly night. They emitted trails of smoke-like mana, swirling and curling in lazy patterns.


    At that moment, he looked less like a man and more like an ancient myth come to life. But, as the scales settled and the spark in his gaze turned from chaotic to commanding, it was clear that this was more than just a show.


    ¡°Thou canst not claim to have battled a dragon without indeed contending with one,¡± Isaiah smirked.


    Burn shook his head. ¡°Transform or shapeshift all you want. It won¡¯t change a thing.¡±

 148 - Vessel Immortality

    Five hundred years had slithered by, and Isaiah found himself a weathered dragon rather than the youthful pride he once brandished.


    In his earlier days, being the weakest among his formidable companions was a humbling experience¡ªone that didn''t do wonders for his ego.


    Urien, the revolutionary Force Art user, had sparked the glorious epoch known as the Force Golden Age. His strength was so intimidating that it left Isaiah feeling more like a barely flickering candle in a bonfire of arrogance.


    Then there was Apostle Romeuf, whose remarkable ability to wield Holy Energy as if it were mere mana had Isaiah questioning the very nature of power. Who wouldn¡¯t feel a little inadequate watching someone command celestial forces while he struggled to lift his own tail?


    Vlad, the vampire, not quite the titan of strength, managed to be extraordinary in his own right. He hadn¡¯t just mastered Vision Art but had the audacity to master Force Art as well. Honestly, who did he think he was? A triple threat?


    Of course, Merlin reigned supreme among them all, an undeniable behemoth whose strength left even mountains trembling in envy. Morgan, on the other hand, had been born special.


    Now, Isaiah, after five hundred years of patient waiting¡ªwell, one would hope such extensive time would translate into growth¡ªhad hoped to surpass any of them.


    He embraced the rich tapestry of their legacies, his scales shimmering with the vibrant promise of a dragon who understood that time was his ally.


    With a long lifespan and the mythical ¡°strongest birth privileges¡± to guide him, he was on a unique journey of growth and transformation. Rather than merely competing in an endless game of ¡°Who¡¯s the Strongest?¡±, Isaiah recognized the power of patience and perseverance.


    With every passing century, he evolved, stronger and wiser than he had been 500 years ago. He began to see that true strength wasn''t solely about conquering rivals, but also about self-discovery and embracing his own potential.


    He manifested his Vision.


    TWANG! CLASH! CLASH! SLASH!


    Isaiah pivoted, his spear glimmering with purpose, a sharp contrast to the raw and precise force that was Burn.


    The air crackled with tension, and with his scales reflecting the light, he was well aware of the spectacle he was a part of. Burn, with the elegance of a predator, swung his longsword, carving arcs that seemed to dance through the air.


    Trying to penetrate dragon scales was akin to attempting to pierce the world¡¯s mightiest armor made from the purest pride. With his body fully clad in protection, Isaiah didn¡¯t feel the need to dodge as much.


    Yet, let¡¯s be real¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t actually let Burn strike him cleanly. His scales might hold up against a light drizzle, but he imagined that a solid hit would do little more than leave him with reassuring scratches.


    And Burn? Well, Burn dominated the space around him with an air of unyielding might¡ªa presence Isaiah had never found himself up against before.


    ¡°Urien, Romeuf, even mine own father¡­¡± Isaiah began, deflecting a downward strike intended for his shoulder, the spear¡¯s shaft buzzing with the vibration of the impact. ¡°They are naught in comparison to thee, art they?¡±


    ¡°So Morgan wasn¡¯t lying,¡± Burn replied, a glint of amusement brightening his eyes even as he shifted his stance, muscles coiling for the next strike.


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    Isaiah lunged, thrusting the spear forward. It was a calculated move, targeting Burn¡¯s midsection.


    But Burn sidestepped with a lofty grace, retaliating with a swift horizontal slice. Isaiah ducked, the blade swishing mere inches above him, his heart racing as he spun to regain his footing.


    ¡°Nice try,¡± Burn taunted, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk. ¡°Risky. But great.¡±


    ¡°Am I fated to roam in an age most ill-suited? From the dawn of mine existence, many hath eclipsed mine every endeavor,¡± with a growl, Isaiah capitalized on Burn¡¯s overcommitment.


    He twirled, bringing the spear¡¯s shaft around to strike at Burn¡¯s knee. The blow connected, sending a shockwave through Burn¡¯s leg, but the man merely grunted. He countered with a quick jab of his sword, the tip seeking Isaiah¡¯s throat.


    SSSSRRRRING!


    It scratched his neck¡ª¡°Egad,¡± Isaiah cursed.


    ¡°Let us maintain civility,¡± Isaiah quipped, maneuvering under the blade and deflecting it with his horn, the tip of his spear aiming for Burn''s belly. ¡°For it is but a friendly spar, is it not!¡±


    Burn twisted, using his momentum to create distance and avoiding Isaiah¡¯s tail whip at the same time, then lunged again, this time with a fierce upward slash aimed at Isaiah¡¯s abdomen. Isaiah parried in haste, his spear clashing against the longsword with a thunderous clash that reverberated through the battlefield.


    CLAANGGG!!!


    ¡°You¡¯re getting better, I¡¯ll give you that,¡± Burn remarked, stepping back briefly, a fleeting moment of respect flickering in his eyes. ¡°But can you keep up?¡±


    With a fierce grin, Isaiah surged forward. ¡°What substance doth comprise thy body?!¡±


    ¡°Hahahah!¡± Burn laughed, finding his question genuinely funny, parrying Isaiah¡¯s final attack.


    CLASH!


    ¡°Answer me!¡± Isaiah demanded, his knee kissing the ground as he transformed back to his humanoid form.


    ¡°I absorbed the pure heat energy of a dying sun,¡± Burn replied, an air of nonchalance accompanying his admission. ¡°Morgan helped with the transformation. This body is no longer... well, the DNA is still human, of course, but it¡¯s evolved into my own little design project.¡±


    Isaiah frowned, skepticism etched across his features. ¡°Dying sun... dost thou profess this to be the zenith of Force Art?¡±


    Burn nodded, planting the sword firmly in the ground, leaning on it like a crutch. ¡°My body won¡¯t tear, and even if it does, it¡¯ll commence self-healing immediately. Aging abolished. My body clings to the finest version of itself, retaining the data and memory to fabricate the perfect cell it ever produced.¡±


    ¡°No more deterioration for me. Cancer? Not on my watch. Aging? Like I said, nope. Evolving? Mutating? Only if I give it a thumbs up.¡±


    In theory, the main cause of aging was the imperfect production of cells, data corrupted like an old VHS tape struggling to play. Over the years, it was as if our bodies decided to photocopy fading documents, ink smudging, and original data disappearing.


    The ability to replace failing cells? Yeah, that dropped off like a bad date¡ªslowly and with plenty of awkward pauses.


    Isaiah''s lips thinned into a line. ¡°But if thou dost draw thy might from a stellar body, wouldst not its radiation lend a pall upon thy regenerative revelry? Is not the sun the cosmic embodiment of unbridled calamity?¡±


    Burn waved his hand dismissively, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. ¡°If you think of sun energy as just energy¡ªlike mana or Holy Energy¡ªit¡¯s not a stretch to say it¡¯s all relative.¡±


    ¡°Initially, I could only contain it and process it slowly. Now? I integrate it fully. It¡¯s still energy, after all.¡±


    With a flick of his wrist, he bent light above his palm with mere intense heat. ¡°We often transform mana to mimic the sun¡¯s destructive energy, but what if we flipped the script? The sun, into mana.¡±


    ¡°That be clever,¡± Isaiah muttered. ¡°Perchance ''tis my draconic privilege that doth stifle my creativity. I believed I hath already attained my zenith, yet I was wrong. Thou hast triumphed in this spar, Son of Arthur.¡±


    Burn chuckled. He might have overpowered him, but deep down, he knew that if Isaiah truly unleashed his full strength¡ªwith both his Force and Vision somehow working in harmony¡ªhe could, without a doubt, leave a mark on Burn''s supposedly imperishable form.


    Isaiah¡¯s humble nature really contrasted with what people think of dragons. Perhaps it was because of his past and his struggle. That was why he refrained from actually unleashing all he had in this spar.


    ¡°Pray tell, to what extent can thy body attain?¡± Isaiah asked.


    ¡°Well, now, I cannot be physically killed unless faced with powers greater than my own,¡± Burn stated calmly. ¡°And even if my soul deteriorates or departs this realm, my body will remain impervious to decomposition.¡±


    Isaiah¡¯s eyes widened, a mix of awe and disbelief. ¡°And is this achievable without any form of preservation?¡±


    Burn nodded slowly. ¡°Yes. Without the need for any preservation techniques, nothing in this world could break my body back down to dirt.¡±


    The man hummed.


    ¡°I call this state of being as vessel immortality.¡±

 149 - Calculations

    ¡°Vessel immortality,¡± Isaiah hummed.


    Burn smiled. ¡°Morgan said that, judging by my power now, I could handle Urien and Romeuf at the same time and they wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Then, about your father, the¡­ Demon Lord¡­¡±


    ¡°It is well enough to address him thus. I possess no sensitivity towards it,¡± Isaiah smiled.


    ¡°She said I¡¯d handle his situation with ease,¡± Burn said.


    Isaiah nodded in agreement. ¡°By thine actions towards the outsiders, verily, if thou hadst walked the earth in yonder days, my father would never have found himself as strong,¡±


    ¡°So, was the situation back then handled poorly?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Nay, ¡®tis not as poorly handled as thy tongue would suggest. The world then lay divided, not solely ¡®twixt races, but between kin and clans of the same blood. All was in disarray. Hence, when the Demon Lord did manifest, the folk were ill-prepared to counter him,¡± the dragon explained.


    Burn crossed his arms. ¡°Morgan¡­ no, never mind.¡±


    Isaiah smiled, ¡°Dost thou harbor curiosity regarding thy wife?¡±


    Burn nodded.


    ¡°She shall most likely divulge all thou seekest,¡± Isaiah said. ¡°And if aught she conceals, it be assuredly to shield thee from that knowledge,¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Burn said.


    Isaiah led him outside of the cave. Looking at the sky, it was strange that they could no longer see the moon because they were on it, and could only see the blue planet.


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay is the purest soul I have ever encountered,¡± Isaiah said. ¡°As her junior and comrade in many a fray, I do hold her in great reverence.¡±


    Burn felt a strange tingling in his heart. It wasn¡¯t like him to feel this emotion, but it was all too familiar. An emotion he had always had in his heart, since he was little.


    Jealousy.


    ¡°Hast mine words struck a tender chord?¡± Isaiah smiled.


    Burn married the strongest woman in the world, who also happened to be the most beautiful and kind. It would be weird if he didn¡¯t feel some jealousy, but more so, anxiety.


    He always believed that anxiety emerged from one¡¯s inability or insecurity, but that wasn¡¯t always the case. It was human to feel the fear of losing one¡¯s most cherished. And feelings like that weren¡¯t all that negative.


    ¡°To me, Lady Momo is my cherished senior, a beacon of virtue. She was the first to extend her hand to my humble self. This gift she hath granted to many. Her might doth not lie solely in her infinite soul or her celestial beauty; nay, it is her absolute kindness that shines brightest,¡± Isaiah said.


    Burn remembered the day she embraced him, even though he thought she would push him away. Facing someone like that, even a ball of mud like him would fall in love.


    ¡°So, I¡¯ll ask you the most important thing,¡± Burn said. ¡°Do you romantically admire her?¡±


    ¡°Good heavens, forsake me from such musings; I am no lunatic,¡± Isaiah felt goosebumps running up and down his body. ¡°She may be devastatingly fair, incomparably strong, and ultimately benevolent, but after all the bizarre acts she hath done?¡±


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    ¡°Ever?¡± Burn asked.


    Isaiah fell silent for a moment. ¡°In youth, the Holiness was the coveted white moonlight and the inaugural crush of many. Even yon Urien¡­ Cast not aspersions upon me for this.¡±


    So it was her own fault no one actually loved her deeply. Superficial love from appearance, strength, and kindness alone wouldn¡¯t count because loving her for who she truly was went deeper than that.


    Then why him? Or how could he?


    ¡°All this sapient discourse doth drain the spirit; men such as we seldom indulge in such confessions. How can we, of all folk, engage in this?¡± Isaiah felt a bit awkward and disgusted. ¡°Social intricacies art never my forte.¡±


    Burn shrugged. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Silence.


    Not even a wind since this was the moon.


    ¡°Oh, cease this awkwardness! Why dost thou wax sentimental all of a sudden?!¡± Isaiah¡¯s face was a bit red, more from embarrassment than anger.


    ¡°Felt like speaking with a close friend,¡± Burn said suddenly.


    ¡°AAAAAHH! CEASE! FIVE HUNDRED YEARS HAVE I LANGUISHED UPON THIS DESOLATE MOON! DO NOT SUBJECT ME TO THIS!¡±


    Socially awkward dragon¡ªno, introvert dragon.


    ¡°HAST THOU NO SHAME?!¡± How could this human be this vulnerable in front of him? Is he crazy?


    ¡°They say two men who have sparred and clashed weapons are closer than married couples,¡± Burn smiled.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!¡± Isaiah clutched his ears. ¡°DISGUSTING!¡±


    Burn¡¯s shoulders trembled with laughter, while Isaiah, who had just experienced the first gay joke slash ¡®kiss the homie goodnight¡¯ in his long life, almost pulverized into pure light.


    ***


    Walking back to the hall, Burn found himself increasingly exasperated with the mode of communication here on the moon. Using mana to vibrate sounds directly into his ears felt less like a casual chat and more like enduring a relentless ear bug.


    The peculiarities of lunar gravity and the absence of atmosphere rendered meaning an odd and sluggish affair¡ªany object that fell plummeted at a fixed speed, but also slow.


    ¡°Doth the condition upon the moon commence to vex thy mind?¡± Isaiah ventured, his tone a delightful blend of sympathy and mild amusement.


    ¡°Mm,¡± Burn replied. ¡°My body has adapted, but my brain is starting to feel like it''s swimming through molasses. The mental exhaustion is a bit too much.¡±


    The vacuum that enveloped them was a constant reminder of the moonscape¡¯s harshness, a stark contrast to any semblance of comfort.


    Still, here was this dragon, an ancient being that had somehow navigated the absurdity of lunar living for over five centuries. Speaking to him, clearly, Isaiah had developed an honest, awkward, and dry sense of humor as a defense mechanism.


    Upon entering the hall, they were met with the sight of Morgan, blissfully unaware of the irritations surrounding her.


    Her eyes were closed, and Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons spun and whirred in front of her. The screen on the ceiling flashed details of the rift over the planet, as though it were mocking the very notion of peace.


    Both Burn and Isaiah exchanged glances, a silent agreement hanging between them: interrupting her now would be bad. Whatever mystic ballet Morgan performed was undoubtedly important.


    After a while, the catalyst ceased its spinning and whirring, and Morgan opened her eyes.


    ¡°What were you doing?¡± Burn inquired as he ambled over, extending a hand as if offering kindness or perhaps just a lifebuoy.


    Morgan turned, her smile bright as a comet, and grasped his offered hand. ¡°Just simple calculations.¡±


    ¡°For¡­?¡±


    ¡°Escaping,¡± she replied. ¡°I¡¯ve found some hidden places near this galaxy to stash our world away, restoring peace.¡±


    Isaiah and Burn narrowed their eyes. As if hiding a planet was akin to tucking a wayward sock under the bed.


    Memories of Morgan''s earlier feat flashed in Burn''s mind¡ªhow she had meticulously studied the discreet location of Nethermere and crafted a ten-circled barrier to further hide the world.


    And now, here she was again, contemplating relocating the world, hiding it once more.


    ¡°With magic?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Just exploring some options,¡± Morgan shrugged.


    Burn closed his eyes momentarily, smiled helplessly, and nodded. ¡°Of course, Madam. Why not add planetary migration to your resume?¡±


    He glanced at the massive rift looming over the planet, a dark specter tethered to their existence. It didn¡¯t just hover ominously; it moved in tandem with the planet''s trajectory, as if it were a shadow chasing the sun, destined to engulf everything in its path.


    ¡°But you know I don¡¯t like that idea, right?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan nodded. ¡°Of course, you¡¯d prefer the approach of confronting them head-on. I know. I believe it¡¯s also the most effective method. Running away is just postponing the inevitable.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Burn nearly interjected, his tone sharp. ¡°You don¡¯t have to martyr yourself for the world again.¡±


    Morgan raised her gaze to meet his. It was a rare moment to see Burn appear solemn. ¡°Let me share the burden with you.¡± He then smiled. ¡°By now, you should¡¯ve been tired of it, right?¡±


    Morgan snorted.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go home.¡±

 150 - Galahad’s Burden

    Galahad had never been this burdened in his life.


    Yes, he had agreed to substitute for Burn; it was a decision he now questioned with every fiber of his being. He had acted the best he could, yet it felt like he was carrying a mountain on his shoulders.


    ¡°Your Majesty, the Junior Fleet Admiral has requested your audience for today. You must attend the meeting as scheduled,¡± an aide said, delivering the news with all the urgency of a pebble rolling down a hill.


    Galahad sighed, stroking the hair of the deeply asleep woman on his lap. From his perspective, she was his comrade and partner, the fiery red-haired Landevale Leodegrance. For others, however, she was the angel in the flesh, Morgan Le Fay.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you see my wife is asleep and unwell? Get out,¡± Galahad commanded coldly.


    The aide flinched in fear before bowing and exiting the room. After a bit, Landevale opened her eyes, her cheeks ablaze with a bright crimson hue as she glared at him in indignation.


    Ah, yes. This was indeed the greatest burden.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t returned. You have to pretend to be sick and keep me here,¡± he insisted, desperate. They needed to buy time.


    ¡°I know!¡± Landevale retorted through gritted teeth.


    Galahad pinched the bridge of his nose. If only this partner of his possessed a modicum of patience and understanding¡ªrather than being a tightly wound coil of awkwardness and rigidity.


    Who could truly substitute for the infinite witch, anyway? Even he, after everything, found it increasingly difficult to maintain the charade of being Burn. The weight of the man¡¯s responsibilities sat heavily upon him, sapping his strength and will.


    ¡°Now that His Majesty has Her Majesty with him, he¡¯s taken to retreating to his chamber more for sleep. Before, he rarely indulged in sleep¡ªhis body being in peak performance. How ironic that this newfound habit is our sole saving grace in this masquerade¡­¡±


    Landevale¡¯s face flared an even deeper shade of red. ¡°S-shut up!¡± Her embarrassment was almost endearing.


    For weeks now, Landevale had been forced to endure the peculiar intimacy of sharing Burn¡¯s chamber with Galahad each night¡ªshe just couldn¡¯t wait for this to end.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go to the bedroom and make some excuses,¡± Galahad declared, hoisting her into his arms like some medieval prince sweeping off his damsel.


    Landevale yelped. Honestly, no matter how many times this happened, she would never get comfortable being treated like a prize turkey ready for a feast.


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    Galahad trudged through the bustling corridor, passing staff and courtiers. ¡°If you¡¯re feeling shy, just close your eyes and hide your face like an ostrich burying its head in the sand,¡± Galahad said tiredly.


    The woman in his arms glanced down, her expression morphing into a complicated one for a fleeting moment, then promptly squeezed her eyes shut and nestled against his neck.


    Galahad nudged Landevale to open the room door and stepped inside, only to be greeted by¡ª


    ¡°Right on cue,¡± Burn stepped out of something that seemed to bend the fabric of existence itself, resembling a transparent, thin surface of water rippling vertically in the air.


    It appeared both fluid and solid, and the transparent ripples danced gracefully, creating a strange visual display. With each step forward, the ripples continued to cascade and shift. For a moment, reality seemed malleable.


    Beside him, Morgan stood there, her eyes looking so dim and tired they could probably be considered a black hole. A floating hourglass hovered over her right hand like a little loyal pet.


    ¡°My calculations are almost off¡­ dimension magic is such a pain¡­¡± she grumbled.


    Landevale jumped down from Galahad¡¯s arms in a flurry. Galahad, meanwhile, calmly closed the door¡ªclearly, the last thing he wanted was an audience.


    ¡°Are they here?¡± Burn asked.


    Galahad nodded, "Yes, Sir. The meeting¡¯s ready."


    ¡°Take off your clothes. We will switch now,¡± Burn declared.


    At that moment, Landevale and Galahad collectively sighed, an outpouring of relief that silently echoed through the room like a once-in-a-lifetime symphony.


    After they exchanged clothes, Burn told Galahad and Landevale to leave through the balcony and return to their quarters to rest. Galahad didn¡¯t even hesitate. He left the room without a backward glance, as if there was a fire in the hallway.


    Landevale was a bit surprised to see Galahad¡¯s eagerness to leave the completed mission behind. For weeks, they had been living together almost like husband and wife¡ªsharing everything except, apparently, the ability to say goodbye. And now, just like that, he was off?


    Nothing at all? Not even a casual ¡°It¡¯s been real¡± or a heartfelt ¡°See you around?¡± No lingering glances? No heartfelt speeches about the significance of their ¡°bond¡±? Just a swift exit as if he had just remembered he left the oven on?


    ¡°Galahad!¡± Landevale called as they arrived at the knights¡¯ quarter.


    Galahad turned to her, frowning as if she were a particularly pesky mosquito. ¡°Why are you following me? Your quarter is the opposite direction.¡±


    ¡°You actually¡­ hate doing all those things with me, huh?¡± Landevale pondered aloud, her gaze drifting to his tired visage. The days had not been kind, and now he couldn¡¯t even be bothered to meet her eyes, opting instead to retreat.


    ¡°You were the one who kept being reluctant. Why chase me now?¡± Galahad shot back, fatigue dripping from his words like rain from an overcast sky.


    Landevale looked upset, but she didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t even get a single kiss,¡± Galahad grumbled, his retreating figure leaving Landevale alone in the hallway, cheeks blooming like an awkward rose caught in the wrong season.


    Silence.


    Landevale buried her face in her hands and let out a squeal that was equal parts embarrassment, sheer panic, and the bizarre cocktail of emotions she did not yet admit. But slowly, her eyes morphed into a mixture of sadness and complexity.


    The past¡­ had long passed. She really shouldn¡¯t dwell on it again.


    Landevale shut her eyes tight, willing the unwelcome memory to retreat. For a moment, her expression bore the weight of sorrow. But then, a steely determination rose within her.


    The image of Burn¡¯s back, that steadfast silhouette, paired with the ever-loyal Galahad beside him in her mind, nagged at her. Landevale sneered, fixing her gaze on the vast blue sky and the giant rift outside the window, as if it held the answers to her turmoil.


    "It''s not time for something like this.¡±

 151 - See You Later

    ¡°You mean there was an incident before?¡± Yvain stood from his chair.


    This was his first day at school, and lo and behold, he¡¯d stumbled upon a lead. Investigating the Vision Resonator was turning out to be a more labyrinthine endeavor than he¡¯d ever imagined.


    ¡°Yes, there was an incident where a volunteer for a testing event awakened his vision and went on a rampage. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t kill him,¡± Finn Wilderwood said, a grim chuckle escaping him.


    Yvain frowned. ¡°And we still don¡¯t know who invented this contraption?¡±


    Finn shook his head, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. ¡°It seems the inventor is protected more fiercely than a royal heir¡ªhighly hidden, too. Even the patent documentation is locked tighter than a dragon¡¯s vault. Whoever it was, they had some serious clout.¡±


    ¡°Did the choice to use the academy grounds for this little experiment come from the one behind its creation? I don¡¯t like where this is heading¡­¡± Yvain muttered.


    ¡°But if the headmaster of the academy, Princess Bianca Lumine, agreed to host this wonder, doesn''t that imply¡­¡± Finn narrowed his eyes, trailing off as if afraid of the answer.


    ¡°For her to agree, safety measures must have been installed,¡± Yvain sighed. ¡°Which, knowing how this device works, could very well translate to ¡®good luck, everyone!¡¯¡±


    The boy cringed at the thought that children like him were in close proximity to that thing. Vulnerable people like Blair Inkor, and maybe even himself, and quite a high risk of falling into a rampage.


    Finn contemplated, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. ¡°We should consult His and Her Majesty, after all.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Yvain shook his head firmly, ¡°They¡¯re busy right now.¡±


    ***


    Morgan had begun calculating the day of her imminent ¡®death¡¯ based on the amount of soul energy she burned through each loop. This time, the clock wasn¡¯t just ticking¡ªit was practically screaming.


    Three day loop, four day maximum. This was the shortest loop they had ever experienced.


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s the outsiders?¡± Morgan asked Burn, who was busy donning Galahad¡¯s outfit.


    Burn shook his head. ¡°Last time, I died too, so we assumed it was something colossal. But just because I won¡¯t die this time doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯ll be a cozy little affair.¡±


    ¡°The fact that we returned to the day right after our last loop ended means I must have concluded we needed more preparation, right?¡± Morgan asked.


    ¡°We are prepared. I¡¯d rather think we came back just to send information to the past,¡± Burn replied.


    Morgan nodded. ¡°So, you¡¯re planning to face them yourself now?¡± she asked, with a hint of wry curiosity.


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    Burn hesitated, weighing the risks. ¡°Your death¡ªyou predicted it¡¯ll be either today or tomorrow, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Morgan answered cheerfully, as if she were discussing the weather.


    ¡°Should we stick together, then?¡± Burn ventured, the concern in his voice barely masked by his calm demeanor.


    Morgan chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°Are you that worried?¡±


    Now that Burn knew it was Morgan the outsiders were after, he was reluctant to let her face them. The surge of energy that allowed them to locate this hidden world was coming from her soul¡ªwhat if they had a device to recognize her?


    Even with the grim certainty that she would meet her end either today or tomorrow, Burn could feel bitterness settle in like an unwelcome guest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. Go face the Junior Fleet Admiral. I¡¯ll just take a look through your treasury and see if I can find anything that could¡¯ve killed your father years ago,¡± Morgan said with a soft smile.


    But Burn could hardly feel relieved¡ªit felt more like swallowing a bitter pill. Sure, it was unavoidable, but why did it have to be so soon? It irritated him. At least her searching through the treasury for corrupted items seemed unlikely to kill her. After all, she was the Original Saint.


    ¡°See you later,¡± Morgan said, bestowing a quick peck on the corner of his lips, then turning to find someone to lead her to the treasury.


    Burn walked briskly to the door just as she passed. He called out, ¡°Morgan.¡±


    She turned, eyebrows arched, curiosity lighting her face.


    ¡°Next loop, teach me how to manifest Vision,¡± Burn requested.


    Morgan¡¯s surprise was palpable. A moment later, her smile broadened like a cat who''d just spotted a particularly enticing mouse. ¡°You want to be a Vision user?¡±


    Burn nodded, feeling slightly ridiculous for how pleased her excitement made him. Of course, he wanted strength¡ªone didn¡¯t need the astuteness of an oracle to deduce that. Yet, to Morgan, his sudden revelation might have appeared rather hasty.


    ¡°Tell me, what¡¯s your motivation?¡± she inquired.


    Burn shrugged, feigning nonchalance. ¡°I want to learn the mind spell to read your memory. This way, you can share your perspective with me too. Especially when the loop resets.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Morgan hesitated, ¡°I don¡¯t mind, but even Master Vlad needed years to¡­ you know what? You¡¯re a genius. Perhaps you¡¯ll break a record.¡±


    Burn snorted.


    ¡°Bye, Bunny,¡± Morgan said, walking away backward, taking time to see his final smile just a bit longer.


    As she disappeared from view, Burn¡¯s expression morphed into something darker.


    He thought, wouldn¡¯t it be just perfect if he could bring her memory back to the past? Okay, not just her memory, but ¡®her¡¯. Because even if he had her perspective, the past her might have a different idea since she saw it through him, not experiencing it on her own.


    Sure, Morgan was still Morgan, even sans memories and feelings. She would likely come to the same conclusion, but returning to the past with a stripped-down version of her was just¡­ different.


    No, he wouldn¡¯t love her less. But these different versions of Morgan actually weighed on his mind. Not to mention he could hide his memory from her with his mental fortitude if he was insistent enough. It felt like manipulation¡ªBurn scoffed. So he had come to this. Ahh, the audacity of his own thoughts.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    Burn rubbed his forehead. The thought of him manipulating his memory to manipulate Morgan crossing his mind at all made him feel sick.


    Worse still was the specter of ¡®first loop Morgan¡¯.


    That version of her somewhat scared him more than anything else. If she truly existed¡ªand of course, she did; she vanished along with the world that perished when the loop reset¡ªjust knowing that Morgan, the one who despised him with such fervor, had ever been real gnawed at his insides.


    He had arrived at a new low.


    Was this the pinnacle of his desperation: a relentless quest to ensure she never loathed him? Whatever happened to his bravado about embracing the world¡¯s disdain as long as he could do as he pleased?


    He didn¡¯t want this kind of evil to be him.


    He cursed himself in an orchestra of profanities while walking, his expression a delightful canvas painted with anger and self-loathing. Ah yes, the potential he held¡ªa true marvel of self-sabotage.


    See you later, she said. Burn felt like punching a wall. He truly didn¡¯t want this later to be two days ago.

 152 - Fleet Admiral

    The vast hall interior of the spaceship, known as the Elysium, loomed with an air of grandeur and an unsettling sterility, as if it had been polished to within an inch of its existence.


    Gleaming metallic walls rose imperiously, smooth surfaces reflecting the overhead lights, which flickered occasionally as if even they questioned their own purpose.


    Enormous windows lined one side, offering a panoramic view of the inky abyss of space¡ªa magnificent void littered with stars and the occasional distant planet, resembling a celestial dusting of sugar on a black cake.


    For once, the hall¡¯s window didn¡¯t face the blue planet.


    At the heart of this spacecraft''s monumental chamber stood Senior Fleet Admiral Thaddeus Voss, an imposing figure whose forty years had not only etched lines of wisdom upon his weathered face but also gifted him with a well-honed sense of comedic timing.


    ¡°I¡¯m cooked,¡± he muttered. Dressed in a crisp navy uniform replete with insignia that screamed authority, he sported an expression that was equal parts contemplative and bemused, as if he were constantly replaying a bad joke in his mind.


    ¡°I¡¯m so fucked, this is so bad, I¡¯m dead, super dead, to the bone, simmering bone broth,¡± he looked pale. ¡°I want to drink bone broth before I go.¡±


    Why did the hall not face the world of Nethermere at this particular time? Well¡­


    With a disgruntled hum that made the void seem to twitch, a spaceship warped into view¡ªa sleek, metallic beast, all angles and arrogance.


    The ship exuded an air of entitlement, as if it were the universe¡¯s most exclusive dining establishment and they were merely the underdressed tourists sent to beg for a table.


    Its sudden appearance had drawn gasps from the gathered crowd a floor below, a collective inhalation that echoed off the walls, punctuated by the soft hiss of air vents trying to regain composure.


    This ship heralded the arrival of one of the Ten Overlords¡ªthe elite who scrutinized not just resources but the very essence of their existence. As if summoned by fate, or perhaps an overzealous cosmic joke, he was here to analyze, audit, and judge.


    Thaddeus, a mere flicker amongst titans, watched with dread, the kind that only came from knowing the futility of resistance.


    "This is not another day, another audit. This is¡­" he thought, a wry smile creeping onto his lips. ¡°Nothing says ¡®thank you for your service¡¯ like a visit from an Overlord.¡±


    His inner cynic stepped forward, reminding him that they¡¯d soon be laying their hopes and dreams at the feet of an entity likely more concerned with paperwork than planets. The universe might be grand, but bureaucracy was even grander.


    As the ship settled in, he straightened, ready to face judgment, all while feigning an enthusiasm he did not feel.


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    From the ship that had just warped into existence, a bridge of artificial atmosphere materialized, shimmering like a mirage in a desert of stars. It connected the sleek vessel to the grand hall, where tall windows flung open like the arms of a long-awaited lover.


    The door of the spaceship glided apart with a whisper that threatened to shatter the solemnity of the moment.


    A figure emerged, floating down the atmospheric bridge as if gravity were merely a suggestion.


    She was a vision of the future, wrapped in a cape that seemed woven from midnight itself, each fold glistening with tiny constellations¡ªa subtle tribute to the universe she commanded.


    Her skin glowed an ethereal silver under the hall¡¯s illumination, her eyes like swirling galaxies danced with mischief as they settled on Thaddeus Voss. Her hair, a cascading waterfall of iridescent strands, floated about her like curious tendrils seeking truth in the mundane.


    Behind her strode an entourage of elite space guards, clad in armor that was both practical and absurdly ornate. Their visors glinted ominously, and one could almost hear the melodramatic orchestration accentuating their march¡ªif only orchestras could be programmed on command like a well-trained pet.


    Thaddeus couldn¡¯t help but feel slightly underwhelmed by his own attire¡ªfuturistic, decorated, and appropriate as a senior fleet admiral, yes, but compared to her? Scoff.


    He had anticipated a visitor, but perhaps not one so resplendent. ¡°Ah, I see the universe has decided to send its ambassador of fabulousness,¡± he deadpanned in his mind.


    If he wasn¡¯t sent for this mission, maybe he¡¯d never have met this figure.


    As the woman approached, the air charged with an electric tension. The guards positioned themselves with the precision of a well-rehearsed dance, their presence a stark reminder that here, beauty was just as deadly as it was enchanting.


    ¡°Admiral Thaddeus Voss, I¡¯ve heard of your lifelong achievements.¡±


    Her voice was a curious blend¡ªdeep and resonant, yet undeniably feminine and mature as she addressed Thaddeus. Her expression? A masterclass in unreadability, flat yet adorned with relaxed eyebrows that suggested she might be considering how best to roast him for dinner.


    ¡°Lady Mahkato,¡± Thaddeus bowed low, putting on his best show of deference. ¡°It¡¯s an honor to host you in this project.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Mahkato replied, her gaze sweeping the room like a hawk. ¡°Where¡¯s Marquis Blitzen¡¯s son?¡±


    Thaddeus kept it simple, though his mind was anything but. ¡°He¡¯s... on business down on the settlement on land.¡±


    The senior fleet admiral knew that it was unheard of for someone of Rudolf¡¯s station to neglect an audience with one of the Ten Overlords. Even if the Marquis¡¯ son hailed from the illustrious Seven Heavens, protocol clearly dictated that he should drop everything for Lady Mahkato.


    Mahkato¡¯s eyes narrowed, a warning light flashing across her features. ¡°Tell me what business?¡±


    Here we go, Thaddeus thought grimly, readying himself for what felt like a ceremonial execution. What kind of urgent affairs could possibly eclipse her presence?


    ¡°We¡­¡± Thaddeus hesitated, grimacing as if bracing for impact, his words crawling at a snail''s pace.


    ZZZZZNNNGGG¡ª!


    ¡°Sir! A message from Admiral Rudolf¡¯s ship! Ah¡ªthe crew¡­ they¡¯re requesting a video meeting now!¡±


    A crew member burst in, fresh from the chaos, waving the portable communication device like a flag of surrender. The screen flickered to life, and what it revealed was so absurd that even Mahkato¡¯s eye seemed to twitch.


    The figure at the center of the screen loomed ominously¡ªdubbed Apex Two in the documents¡ªhis languid posture betraying an air of lazy superiority, looking down at Rudolf Blitzen, Thaddeus¡¯ Junior Admiral, with blades pressed against his neck.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Admiral,¡± the notorious tyrant of Nethermere began, clearly relishing the moment. ¡°I trust you¡¯ve heard about me.¡±


    ¡°But this marks our first official meeting, so allow me to extend the courtesy of an introduction,¡± he smirked, his charm laced with menace. ¡°I am Caliburn Pendragon.¡±

 153 - Mind Games

    ¡°How dare you¡­ Do you know who I am?!¡± Rudolf yelled, his voice taut with indignation. ¡°I am the son of Marquis Blitzen! I was born a noble from the Fifth Heaven! You dare capture me, you low-born tyrant¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, look at this!¡± Burn interjected with a throaty chuckle as one of Dirk¡¯s men, garbed in the heavy armor of his knights, presented the second White Dwarf, just unearthed from the junior fleet admiral¡¯s private ship. The figure''s helmet glinted menacingly in the dim light, a stinging contrast to Rudolf¡¯s blustering.


    Burn immediately cradled the weapon like a precious treasure, finally touching and examining it up close. ¡°Another White Dwarf! How delightful!¡±


    Thaddeus frowned, his visage tightening.


    After losing one of those formidable planet-destroying weapons, he had been racking his brain for a strategy to recover it. Yet here was Rudolf, unwittingly tossing another weapon into the mix, all while getting himself captured.


    ¡°Caliburn Pendragon, what is the meaning of this?¡± Thaddeus sharply asked, his voice a deep rumble, cloaked in wariness yet tinged with frustration.


    Letting his junior concoct a solution had been quite the miscalculation. Asking for the return of the lost weapon? How quaint. They were dealing with a tyrant, a man infamous for single-handedly decimating the first wave of the Alliance¡¯s troops.


    He should¡¯ve known.


    ¡°Oh, please,¡± Burn mocked, his voice a deep, teasing growl. ¡°Didn¡¯t you lose a White Dwarf to a gaggle of mercenaries intent on claiming my life? And now you have the gall to send your little junior on a retrieval mission?¡±


    Thaddeus had reservations about Rudolf personally descending to reclaim the weapon, especially given the young man''s hubris. Nonetheless, the lad had insisted he could engage in a discussion with the tyrant¡ªalways the optimist.


    The senior admiral had to acknowledge Rudolf¡¯s audacity suited a mission like this, coupled with his knack for discerning what others wanted. Yet, it seemed the tyrant¡¯s shamelessness outstripped even Rudolf¡¯s.


    The demands the tyrant made might¡¯ve been so outrageous that not even the Alliance could possibly meet them.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Thaddeus asked, his tone a simmering cauldron of fury.


    Burn shrugged with an air of unconcern. ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can provide that could possibly intrigue me. It was you who lost the weapon, after all. Why are you so surprised that I have zero intention of returning it?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes, it wasn¡¯t exactly a heartfelt handoff from you to me, but still, you lost it, I found it. Seems fair enough, wouldn¡¯t you agree? And let¡¯s not forget it was meant to terminate me,¡± Burn remarked, handing the weapon back to one of Dirk¡¯s lackeys. ¡°You asked what I want? Isn¡¯t it clear?¡±


    Thaddeus opened his mouth to unleash a retort but was interrupted by Mahkato stepping forward, her presence radiating an unsettling calm.


    ¡°I understand now,¡± she said. ¡°It seems our fleet misplaced the treasure we so generously entrusted to them, and it conveniently found its way into your hands.¡±


    Thaddeus bowed his head, a statue of defeat. This was the epitome of disastrous outcomes, and he knew his days were numbered as soon as this video transmission cut off. Mahkato¡¯s reputation for benevolence was well-known, yet she was notoriously difficult to manage.


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    ¡°You may keep the weapon. It¡¯s not as if we¡¯re running low on such trinkets,¡± Mahkato said suddenly, leaving Thaddeus and the others in stunned silence.


    ¡°Lady Mahkato¡ª¡±


    She raised a hand, silencing him. ¡°But my dear barbarian, might I inquire about your grand design behind detaining our admiral and conducting a raid on his personal vessel?¡±


    Her words dripped with menace, and it was a threat laden with substance¡ªa far cry from mere bluster. Sure, he took the weapon they¡¯d lost, but detaining an officer of the Alliance who¡¯d come to negotiate? Bold move.


    ¡°Oh, this guy?¡± Burn chuckled, a humorless spark in his eyes. ¡°Well, it seems he thought he could wreak havoc on this world with the shiny trinket he brought the moment I refused to return the first one you misplaced.¡±


    At that, Rudolf¡¯s expression morphed, his eyes bugging out like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Shame, anger, and a dash of arrogance flickered across his face. ¡°It was you who rejected the Alliance¡¯s generous offer! I suggested helping you conquer the land, and you¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Do I look like I need help?¡± Burn shot back, his tone so cold it could freeze fire.


    Mahkato couldn¡¯t help but marvel. This man harbored an unwavering belief in his own invincibility. Surviving the White Dwarf¡¯s assault? Apparently, that was enough to elevate him to godhood in his own mind, inflating his ego to grandiose proportions.


    But alas, even with such formidable power, he was merely a frog perched at the bottom of his own well, oblivious to the vastness outside.


    ¡°But it seems you really don¡¯t care about this world, do you?¡± Burn said, a hint of mockery lacing his words. ¡°After all, what could possibly captivate the minds of people like you in this barbarian¡¯s realm? And let¡¯s be honest, you wouldn¡¯t have bothered with a world-destroying weapon like the White Dwarf if your intention was merely to set up shop here.¡±


    There were two deliciously pointed implications in Burn¡¯s words. First, he understood that there was something the outsider desired in this world and, cunningly, he didn¡¯t plan to reveal that he knew it was Morgan. It was far more entertaining to appear curious, to feign ignorance about their true intentions.


    Second, the deployment of not one but two White Dwarfs made it abundantly clear just how much they valued this little planet. Burn was all too aware of its significance.


    The very presence of that world-destroyer was proof that their ambitions weren¡¯t merely about claiming dominion¡ªoh no¡ªthey were prepared to obliterate this place if their grand designs went awry.


    They were understandably cautious about the source of power they sought, yet the allure of it was evidently too intoxicating to resist. This world existed merely as a pop-up in the larger saga, but Rudolf Blitzen appeared blissfully unaware of his supporting role.


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± Rudolf howled, his indignation ricocheting off the walls. ¡°Even if I were remotely tempted to raze this world to the ground, it¡¯s obvious it¡¯s doomed anyway! These backward peasants¡ªhow dare they question the great Alliance and capture me, the illustrious offspring of Marquis Blitzen!¡±


    Yet here stood Burn, an audacious thorn in their grandiose plans, someone with enough audacity to challenge the universe¡¯s most formidable army.


    He unsheathed his sword. ¡°You waltzed into my peaceful little backyard, and even after I silenced your ramblings once, you think to try again? Clearly, you¡¯ve not grasped the concept of ¡®lesson learned.¡¯¡±


    Rudolf¡¯s bravado crumbled as Burn strode down the steps of his throne platform, black sword gleaming ominously. ¡°No¡­ no! You can¡¯t be serious! I am Rudolf Blitzen! My father is¡ª¡±


    Burn lifted his sword high, intent on delivering justice personally. But just as the blade descended¡ª


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    Mahkato¡¯s voice sliced through the tension.


    ¡°Return the fleet admiral to us, and we¡¯ll bury this little incident. You can keep the White Dwarf you scavenged, but I insist you return the one you pilfered from his personal vessel,¡± she concluded.


    Burn stopped, sword still poised for a performance only he could appreciate. Not just yet, it seemed.


    ¡°Junior Fleet Admiral Rudolf Blitzen shall have his title and duties stripped. He was never sanctioned to threaten or harm the tranquil world of Nethermere; he simply overstepped, wielding his status like a blunt instrument,¡± Mahkato stated, locking her gaze onto Burn¡¯s, undeterred.


    Continuing, she added with a smirk, ¡°Surely this should tickle your righteous anger enough to satisfy, my dear barbarian?¡±

 154 - Ninth of the Ten Overlords

    ¡°Finally, something I can agree on,¡± Burn pulled his sword, balancing it in his hand. ¡°But I refuse to let him stroll back to you on his own two feet. He might decide to test out that fancy weapon he brought and shoot the ground¡ªnot that I¡¯d expect common sense from someone like him.¡±


    Mahkato raised her eyebrows, clearly entertained.


    ¡°Thaddeus Voss, prepare to collect them and handle the situation,¡± Mahkato ordered, her voice smooth yet authoritative.


    Thaddeus bowed deeply. Meanwhile, Mahkato turned her gaze back to Burn, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. Just how strong was this man? His determination to guard himself, his land, and whatever else he could claim was as clear as day. But oh, those ambitions of his¡ªwere they bigger than the sword he brandished?


    His strength was palpable; anyone could see that. But what of his knowledge? The energy burst three years prior had drawn them here like moths to a flame. Did he know anything about its source? It seemed not.


    Burn met Mahkato¡¯s gaze head-on, and honestly, it was rather endearing. Three years ago, many of the world¡¯s more powerful entities likely felt that energy pulse. But let¡¯s be clear; they all assumed it was the same phenomenon that had caused that obnoxious crack in the sky.


    The outsiders.


    So Burn didn¡¯t think much of it at the time. Only now, with the revelation that it was Morgan¡ªher soul energy pilfered by Merlin¡ªdid he finally grasp the depth of the situation.


    According to Morgan, if the energy intended to cleanse this world of corruption was used as planned, her energy and magic wouldn¡¯t exactly scream ¡°come one, come all¡± to the outsiders.


    It was Merlin¡¯s brilliant idea to use that very energy to crack open a dimensional gate to who-knows-where that ended up making the energy spike detectable. Because, of course, subtlety was never on his agenda.


    That crack Burn had tried to penetrate with his power? A delightful exercise in futility. Not to mention the fact that going past it was about as likely as getting a cat to take a bath. So, with a sigh, he concluded that some fancy technology was probably needed to traverse that gaping void.


    Dirk had explained that the crack wasn¡¯t just a tear in reality but also a kind of full-fledged dimensional gateway. Perhaps it was partly conjured when Merlin decided to ignore the laws of reality entirely, allowing the outsiders to waltz in through the breach and connect with their quaint little world.


    Now, stationed on the other side of the gateway, the outsiders used the gateway itself as their makeshift fortress.


    ¡°Are you certain you have no intention of returning it to us?¡± Mahkato inquired.


    Burn merely shrugged, his expression nonchalant. ¡°I¡¯ll consider returning it if you can present me with a compelling offer,¡± he replied. ¡°For example, get your ass off my world.¡±


    Mahkato scoffed, utterly unimpressed.


    ¡°Or, at the very least, pay your visitor tax and adhere to basic guest etiquette, you invaders,¡± Burn continued. ¡°Honestly, following rules is the least alien behavior you can possibly exhibit.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Almost certainly, Burn yearned for a method of space travel. Although this was a magical realm, even the most fantastical sorcery had its limits. Ultimately, technology emerged as the true answer for effective space travel¡ªconsidering even the gods from the Seven Heavens relied on gadgets and gizmos.


    Even herself.


    Ah, technology¡ªso convenient, so sustainable. Naturally, one could see why Burn would want to stretch his little arms and expand his reach. However, beyond the grandiose Seven Heavens, no other world was allowed to possess the coveted technology of space travel.


    And those mercenaries? They were still bound to align themselves with the mercenary unions under the ever-watchful eye of the Alliance. Every lower realm and its hapless inhabitants had to grovel for permission to venture intergalactically, either.


    Sure, there was illegal space travel aplenty, fluttering about like a cockroach in a kitchen. But much like other illicit escapades under the thumb of the illustrious space Alliance, they were constantly under pressure¡ªstruggling to survive and perpetually repressed.


    It¡¯s almost poetic, really. The universe is a vast playground, and yet, here they were, diligently following the rules like good little subjects.


    And this lower realm¡¯s tyrant just needed to know his place.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like having the White Dwarf can bring you anywhere,¡± Mahkato remarked.


    As for taking back the White Dwarf, that was hardly an issue. It wasn¡¯t as if Burn could ever hope to harness its power; it was just another mundane form to fill out for her. At most, an extra bit of paperwork.


    Still, she wouldn¡¯t tolerate it for too long.


    The moment they uncovered the source of that explosive burst of energy, she wouldn¡¯t hesitate for a heartbeat to eliminate this insufferable cockroach herself.


    It would be cathartic, really¡ªlike a rite of passage in a world filled with pretentious personalities and egos inflated far beyond their worth.


    Even to him, the White Dwarf he clung to might prove a source of peril. Mahkato found it hard to fathom that this man¡ªnot exactly a paragon of brilliance¡ªhad somehow survived the White Dwarf¡¯s wrath unaided. Perhaps a chat with the fleet admirals was in order; they might hold the details.


    ¡°If there¡¯s nothing else to amuse me, kindly remove this trash from my presence. Ah, I¡¯ve shared my name, but yours eludes me,¡± Burn said with an air of dismissiveness.


    Mahkato¡¯s lips curved into a disdainful sneer. ¡°Typically, barbarians like you don¡¯t warrant my introduction.¡±


    ¡°Mahkato, then?¡± Burn chuckled. ¡°The Alliance¡¯s esteemed higher-up, I presume?¡±


    Her frown deepened at the sound of her name tumbling from this barbarian emperor¡¯s lips. It was an affront to her very being. ¡°The ninth of the Ten Overlords, Mahkato,¡± she corrected with pointed emphasis.


    Burn¡¯s smirk widened. ¡°Delightful to make your acquaintance.¡±


    ¡°The pleasure is all yours,¡± Mahkato said coldly, and the transmission ended.


    Mahkato''s expression remained unreadable as Burn¡¯s taunts echoed in her ears. How many like him had she faced before¡ªself-proclaimed rulers, swaggering in the face of the Alliance¡¯s might?


    This truly wasn¡¯t the first time Mahkato encountered characters like him¡ªarrogant souls who fancied themselves capable of conquering the universe. The Alliance was helmed by the finest minds the cosmos had ever known, and not even they, deities in their own right, stooped to such levels of self-importance.


    Particularly not when she had crossed paths with the one who could actually seize the universe.


    It wouldn¡¯t take long before Burn¡¯s bravado faded into oblivion. Oh, she could almost hear the air escaping his inflated ego already; soon, even he would bow to the might of the Alliance.


    This one, too, would crumble when the weight of the universe bore down upon him. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about watching him grasp at the last shreds of control in his pitiful little world.


    For now, her priority was to unravel how this disarray had devolved into a situation more befitting a sideshow than a fleet capable of anything resembling glory. A meticulous assessment was in order¡ªwhat catastrophic blunder had occurred within this project?


    Surely, the reason couldn¡¯t be as dire as being bested by a single man from some unremarkable boondocks of the galaxy, could it?

 155 - The Tyrant’s Gambit

    After the outsiders brought their junior fleet admiral back, Dirk freed himself from the armor helmet and grinned at Burn.


    ¡°Haa, Your Majesty, it really is delightful to witness someone stand so straight in the presence of an overlord,¡± Dirk said, a smirk playing on his lips. ¡°That was Mahkato, the one usually handling and gathering resources for the Alliance. She only comes out when it¡¯s really important, too.¡±


    Burn turned to him, leaning in slightly. ¡°Enlighten me about her, then.¡±


    The space mercenary paused, considering that overlords were regarded as gods among men. Even when they were sometimes replaced by other competent individuals, their legendary status clung to them like a shadow.


    ¡°I heard Lady Mahkato was once a mercenary herself before ascending to her overlord status. Quite the upgrade, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡± Dirk chuckled, while Burn remained as stoic as a statue.


    ¡°All right, all right! I know what you¡¯re itching to know. She¡¯s quite formidable. The whispers claim she possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of worlds and an uncanny ability to adapt. It¡¯s said her home planet, the Fourth Heaven, is an oppressive place with such hefty gravity and a frighteningly close proximity to the sun,¡± Dirk said.


    He continued, explaining that the Fourth Heaven was such a massive planet it had a magnetic field so strong it practically encouraged its inhabitants to evolve to detect magnetic forces, as if that were the pinnacle of evolution.


    ¡°You mean to say she can detect magnetic fields?¡± Burn asked.


    Even in this wonderful, magical realm, some creatures had the delightful talent of sensing magnetic forces. They could distinguish north from south even after being knocked silly, as if it were a natural-born talent.


    Not to mention, with the presence of mana in this world, simple magnetic detection became a walk in the park. But if she had that level of capability...


    No, Burn had to brace himself for the very real possibility that she possessed some spectacular ability, courtesy of her rather illustrious title as one of the overlords. Suddenly, an old man with a metal helmet, eyes censored behind a horizontal black bar, popped into his mind like an unwanted guest.


    ¡°M*gneto?¡±


    ¡°M*gneto!¡± Dirk finger-gunned him with both hands. ¡°Maybe imagine him, but god. Wait, no. You shouldn¡¯t oversimplify it like that. It¡¯s just her famous power. Who knows what else she has up her sleeve that allowed her to become an overlord.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Burn said, reclining on his throne with a self-assured air. He then inquired, ¡°You think I can defeat her?¡±


    Dirk shrugged. ¡°If you can¡¯t, then this world¡¯s finished. Count me out, too.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re perfectly fine with that?¡± Burn asked, observing Dirk¡¯s apparent indifference.


    ¡°Do I look like I have a choice?¡± Dirk shot back. ¡°Despite my little dance with betrayal, I can be rather loyal, you know? Not that I¡¯ve ever really been on their side¡ªmore like a reluctant bystander.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Burn sneered.


    ¡°As soon as I get that ship to blast through that crack in the sky, I¡¯ll turn every single one of them into cosmic confetti,¡± he declared, fingers digging into the armrest of his throne.


    Dirk sighed, hesitating briefly before offering, ¡°You know, despite their actions, not everyone in the Alliance is a heartless tyrant hell-bent on colonizing worlds. Some¡ªlike me¡ªare just people caught in a vicious game, bending instead of breaking, caught between a rock and a hard place.¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± Burn leaned sideways on his arm, his fist to his chin. ¡°Do I have time to ask each one of them or convince them not to invade my world? Or let them run rampant and enslave my people without these poor people noticing it?¡±


    ¡°All I¡¯m saying is, once you take a swing at one of them and maybe, just maybe, come out on top, prepare yourself. More will come knocking. It¡¯s like an endless parade, more will just line up behind,¡± Dirk tried to warn.


    He continued, ¡°Truly an unending cycle. They¡¯ve got an unfathomably vast army amassed from countless worlds, all cozy in their millennia of conquests¡ªthousands and thousands of years¡¯ worth of boot prints to walk all over us.¡±


    ¡°That is not an excuse to back down,¡± Burn said. ¡°At least not for me.¡±


    Dirk managed a weary smile.


    ¡°After all, protecting this world and its people is just part of an excuse,¡± Burn said with feigned humility. ¡°So, I suppose I owe you all a thank-you. Thanks for giving me the reason to conquer not just this world, but the entire universe.¡±


    Ah, the grand aspirations of a young tyrant capable of devouring the rays of a dying sun like a morning pastry. Truly, he showed remarkable taste in destructive cravings.


    It might not be apparent, but every time Dirk was in Burn¡¯s presence, there was an unsettling feeling that he was consistently getting stronger, almost as if the universe itself was fueling the madness.


    And then, of course, there was that outrageous request: asking him to blast him with 8% of the White Dwarf¡¯s energy on himself. Brilliant plan, truly. Just what any sane being would consider doing on a lazy morning.


    ¡°I can assume that you have a plan to defeat them all?¡± Dirk asked, an eyebrow raised, as if he expected a drawn-out map of the plan.


    ¡°I will be returning soon anyway. I bet she¡¯s already planning to kill me and seize not just the White Dwarf, but the entire land,¡± Burn mused, contemplating how wonderfully chaotic time travel could be. Perhaps her arrival here had deviated from the original timeline.


    Burn could remember vividly that, in the original timeline, he should still be tangled up dealing with Inkia while Velaryon was prancing around alive; thus, the outsiders hadn¡¯t yet felt the dire need to remove Burn from the equation.


    Ah, Velaryon¡ªone of the two golden geese nurturing the outsiders. He¡¯d been their favored puppet, wielding Edensor¡¯s resources like a chef with a knife, providing the outsiders with unparalleled access and juicy insider info.


    Once Burn had executed Velaryon and usurped the Luminus Kingdom, the White Dwarf descended.


    Now, much to everyone¡¯s dismay, Burn had become a thorn far sooner than desired. Well, let¡¯s be honest¡ªhe had always been a thorn, but after they killed Velaryon, they realized he was a thorn with a particular spark of defiance. They couldn¡¯t dangle the classic carrot of power and glory before him.


    That wouldn¡¯t work at all.


    Maybe in the original timeline, Mahkato had visited this world but overlooked him, seeing him merely as a tyrant with grand ambitions. She would just inspect the fleet, pausing only to note that everything was still executing their master plan flawlessly before flitting away.


    After all, Burn hadn¡¯t met or seen Mahkato in the other loops. Isn¡¯t it just delightful how fate dances? It could also be possible that she was the one who authorized the use of the White Dwarf on him in the original timeline, after all the delightful chaos ensued.


    But this time, the situation escalated quicker than a toddler throwing a tantrum in a toy store, and the fleet admirals decided to hire Dirk instead of seeking permission for the White Dwarf¡¯s use on land. Classic case of shooting first and asking questions later¡ªso very military.


    Maybe, if he hadn¡¯t met Morgan and hadn¡¯t returned to the past, he would eventually meet and face Mahkato anyway.


    The loop would end either today or tomorrow, and he was quite confident that Mahkato would hunt him down soon, and Morgan would die¡ª


    ¡°Your Majesty!¡± Suddenly, a servant burst into the throne room. His expression looked frightened and pale. ¡°Her Majesty¡­ the Empress!¡±

 156 - Dull

    It was rare, to say the least.


    The sight of the absolute tyrant sprinting through the palace, face hardened and eyes bloodshot upon hearing that the Empress had collapsed in the treasury¡ªpriceless, really.


    Not only the Round Table but even the palace guards were on high alert. Did they need to draw their weapons? Maim something? Lock down the place tighter than a clam, preventing even a lone ant from escaping the chaos?


    The closer Burn got to the treasury, the thicker the crowd became.


    "Her Majesty hasn''t been feeling well lately..." someone whispered, the kind of chatter that makes one wonder who started the rumor mill.


    "I saw her being carried to the main chamber by His Majesty just this morning... she¡¯s actually... ill?" another replied, feigning shock like they hadn¡¯t seen this coming a mile away.


    Nonsense. That was merely Galahad and Landevale¡¯s acting, not the real Morgan¡ª


    "Make way!" Burn snapped, and like obedient sheep, the people parted. He bulldozed through the sea of bodies and finally caught sight of her on the ground, surrounded by physicians who looked like they had just run a marathon.


    People bowed as he entered, and the physicians shuffled away, as if they were somehow the real problem, horror etched on their faces.


    "What is her condition?" Burn knelt, impatience radiating off him, not even waiting for a proper explanation as he began his own inspection.


    Morgan lay limp, her eyes open but offering nothing but a hollow stare, her hair a disheveled halo on the floor as Burn cradled her against him, lifting her into his lap, perplexed by the absurdity of her seemingly perfect physical condition.


    "We don¡¯t know, Your Majesty. When we arrived, she was breathing, her eyes open, and her body limp, but she didn¡¯t respond to our calls¡ªjust as you see her now," one of the physicians bravely reported.


    They continued, noting that while her irises responded to light, she didn¡¯t flinch at abrupt visual stimulation. Sound? Touch? A vigorous application of smelling salts? All useless.


    "Morgan," Burn said, tapping her cheek as if hoping for a miracle or, at the very least, some semblance of a reaction. He leaned closer, kissing her jaw, then her lips, desperately trying to pour his Force into her, but nothing happened. There was nothing wrong with her body¡ªnothing ventured, nothing gained.


    "What happened before she collapsed? Where¡¯s the servant who brought her here?!" he yelled.


    One of the servants stepped forward, his face bowed low, looking like he¡¯d just confessed to purloining the royal silverware. "My lord... I was the one who led Her Majesty here. I opened the treasury and invited her in, and then she asked to be left alone."


    He paused, clearly hoping for sympathy or perhaps divine intervention. "After some time, I grew worried and dared to enter the room again¡ªonly to find Her Majesty already collapsing. I swear on my mother¡¯s grave, I genuinely don¡¯t know what was happening to her!"The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The young man knelt on the floor in a pose of utter despair, as if he expected a bolt of lightning to strike him down for his sins.


    Burn, not particularly known for his generosity, couldn¡¯t help but notice that the lad was both young and already handling the key to the treasury¡ªenough to spark a glimmer of trust in his honesty or intelligence.


    He had seen this servant flitting about with the chamberlain, always eager to learn, perhaps too eager for his own good. He was clearly his pupil.


    Burn turned to the physicians and doctors with a raised brow. "Did you disturb anything else?"


    They all shook their heads vigorously, clearly eager to avoid any more trouble.


    "Then, be gone! Tell everyone else to return to their work," Burn ordered. Even Percival, who had just arrived with the other members of the Round Table, turned and complied.


    "You," Burn said, his gaze pinning the key-bearer in place as if he were a rabbit caught in a snare. "Tell me if there¡¯s anything different in the treasury aside from her collapse. You know the condition of the treasury since you are in charge of it, right?"


    "Sir, I only... I only entered it if the Lord Chamberlain permitted. I am merely a cleaning boy, hardly qualified to be scrutinizing these precious items," the young man replied, his voice a mere whisper.


    "Look around and see if there¡¯s something amiss," Burn commanded once more, his tone brooking no argument.


    With a reluctant nod, the young man ventured deeper into the treasury, his eyes scanning the glimmering treasures, each one more ostentatious than the last¡ªa veritable kingdom of glittering chaos.


    He had often marveled at how the former king adorned himself with gold and jewels, yet today the allure seemed to wane, like sunflowers wilting under a heavy sky.


    As he observed the array of artifacts, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was amiss. The crown, once gleaming with a thousand reflections, appeared tarnished, as if it had endured too many tedious council meetings.


    The jeweled goblet, usually the toast of every banquet, looked like it had seen far too many spills of subpar wine. Even the scepter¡ªa supposed symbol of power¡ªseemed to sag, its brilliance dulled as though worn down by the weight of authority.


    He peered into a display case where the finest jewels were enshrined, but even these suffered a dullness that echoed a greater discontent. Uncertainty crept into his mind.


    Had the wealth of the realm turned mere trinkets under the weight of disinterest? Certainly, because Burn wasn¡¯t interested in wearing these things, his vigor and youth were his best accessories, letting them be neglected like this. Or was it just him, imagining shadows where there were none?


    With a frown, he turned back to Burn, bracing himself to convey his findings, unsure whether he was about to reveal a theft or simply the slow decline of opulence amidst neglect.


    "Sir, it appears we were not careful in maintaining the luster of the former king¡¯s treasures¡­" he began, "But I swear, yesterday, they weren¡¯t this¡­ dull!"


    Dull?


    He jogged his memory, contemplating the trinkets that cluttered Princess Shorof''s room. Sure, they were full of black ink-like filth, but they still sparkled with an air of intrigue, refusing to surrender to the passage of years.


    Not to mention, the items that belonged to his father, the former king, were unable to be injected with the physical form of corrupted mana¡ªnot that anyone could install such substance into creations forged of sturdy metal, crafted by the royal crafters with more experience than the average artisan could muster.


    "Dull" was a symptom of something far more tragic: the unfortunate side effect of a broken enchanted object that was no longer able to bear the weight of its own runes and enchantments.


    Once those delicate artifacts succumbed to the harsh realities of existence, they didn¡¯t just fade away like bad memories; they disintegrated, sometimes dramatically, overnight.


    "Ah!" The key-bearer gestured toward an object on the floor near the door, his excitement palpable. It was a curious sight, unfamiliar to him but evidently an old friend to Burn. An hourglass with infinite sand, entwined by the endlessly hungry ouroboros.


    Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons.


    "Your Majesty... this... I¡¯ve truly never laid eyes on this one before!"

 157 - Nemo

    An attack. Of course, that was the immediate assumption Burn jumped to regarding Morgan¡¯s state. He hadn¡¯t yet learned Vision, so he was left fumbling in the dark, utterly unable to read her mind or determine if her soul still existed.


    "Get out," he commanded the young man¡ªthere wasn¡¯t much the lad could do about anything unfolding here anyway. The boy flinched and bowed, nearly tripping over himself to escape, as if the floor had suddenly turned to lava.


    Burn laid Morgan¡¯s body gently on the floor and inspected the treasury. The key-bearer had been right; the former king¡¯s regalia had an unexpected new beauty¡ªit was dull and fragile, like week-old bread left out in the open.


    His gaze fell onto Morgan¡¯s catalyst, his eyes narrowing at this potential clue.


    "Nemo," he called, remembering how Morgan and Isaiah addressed it. Or her. "There must be a reason why they called you by a name and a pronoun."


    Suddenly, the catalyst trembled, a single heartbeat of motion that felt ridiculous in the situation.


    "Nemo," he called again, feeling like he was addressing an eccentric pet rather than an object of power.


    CLATTER-CLATTER!


    The catalyst shook more fervently.


    "What happened to Morgan?" Burn asked patiently. "Can you show me? Or are we just going to rattle like an old man¡¯s bones?"


    ¡°¡­apa!¡±


    Silence.


    Silence¡­


    "What?" Burn narrowed his eyes, suspicion brewing.


    "Papa!" the catalyst chirped, its voice curiously reminiscent of Morgan¡¯s¡ªonly it possessed an innocent, almost too-cute young charm.


    Burn raised his hand, a storm of fury gathering above his palm, a miniature sun dying in real time, bending light around it like a well-honed illusion. "Let¡¯s drop the games, shall we? What on earth happened to my wife?"


    It was hard to explain, but the hourglass appeared as though it might spontaneously implode from dread, tiny beads of anxious sweat trickling down its surface.


    "M-m-m-mama¡­"


    Burn¡¯s glare intensified.


    "Mind! Prison! Curse!" the hourglass blurted, spitting out words like a jumbled mess in a word salad contest.


    Ah, splendid, Burn thought. A cryptic hourglass. Just what he needed for his day of joy and sunshine. His rage simmered beneath the surface, like magma waiting for a vent.


    Here he was, contemplating the fate of Morgan, and instead, he had acquired a panic-stricken hourglass babbling nonsense.


    "Mama! Mind prison, curse! Trap! Mama! Saint! Abyss¡ª"Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The hourglass seemed to hesitate, as if floundering in the depths of its own limited vocabulary, but it soldiered on, desperate for clarity. "Papa kill¡­ Mama kill¡­?"


    Burn frowned, his mind a tangled mess of confusion. "What do you mean?" he implored, trying to unravel the cryptic threads woven by the hourglass. "What do you mean ¡®kill¡¯? Is she dead? Why haven¡¯t I returned to the past, then?"


    "Mama prison, curse¡­ Papa kill¡­ Mama return! Mama mind, prison! Papa kill! Mama say! Mama ask!"


    Burn directed his gaze back to Morgan, eyebrows arched in skeptical wonder. Mind prison?


    So, not only was her imminent death today or tomorrow not because of Mahkato waltzing onto the scene with the intention to kill him¡ªno, it turned out the real villain was someone a tad closer to home.


    "She¡¯s trapped, and she wants me to kill her?"


    He slowly sat beside her, gathering her back into his lap. Her eyes, wide open yet devoid of meaning, stared into the void as he wondered if she could even see or hear him. Probably not.


    Her beauty remained utterly unchanged, as striking as a masterpiece trapped inside an enchanting glass doll. Her golden hair spilled over his legs like soft silk, and her blue eyes¡ªthe bluest of blue¡ªfelt like a cruel blade twisting in his chest.


    The thought of her mind sealed away in some abyss gnawed at him.


    "What actually happened to you?" he mused aloud. Wouldn¡¯t it be a waste if he didn¡¯t know her memory before he killed her? And here he was, contemplating murder. Yes, Burn had killed her before in previous loops, but this time? It was different.


    "Memory! Nemo!" Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons suddenly chimed in. "Papa! Transfer¡ªmemory! Kill! Return!"


    Ah, the charming chime of a pint-sized oracle with the depth of a puddle.


    Burn turned to the rickety hourglass perched on the floor, shaking with the sort of eager urgency one could only expect from a disturbed clock.


    "Did you actually record her memory? But how are we supposed to bring it back to the past?" he quizzed, irritation creeping into his voice.


    "Contract! Papa contract!" she insisted, her cute voice like a toddler trying to explain quantum physics.


    Burn narrowed his eyes as if sheer scrutiny could make sense of her babbling. "A contract with you?"


    "Papa! Nemo eat! Memory eat!" she rambled again from the floor, a bundle of chaotic energy. "Papa Mana, Papa memory contract!"


    It was as if she were trying to draft a legal document while playing hopscotch. But perhaps, just perhaps, now that he¡¯d grown accustomed to her adorably cryptic chatter, he could piece together the essence of her words.


    "How do I make a contract with you?" he asked.


    The rattling hourglass shook yet again. "Blood! Nemo!" Suddenly, the ouroboros, that charmingly morbid snake eating its own tail, slithered to life, inching up to him while still tethered to the hourglass. Looking up with a serpent¡¯s elegance, it hissed, "Ssssshhh¡ª"


    "I just have to give you my blood, huh?" Burn reiterated, raising an eyebrow.


    The snake lunged at his arm, biting him fiercely, only to recoil at the realization that its fangs couldn¡¯t even pierce his skin.


    "Ow¡­" the hourglass grimaced, somehow.


    Burn sighed. With a finger shimmering with his Force, he made a deliberate slice on his arm, feeding a drop to the serpentine creature. It pulled away and resumed its pastime of devouring its own tail, now almost comically cartoonish¡ªa cute little snake blissfully munching away its own tail.


    "Contract! Memory! Mama plan! Nemo help? Nemo good?" it chirped, its tone oddly adorable amidst the gravity of the situation.


    Burn¡¯s gaze wandered to Morgan on his lap. She had planned to solve the memory problem, searching for a solution while Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons tried to help by her own will. How had she figured all this out?


    "Praise! Papa praise!" she suddenly demanded, her voice a melodic echo in the silence.


    A chuckle escaped him, more genuine than he intended. In that moment, her voice bore a striking resemblance to Morgan¡¯s, but with a childlike glee that tugged at his heartstrings¡ªan expression of innocence wrapped in sheer charm.


    "Good girl."


    "Praise! Good!"


    Could it be any more ridiculous? A cute concoction of vibrancy amidst this contract of blood and death. The juxtaposition between the ominous and the innocent made his heart ache with a fondness he couldn¡¯t yet admit, even to himself. Not to mention, this object didn¡¯t look remotely like a child.


    "Papa kill Mama?" it suddenly asked timidly.


    Burn¡¯s gaze deepened. With his fingers, he gently closed Morgan¡¯s eyes. Suddenly, she looked peaceful, as if she were merely sleeping¡ªnot trapped in a bottomless abyss of a mind prison or whatever it was.


    He brushed her soft, velvety cheek and said, "Nemo, look away."

 158 - Caught in a Blink

    ¡°COUGH¡ª¡± Morgan immediately closed her mouth as crimson seeped through her pristine gloves and fingers.


    Burn blinked. It always felt like it happened in the blink of an eye to him.


    ¡°Mama?¡± Yvain widened his eyes in horror, standing in the middle of the entrance ceremony¡¯s feast.


    Burn wrapped her in his embrace, his expression hardening. Instantly, his formidable aura washed over the hall, making the air thick enough to cut. Even those closest to him felt a curious amnesia about breathing.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you out of here,¡± Burn said, sidestepping Yvain¡¯s terrified gaze. Without waiting for any grand approval, he scooped her up, his heavy metal heels echoing like a bad omen, forcing the sea of guests to part as if the buffet were a biblical event.


    Morgan refrained from reading his mind. Her worried eyes followed him as he navigated the buffet¡¯s chaos. The pain in her chest was sharp, but at least it wasn¡¯t as spectacularly intense as usual.


    ¡°So¡­ it¡¯s close¡­?¡± she asked. ¡°Three days¡­ is it after the assembly?¡±


    Burn remained annoyingly silent, as if he¡¯d just found out that the weather forecast included a monsoon of doom and was keeping it all to himself.


    An academy staff member trailed behind him, offering a room for them to rest, though the intention felt more like a desperate plea for calm as Burn glared at him. The staff squirmed under the weight of that icy golden stare, clearly perturbed by his wife¡¯s sudden fit of coughing blood.


    ¡°Please, this way, sir¡­¡±


    He walked forward, though it was disconcerting that Burn seemed to follow his own erratic intuition rather than the guiding staff, who were merely floating along behind him like anxious shadows.


    Burn turned to the room before the staff even had the chance to point it out, as if he had memorized the layout.


    ¡°Please tell us if you need some¡ª¡±


    The door was abruptly shut in the staff member¡¯s face, cutting off his well-intentioned offer. The academy staff member chuckled nervously, masking his irritation.


    The Sator family was simultaneously awe-inspiring and terrifying¡ªan understandable reaction considering the spectacle of a woman hurling blood in the midst of an elegant buffet.


    As he ambled away, he noticed the family¡¯s son, Evan, following closely behind. The boy, polite yet clearly distracted, bowed deeply, seemingly unaware of how to navigate the tension in the air. ¡°My Papa is a bit tense. He loves Mama too much; please understand.¡±


    The academy staff managed a smile, despite the undercurrent of chaos. ¡°Please don¡¯t worry. We understand,¡± he replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing his words as he thought about how "understanding" amidst a bloodbath is, in fact, a rather high bar for emotional intelligence.


    The day was proving quite eventful¡ªwho knew that buffet etiquette included dealing with life-threatening emergencies?


    The rumors about Madam Sator¡¯s illness had spread like wildfire, as if someone had set a match to a pile of dry leaves. And if that wasn¡¯t it, wouldn¡¯t the academy be gloriously blamed for her sudden flare-up?Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    The staff excused himself, casting one last glance at the boy, who lingered at the threshold like a hesitant ghost. His eyes were a cocktail of emotions¡ªcomplicated, confusing, and perhaps a touch existential¡ªas he stared at the door, hands clenched so tight one might think he was sculpting a marble statue of anxiety.


    He left after the boy''s complicated expression seemed to seep into his own face. Who knew the youth could infect adults with such a potent brew of despair? It was almost admirable, really.


    The Sator Family, renowned merchant group owners.


    Nothing was perfect in this world.


    ***


    ¡°Caliburn¡­ what¡¯s wrong?¡± Morgan raised an eyebrow, inching back as Burn carefully placed her on the couch. He turned and locked the door with a decisive click.


    Voices from outside drifted in¡ªYvain conversing with the staff¡ªbefore Burn felt the weight of his presence looming behind the door. He turned to Morgan. ¡°Lay down,¡± he ordered. ¡°Recover.¡±


    Morgan, sensing the urgency in his tone, didn¡¯t need a second invitation. She settled back on the couch, trying to muster focus, although this was the first time the air felt thick with nervous energy whenever he was near. How delightful.


    Burn stood by the door, his expression as impenetrable as a fortress. Once he confirmed Yvain had vacated the premises with his merry band of companions, he turned to Morgan, his eyes an icy storm.


    ¡°...Caliburn¡­¡± Morgan fidgeted under his unyielding gaze. ¡°Did I do something? In the future?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Burn replied, the single word as sharp as a sword.


    Morgan curled deeper into the couch, a human pretzel retreating from a great threat. ¡°You look¡­ mad.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Burn stated, the simple confession shattering any illusion of warmth.


    Morgan scooted even further into the couch, as if trying to fuse with its upholstery. ¡°Hnggg¡­¡±


    It was abundantly clear when Burn was angry. The angrier he became, the eerily calmer he appeared¡ªlike a tempest pretending to be a gentle breeze. If he resorted to cursing, there might still be hope. If he took immediate action to fix whatever mess was at hand, things might not be so dire.


    But now? Now, he was doing nothing. Absolutely nothing.


    Morgan knew this time it was only her who had managed to kick the proverbial hornet''s nest. So, naturally, she had done something to provoke his simmering rage. Had she jumped headfirst into danger again? Had she pulled off another one of her trademark stunts?


    As if attempting to merge with the fabric of the couch, Morgan sank deeper into it, offering the universe a silent plea, ¡°Papa, please spare me¡­?¡±


    Burn¡¯s glare, however, remained fixed on her from across the room. In that instant, Morgan was convinced that even if she could warp to a galaxy far, far away, that stare would still find her.


    Yet, ironically, seeing her quaking in fear only complicated things further for Burn. The past¡ªfuture couple of days had been a relentless rollercoaster of emotional upheaval and startling revelations¡ªAnd how splendidly it all came crashing down in the end.


    ¡°You hadn¡¯t read my memory?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan shook her head, brow furrowing in concern.


    ¡°Why?¡± Burn pressed again, his voice an icy whisper.


    ¡°Because you look disturbed,¡± Morgan replied, the simplicity of her answer belying the gravity of the situation.


    ¡°This time I can¡¯t tell you to read it, so please just take the initiative and steal the memory from me,¡± Burn said coldly.


    ¡°Caliburn, seriously, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Morgan¡¯s patience wore thin as she sat up, her eyes now full of worry¡ªand perhaps a hint of exasperation.


    Burn shook his head, sealing his lips tighter than a vault. He wouldn¡¯t give in, even if the sky fell¡ªthis secret seemed to weigh as much as the world. This frustrated Morgan immensely; she was no more eager to steal his memory than she¡¯d been to wade into quicksand.


    After all, last time had been more than just a little messy.


    With a resigned sigh, she stood and approached him. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll throw ethical concerns out the window for you and steal it without your permission.¡±


    She reached forward, but Burn deftly sidestepped her hand.


    ¡°Caliburn¡­¡± she groaned, exasperation dripping from her words.


    He shook his head stubbornly, his resolve as firm as bedrock.


    ¡°Bunny¡­¡± Morgan¡¯s tone softened, tinged with sorrow as his bizarre dance around the truth tormented her. ¡°What happened? Seriously, I can¡¯t even begin to fathom how we got here.¡±


    After a session of reaching and dodging, she sighed. ¡°You know what? Forget it. I don¡¯t want to know. Keep your secrets. I¡¯ll just bumble through this minefield myself. What¡¯s the worst that could happen? Just me leaping headfirst into peril again. You think I¡¯ll do it again, even without your warnings?¡±


    ¡°I really won¡¯t die this time!¡± Morgan yelled.


    ¡°It¡¯s me, Morgan,¡± Burn said suddenly. ¡°I was the one who killed you this time.¡±

 159 - Self-Deception

    Burn killed his father. True, Arthur might¡¯ve mustered a thank-you in the end, but it was Burn who decided it was his end. Then, he killed his own brother shortly after.


    He racked up a considerable body count, the kind that would impress even the most seasoned tyrant. He slaughtered countless innocents, Yvain included, and laid waste to entire kingdoms. A veritable buffet of destruction, as Burn was practically a one-man apocalypse.


    And yet, he felt no shred of remorse.


    So why did killing her feel so damn hard now? He had killed her before, time and again. It was almost a sport at this point. He knew he would see her die countless times in the future if they continued on this delightful cursed merry-go-round.


    It wasn¡¯t like it was a personal vendetta; she just needed to die to reset the loop¡ªa minor inconvenience for the greater good, right? And this time, simply for the sake of breaking free from her mind prison.


    ¡°Look at me¡ªacting like a fucking child,¡± Burn grumbled, teeth clenched. ¡°This is the kind of weakness I loathe the most.¡±


    He recalled the scene vividly, sitting on that treasury floor, cradling her in his arms, poised with a concentration of Force in his hand, ready to stop her heart from beating¡­


    She was sleeping, breathing naturally, eyes shut tight¡ªso blissfully unaware. She wouldn¡¯t respond if the world crashed down around her. That mind prison of hers? A delightful blessing in disguise. Lucky girl.


    He grasped her tightly, his fist clenching and unclenching, weighing whether today was the day he¡¯d halt her heart, stalling the inevitable fate he had written for her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, jaw taut, eyes shut as if that would shield him from reality.


    Once upon a time, killing her might¡¯ve seemed like a walk in the park. Easy, almost routine.


    Disabling his ears, he let out a long, guttural scream against her chest. Who wants to hear their own sadness? Not him.


    Of course, he¡¯d been handed the short end of the stick again. The universe clearly enjoyed a bit of black humor. Forced to do the dirty work once more, as if his hands had been crafted solely for the grim task of dispatching loved ones. Just imagine the fine print on that birth certificate.


    In this moment, he mused about whether it was even possible to kill someone gently. A delightful thought¡ªthough, let¡¯s be honest, it wouldn¡¯t change a damn thing, considering she was locked away in her mind, completely oblivious to pain.


    But maybe it was more about self-deception¡ªlying to himself that he could manage some semblance of kindness. Convincing himself that he was capable of gentleness, even when the only thing he wielded was a cold blade and a heavy heart. A ruse to be kinder to himself.  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    After all, who wouldn¡¯t want a little self-deception in a world where kindness could come wrapped in a kill?


    He still killed her nevertheless.


    ***


    In the shadow of the resplendent towers of the Saint Lucia Academy, where the air crackled with the potential of untamed magic, a rather ordinary playground hosted a gathering of the decidedly unextraordinary.


    Swings creaked under the weight of children who were blissfully unaware that just a stone¡¯s throw away, great mages were embroiled in arcane discussions, possibly over the entrance ceremony buffet.


    The swings, adorned with chipped paint and rust, swayed with tired resolve as children clamored for heights they¡¯d never reach¡ªnot that they knew. Their laughter rang hollow against the backdrop of the cracked sky.


    ¡°We will be offering another set of Infusers to the second elf princess. Aborac will manage it this time,¡± announced a man.


    He stood behind a pair of nobles¡ªboth dressed as though attending a funeral, but the woman, draped in a black veil, took the lead in looking entirely anonymous, her skin shrouded as if it posed a mortal threat to the world.


    They were watching the kids play, sitting on a bench, wrapped in a shroud of silence as if the air itself was too weighty to disturb.


    ¡°And sir¡­ the movement of this¡­ Sator Family¡­¡±


    The pair of nobles lingered in silence a moment longer, the tension palpable. Finally, the man hummed. ¡°Still no information about who they truly are? Fascinatingly elusive, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    The man behind them shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and defeat. ¡°Please forgive us, sir. We haven¡¯t uncovered anything substantial. They seem to have sprouted from nowhere.¡±


    It was unsettling, really. Ever since the Sator Family graced the scene, the atmosphere in Inkia took on a strange quality.


    The neutral factions began to sway like leaves in an uncertain breeze, and even some nobles who supposedly swore allegiance to the first prince¡¯s faction and the prime minister¡¯s faction seemed to have developed a sudden case of ideological vertigo.


    ¡°Marquis Wilderwood is still doing his usual lobbying?¡± the man inquired, eyebrows raised.


    ¡°Yes, sir. Even more fervently now that he¡¯s ¡®backed¡¯ by the Sator Family. Oddly enough, it¡¯s more like they¡¯ve formed a mutual alliance. The Wilderwood family has a long history of military might, but it seems this generation prefers the charms of diplomacy over diving into the fray.¡±


    ¡°How delightful,¡± the noble replied dryly. ¡°One can only hope they remember that a well-placed sword can be just as effective as a well-placed smile, should the need arise. After all, one must make sure the weeds don¡¯t overrun the garden.¡±


    ¡°Kill him,¡± he suddenly said.


    ¡°Yes, sir?¡± came the obedient reply, as if someone were confirming a dinner reservation.


    ¡°Letting a new faction rise now in Inkia will complicate things. The prime minister¡¯s faction and the first prince¡¯s faction are predictable, a script we essentially wrote ourselves.¡±


    The noble continued, ¡°But this¡­ random¡­ out-of-nowhere faction could muck things up. We¡¯d need another decade to pull the strings and make it dance to our tune.¡±


    The man standing behind them appropriately nodded. ¡°Yes, sir. And what of the Sator Family?¡±


    The noble casually shrugged, as if dismissing a mildly annoying fly. ¡°They¡¯re merchants. It¡¯s simple to deal with those who trade in money. Besides, the madam¡¯s sickly disposition gives us delightful leverage.¡±


    ¡°When should we take care of Wilderwood?¡±


    ¡°In a week. For now, let¡¯s turn our attention to the elf princess,¡± he said, his tone dripping with faux adoration.


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the man replied, bowing and striding away, leaving the noble pair.


    Silence enveloped them again as the pair watched the kids playing. After a short silence, suddenly, the woman pointed at one of the children.


    ¡°Lance, look, that one looks a lot like my little Claire,¡± she said.


    The man looked closely and smiled, ¡°Yes, indeed, my love.¡±

 160 - Mourn

    Lying on the couch, Burn gazed at the ceiling. Silence wrapped around him and Morgan like an old, comfortable blanket, a cramped cocoon on the couch, especially for a man of his stature.


    She lay on him, her forehead nestled in the crook of his neck while he looked expressionless, almost emotionless, as he traced lazy circles on her back with his thumb, arms wrapped around her.


    ¡°I will never let you do something like that again,¡± Morgan suddenly whispered.


    Burn snorted, a dry amusement escaping him.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious. I¡¯ll conjure a self-destruct spell in case something like that happens again to spare you from¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sssshhh,¡± he coaxed, squeezing her closer. ¡°Fucking hell.¡±


    If that happened again, he¡¯d prefer to take it into his own hands.


    ¡°You thought seeing you self-destruct is better than killing you? It¡¯s the fucking same. At least with me doing it, you¡¯ll be in my arms. Like this,¡± he whispered.


    After all, why let her have all the fun with neck-slitting stunts? It was just as soul-crushing either way, but at least with him pulling the trigger, she¡¯d be in his embrace. Warm. Gentle. Like her.


    Watching her self-destruct over the three-year loops was enough. One of those resets featured her head exploding in a brilliant display¡ªtruly a funeral to remember.


    Those initial moments filled with irritation, then necessity, had morphed painfully into something resembling agony. Returning to that state of mind where her self-immolation felt pragmatic rather than tragic was like trying to put a broken puzzle together¡ªit just wouldn¡¯t fit.


    ¡°Still haven¡¯t read my memory yet?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan shook her head. ¡°I will do it after this. There¡¯s still time.¡±


    How could someone like her exist at all? A paradox wrapped in compassion, knowing what was best for him¡ªnot just the situation at hand or what was merely practical.


    Even her gesture of prolonging her ignorance to the whole emotional rollercoaster, to delay delving into the emotional wreckage of the past¡ªfuture two to three days was enough to comfort him.


    At least she gave him some space to calm himself, sitting in the quiet rubble of his thoughts. To mourn in the privacy of his own mind.


    It was almost as if she was giving him time to decide which memory he allowed her to see and which thoughts were too gruesome he might not have wanted to show her. Selecting which he¡¯d reveal and which twisted fragments he¡¯d keep buried. Almost like letting someone choose their poison.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Just before, he thought against manipulating her by choosing which memory to show her, but now she deliberately let him do it, handing him the reins.


    She was giving him a choice.


    ¡°Have you taught me how to give head?¡±


    COUGH¡ª!


    Burn nearly choked.


    ¡°You have, huh?¡± Morgan asked. ¡°Can you only show me the segment where you enlighten me?¡±


    Burn¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°Is that the pinnacle of your curiosity right now?¡±


    ¡°I mean, I¡¯m sure the others are equally important, but I¡¯m not in the mood to find out now,¡± Morgan said.


    The man contained his laughs, his chest rumbling warmly below her, making her smile, reminding her she could still coax smiles from him. It meant, after all, that he hadn¡¯t changed too much.


    More than the memory of the future, be it the assembly, the moon, or those pesky outsiders, or even the enigmatic circumstances of her demise, he was the most important¡ª


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡­


    So, here we found ourselves.


    More than the world. More than the future. More than the people and the flourishing cast of characters in her life, this man had bestowed upon her the audacity of selfishness. Stunned into silence, for the first time since her creation, she pondered the rather ludicrous notion of living forever¡ªwith him, no less.


    He granted her¡ªan eternal being trapped in a, dare she say, mundane mortal shell¡ªa fear of death.


    She no longer wanted to die.


    Not even Merlin, who saved her from the cycle of death and rebirth¡ªnot even her comrades who fought alongside her, and not even Yvain, her beloved disciple, was able to give her a reason to choose life, to cling to that thread of existence¡ª


    Simply looking at the wreckage of this man¡¯s heart after seeing her death, she now feared the very notion of leaving him alone in this plane of existence.


    Two days'' worth of memory deleted, and yet he mourned. Her death this time was only worth two days of her entire immortal life¡ªyet he mourned.


    A death solely designed to continue the curse¡ªa death deleted by the curse itself.


    Thus he mourned because he could only share it with her, and no one else. Her death no one remembered but himself. Her death only he would mourn.


    ¡°Caliburn,¡± Morgan rose, casting a glance at him lying on the couch. ¡°You¡¯ve mentioned I¡¯ve built some muscle these past weeks in Inkia, right?¡±


    ¡°Mm,¡± Burn replied. ¡°You can do seven push-ups now.¡±


    ¡°Think I could try Force training now?¡±


    Burn blinked. Suddenly?


    Morgan had never truly cared about hanging onto life. Even with a body possessing zero Force talent and unable to lift its own weight sometimes, she had little concern for her mere mortal vessel. Her soul would usually manage that little inconvenience.


    But now, with a desire to stick around forever with him, Morgan wanted a fix¡ªand she wanted it fast. Leisurely training? Forget it. She wanted to be a master tomorrow if the universe permitted.


    If she got strong enough, he wouldn¡¯t have to bear that much burden anymore, right? She wouldn¡¯t need to die so often¡ªwouldn''t be required to jump in front of danger so much.


    She would live.


    And then¡­


    ¡°One day¡­ I want to have a biological child with you,¡± Morgan stated, her voice steady.


    Truthfully, her body was still a glorious mess. No menstrual cycle. One might say¡ªa real festival of chaos. Her organs were clinging to life support like they were at a support group, and without her infinite soul, she¡¯d be stuck walking like a newborn deer on ice.


    What kind of future was she dreaming of with him? What sort of eternal life did she want to share?


    But unbeknownst to her, underneath her, Burn was speechless. Maybe being blasted by meteorites wouldn¡¯t have this much effect on him.


    Swallowing, the man¡¯s visage darkened.


    ¡°Is this¡­ provocation?¡±


    She just asked him to show her the memory of when he taught her about giving head, and now she suddenly asked to have a child with him?


    ¡°Morgan Le Fay¡­¡± Burn coldly ordered, ¡°Let¡¯s test your endurance.¡±


    Morgan cowered. ¡°Not stamina¡­?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t stop even when you cry this time.¡±

 161 - Yvain’s Pastime

    What exactly trapped Morgan inside the mind prison?


    A mystery she mulled over, suspicions swirling like autumn leaves. ¡°I¡¯ll have to consult Master Vlad about it later. After all, mind spells are his thing,¡± she murmured, knowing it was the first time she heard it.


    As Burn hoisted her into the carriage, he hummed a tune that might as well have been a funeral dirge for her current existential crisis. ¡°And what of you? I would¡¯ve thought mind spells were your forte as well.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve put some thought into it,¡± Morgan replied, leaning closer. ¡°My mind processes memory with such uncanny precision that it borders on sinister. But as for my true specialty?¡±


    She shook her head in defeat.


    Burn¡¯s voice held a touch of envy, ¡°So, if infinity isn¡¯t your specialty, that must mean you¡¯re still capable of boundless growth.¡± He paused. ¡°And let¡¯s not forget, you¡¯ve decided it''s high time to take care of your physical form and delve into the world of Force Magic.¡±


    With a teasing voice, he asked, ¡°What prompted this sudden ambition, oh lofty madam? You suddenly looked at me and decided ¡®yes, today I conquer my limitations¡¯.¡±


    Instantly, a blush crept onto Morgan¡¯s cheeks, transforming her usually composed demeanor into a tapestry of mild embarrassment. It was subtle, yet in that moment, she pouted, a look so captivating that even the sturdiest mountains would bow before her whimsy, and the very sky would tremble to coax her.


    Honestly, when someone like her made such a face, the universe itself might reconsider its laws.


    ¡°I just¡­ don¡¯t want to die anymore.¡±


    Burn halted mid-stride, cradling her in his arms. His face remained a blank slate, but his eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind those calm waters.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let you die again,¡± Burn stated flatly.


    Morgan let out a soft chuckle. ¡°Oh, Caliburn, I don¡¯t mind dying for the curse. But I mean¡ª¡±


    She trailed off, noticing the unyielding expression on his face. The same one he wore earlier in the buffet hall, a look that could scare away even the most intrepid of dessert enthusiasts.


    ¡°We are facing unpredictable dangers,¡± she reminded him. ¡°Dying to reverse time? It¡¯s a small price to pay.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not small to me,¡± Burn replied, his tone grave.


    ¡°Caliburn, you¡¯re missing the point. This dying and that dying¡ªthey¡¯re worlds apart. Right now? Right now, I don¡¯t want to leave this world. I don¡¯t want to leave you,¡± Morgan explained, injecting a blend of sincerity and helplessness. Burn''s stoic facade softened, just a fraction. ¡°Before, because of my immortality¡ª¡±


    ¡°You craved death,¡± Burn interjected, continuing his steady pace through the academy¡¯s corridors, each step echoing a forgotten promise. ¡°Now I see why you wish to grow stronger.¡±


    A woman who, having tasted immortality, now feared the fleeting moments of life. The fleeting moments she shared with him. It was a twisted irony, one that Burn might never fully understand.


    Leaving the academy grounds, Burn carried her toward the carriage where Yvain had already positioned himself, flanked by an entourage of important figures: Duke Padparadscha, his wife, Headmaster Bianca, and the ever-somber Marquis Mossflower. Quite the social soiree they had going on.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Papa, is Mama alright?¡± Yvain inquired, his voice a mix of concern and the innocent curiosity only children can muster. His two friends, Matthew and Alan, eyed Burn with the caution born from lingering fear.


    ¡°She¡¯s just tired,¡± Burn replied, as he placed her inside the carriage, covering her with a thin blanket as if cocooning a fragile butterfly.


    He then turned to engage in polite chitchat with the other parents, the ritual of social niceties that felt rather similar to a perpetual loop of tiresome small talk.


    After bidding his farewells, he gave Yvain a gentle nudge into the carriage, like shoving a reluctant souffl¨¦ into the oven. The boy glanced at him weirdly.


    Yvain offered a respectful bow to the gathering and waved energetically at his friends¡ªwho looked equally relieved and horrified at the prospect of being alone with the rather large and brooding figure of Burn.


    Once the carriage lurched forward, Yvain couldn¡¯t help but voice his concerns again, the poor lad clearly still anxious. ¡°Is Master Morgan okay?¡± he asked, his voice dripping with sincerity that would have melted even the iciest of hearts.


    Morgan smiled, that enigmatic smile that wrapped around her face like a riddle. ¡°Just another loop wrapping up,¡± she replied, her tone cheerfully cryptic. As if that explained everything, and nothing at all.


    ¡°You took so long. Is your soul so badly damaged again?¡± Yvain inquired, the edge of his voice hinting at both concern and curiosity.


    Morgan held his gaze, refusing to flinch from the weight of her guilt. It wasn¡¯t her fault that Burn had indulged himself so thoroughly; after all, some people have no regard for moderation. The man himself stared out the carriage window, leaving the sugar-coated chatter to her.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that bad this time,¡± Morgan replied softly. ¡°I¡¯ll just die in two or three days.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ just you, then?¡± Yvain asked.


    Morgan couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Yes, we¡¯ll be caught off guard, it seems.¡±


    She rubbed Yvain¡¯s head, gently succumbing to a daze. From this simple act, Yvain understood that the issue was far more significant than it appeared on the surface. He frowned, realizing it was time for him to take some rather bold action.


    ¡°Masters, I think I''m going to stay after all," Yvain suddenly declared.


    Morgan turned to Burn, who just glanced at them for a bit. ¡°Yes, Yvain, you can stay.¡±


    Yvain, knowing that they might have anticipated his decision, continued, "It¡¯s the Vision Resonator. Something¡¯s wrong, and I¡¯ll investigate it. School''s starting in two days, so I might as well dive into it. I¡¯m afraid something bad will happen if I don¡¯t do a thorough check on it before the year starts."


    Morgan smiled, "The heart wants what it wants. Investigate away, just try not to get yourself killed, alright?"


    Yvain nodded.


    ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± he said earnestly. He just wanted to be useful.


    Shifting his gaze to Burn, Yvain grinned. ¡°Master Burn, wouldn¡¯t it be delightful if I had some backup from your delightful network of spies in Inkia?¡±


    Burn nodded. ¡°Use them as you please. Wilderwood will also lend a hand. In fact, why don¡¯t you take charge of Inkia entirely?¡±


    Yvain¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Huh? You¡¯re actually tasking me with taking over Inkia?¡± Excitement bubbled up within him, a brief flicker of upheaval.


    ¡°Now you know how to ask for help.I¡¯ll send you members of the round table, consider it a practice, a little pastime if you will, while you navigate the academy. You can do it, right?¡±


    Yvain blinked. So, he must still prioritize his education, and conquering Inkia was a little pastime?


    ¡°We¡¯ll handle all the threats from the world beyond. Just focus on gaining roots over the nobles. But don¡¯t let anyone know you are the core of the operation. There¡¯s some suspicion that someone dangerous is behind everything here,¡± Burn said.


    Actually, letting Yvain be the focus of things would be the best course of action right now. With the boy at the helm, and him and Morgan juggling everything else, surely they could find a cozy little hideaway for him.


    Who would have thought that a mere twelve-year-old could be the mastermind behind conquering an entire kingdom?


    "How long until you''re back?" Yvain inquired, fully aware that the mythical grand assembly would take its sweet time clearing Burn''s name from the absurd charges.


    "In two days," Morgan promptly replied. ¡°Well, fixing my death might take just a day or so longer.¡±


    Burn slipped into another reverie, trying to piece together the great puzzle in his mind. His father¡¯s death, the enigma of Princess Shorof¡¯s mana poisoning, Yvain¡¯s parents'' unfortunate endings, and perhaps even the untimely demise of a few influential figures a couple of years ago¡­


    That was when the carriage suddenly halted violently.


    Then, the coachman yelled, ¡°Get out of the way!¡± making Burn and Morgan stare at each other.


    This hadn¡¯t happened in the last loop.

 162 - Slaves

    ¡°Stay inside,¡± Burn said as he opened the carriage door. He glared at Yvain when the boy was about to follow him out, but he deflated back to his seat instead.


    ¡°Sir Sator, this is nothing. Please return inside,¡± the coachman urged.


    Ever since he¡¯d taken up the job of Wilderwood Mansion¡¯s coachman, he had never encountered a man with such a commanding presence. Not even the Marquis who employed him bore the same air that Morgante di Sator exuded. Not to mention his wife and son¡ª


    Burn walked toward the man who had jumped in front of the carriage, the horses nearly trampling him had the coachman not been so adept. He looked down at the figure, seemingly uninjured but radiating confusion and pain.


    The man suddenly lunged at him, clutching his ankle.


    ¡°Good sir¡­! Please! Please help¡ªplease!¡±


    He was dirty¡ªfilthy, really. His skin was smeared with the remnants of hardship, a canvas of grime etched upon his frail frame. He was young, but the harshness of life had aged him prematurely, turning his boyish features into a mask of desperation.


    At a glance, it was painfully obvious he was a slave, bound not just by chains but by the weight of despair that clung to him like a second skin.


    His clothes hung off him as though they were borrowed from a more fortunate soul, tattered and threadbare, doing little to shield him from the elements or the world¡¯s judgment.


    His hair, matted and unkempt, framed a face that looked as if it had forgotten what joy felt like¡ªa reminder that innocence often fades in the light of cruel realities.


    The way he clutched his ankle spoke volumes; it wasn¡¯t just physical pain, but a plea for acknowledgment in a world that had long since chosen to ignore his existence.


    ¡°Ah, just what I needed today,¡± Burn thought, ¡°a young rebel appealing for a hero''s rescue. How quaint.¡±


    He kicked him away, and the slave¡¯s desperate clutch on his ankle was gone. Glancing at Wilderwood Mansion, he unleashed a twisted sneer; a loose slave impeding his return home was just the delightful inconvenience he needed.


    He hadn¡¯t had the pleasure of meeting this pitiful creature before because he left much earlier from the academy.


    ¡°Master Sator,¡± Finn appeared briskly from the mansion gates, his gait almost frenzied, his guards in tow. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    Burn shrugged. ¡°Just a random slave?¡± he replied. ¡°What brought you out here?¡±


    Finn¡¯s expression soured slightly. ¡°I heard the Madam collapsed during the entrance ceremony buffet. You took your sweet time returning, and I started to worry something dire had transpired. So, I patiently waited for your arrival, and¡­¡± His gaze drifted to the slave, writhing on the ground like a fish out of water.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°My Madam is perfectly fine,¡± Burn declared.


    Finn waved his guards forward to remove the slave, concern plastered across his face. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a relief¡ª¡±


    ¡°No! W-wait! Please help! Help!¡± The young slave scrambled past the guards, his plea a frantic echo. ¡°Save me¡ªmy¡­ my¡­ someone¡­! There¡¯s someone I need to save! Please¡­!¡±


    Confused and desperate, he was nonetheless relentless, the kind of unwavering determination you¡¯d expect from a poorly scripted play with an overly enthusiastic actor.


    Burn couldn¡¯t help but smirk. The irony of it all was delicious¡ªa slave imploring assistance from someone like him, as if he were some sort of knight in shining armor, rather than just a master in dull, metal heeled shoes.


    The day had turned delightfully ridiculous.


    ¡°This one is clearly an illegal slave. Look at the state he¡¯s in,¡± Finn declared, a mix of disdain and pity in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll handle him from here. You were leaving today, right? No need to delay anymore.¡±


    Knowing Burn, Finn didn¡¯t want him to cast more bad luck on this already unfortunate soul of a slave. After all, Burn had a reputation for turning prisoners of war into slaves¡ªa delightful pastime he¡¯d practically mandated for the nobility of the Elysian Kingdom.


    Finn couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine what Burn would do to this poor soul for the crime of inconveniencing his travel plans.


    ¡°Just¡­ please¡­ I¡¯m going to die¡­ they¡¯re going to die¡­!¡± the young slave pleaded, his bloodied palms scraping against the pavement in desperation. ¡°They forced us¡­ they¡­ they tortured us¡­! Those people¡­!¡±


    Finn clicked his tongue, grumbling softly, grimacing. ¡°Why do we still endorse this whole slavery thing¡­?¡±


    ¡°Would he die just because he¡¯s a slave?¡± Burn asked, an eyebrow raised, irritation simmering beneath the surface.


    ¡°Well,¡± Finn nearly stuttered, ¡°Yes, he would die at this point.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Burn retorted. ¡°He won¡¯t die simply because of his status as a slave. He''ll die because his owner decided it was a good afternoon for an execution.¡±


    Finn narrowed his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s because he¡¯s a slave in the first place. Isn¡¯t that how people treat slaves? That¡¯s why slavery is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Slavery is good,¡± Burn shrugged. ¡°Clearly, some people don¡¯t have a right to an opinion or voice. I know you¡¯ve met people like them.¡±


    Finn widened his eyes. Some nobles, criminals, and horrible people¡¯s faces flashed in his mind.


    ¡°Anyway, as long as slavery is perfectly regulated with precisely maintained rules, nothing like this would happen,¡± Burn said. ¡°My Empire¡¯s slaves had chances to prove themselves useful and free themselves from their lowly status too.¡±


    ¡°Except those who were only suitable for menial work, the unambitious ones, or the turned-inside-out-asshole criminals, everyone had the same chance to prove themselves,¡± Burn shrugged.


    Galahad was a slave, yet he became the strongest knight of Soulnaught.


    ¡°There are slaves walking among us, living decorated and rich lives under their generous masters, their lives better than most free people, pampered and loved. And when you put it another way, you can call anyone a slave,¡± Burn signaled the guards to pull the young slave to his feet.


    ¡°Like I am a slave to my wife, and my wife a slave to me,¡± Burn looked closer at the young slave. Meanwhile, Finn was stunned. Now his view of Burn completely changed.


    Burn had promised Morgan to explain himself more now. And even though his view was twisted and cruel, there were reasons behind it. He stood firm in his opinion that some people just fit to be slaves.


    Some people needed to be made into slaves.


    Most people were already slaves anyway, even though they thought they were free. They were usually slaves to money, slaves to their own desires, or slaves to what they thought were where their happiness lay.


    If one thought about it, extreme slavery like this would still happen nevertheless, hidden under the shadow of the underground world. So why not entirely make it legal and keep a keen eye on it? Enforce order.


    This truth about humanity¡ªhe might be one of the small community of people who dared to face it and fix it.


    Of course, if it were Morgan, she would try to fix it some other way¡ªsince she was also part of this small community.


    After observing the young slave, Burn frowned. He ordered¡ª


    ¡°Bring him inside.¡±

 163 - Coincidence

    Standing beside Burn, Morgan frowned, deepening the crease between her eyebrows like a well-worn map of worry. Looking at the young slave¡¯s pitiful state, she couldn¡¯t help but acknowledge that, surprisingly, Burn was right.


    ¡°Mana poisoning, right?¡±


    Morgan nodded, her tone dripping with gravity. ¡°Mm, but this one is mild... sort of like a light drizzle when you were hoping for a monsoon, across a long period of time. How could this be possible?¡±


    ¡°Mild?¡± Burn echoed.


    ¡°And bizarre. There¡¯s a trace of corrupted mana in his system. But it¡¯s not the usual amount, and the symptoms are unlike any other I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Morgan elaborated, her voice even sharper than the crease in her brow.


    The young man could still walk¡ªthough it resembled a particularly uncoordinated dance¡ªand he had a surprising amount of strength. Amazingly, he could still manage to speak, albeit sporadically. But the strangest twist? His memory was a complete jigsaw puzzle missing half the pieces.


    He kept pleading with them to save someone¡ªor was it some people?¡ªfrom some unspecified peril, yet when push came to shove, he couldn¡¯t quite recall what, exactly, that peril was. The irony of begging for salvation while being utterly lost himself was not lost on Morgan.


    Oh, well, nothing says ¡°I¡¯m on top of my game¡± quite like being held captive and suffering from a bout of memory loss while simultaneously playing the role of a concerned hero. The man didn¡¯t know who he was saving or from what, yet kept pushing.


    ¡°Will he get better if you purify the corruption? Can he say what he needs to say?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan wasn¡¯t even sure if this man would still return to sanity even if she cured him now, not to mention his memory. So she shook her head.


    Now, it was Burn¡¯s turn to frown.


    Escaping his owner, walking on the streets with no ability to even recognize why, yet keeping going, and going, and going. With this kind of drive, coupled with his inability to remember anything, it would just make sense if people would brush him away like someone mentally deranged.


    He was literally someone falling through the cracks of the harsh world, invisible¡ª


    Because really, who stops to help the dazed wanderer without a clear name or a purpose?


    The world treated him with the same gratitude one might reserve for a fly buzzing around a picnic. He could be the town¡¯s secret hero¡ªif only someone could remember his existence long enough to notice.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Here¡¯s a guy who¡¯s clearly got his life''s mission nailed down, albeit without a clue what that mission is. It¡¯s not just tragic; it¡¯s the ironic ballet of incompetence in a universe that seems to revel in tossing chaos at unsuspecting actors.


    And yet, he keeps going. The burning question remains: is it courage, madness, or blissful ignorance? The answer? Probably a heady mix of all three, painfully beautiful in its relentless futility.


    ¡°We should still try, though,¡± Morgan said, her voice a mix of hope and skepticism. ¡°This corruption has seeped so deep into him that I¡¯m concerned my purification may resemble merely sprinkling holy water on a cursed artifact. So, naturally, the world tree seems like the ideal spot for hopeless cases like him.¡±


    ¡°Then, let¡¯s depart,¡± Burn replied, glancing down at the man sprawled on the bed in one of the grand chambers of Wilderwood¡¯s Capital Mansion. Burn turned, preparing for departure with the addition of one poor creature.


    He looked at Finn, who quickly joined him for a walk. Burn took a deep breath, launching into a tirade of instructions, mainly about Yvain and the current state of the kingdom¡ªbecause who wouldn¡¯t want a thrilling briefing about impending doom? Let¡¯s not forget the danger that lurked just beyond the corner.


    ¡°Investigate where this slave came from. It looks like he recently escaped¡ªor was tossed aside like yesterday¡¯s laundry because of his insanity,¡± Burn continued. The meticulousness of this shadowy force suggested they had a penchant for tidying up loose ends before they became troublesome.


    How considerate of them.


    ¡°To assume they wouldn¡¯t have a team ready to eliminate him is simply naive optimism and wishful thinking¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Mama?!¡±


    Burn pivoted sharply, his earlier irritation now forgotten, a blur of motion even the likes of Finn, a Force Master, couldn¡¯t entirely keep up with.


    Morgan lay on the floor near the bed, having nearly toppled over in her fervent efforts to purify the young slave. Yvain was close by, visibly shaken, rushing to her side.


    ¡°I just turned away for a damn second¡ª¡± Burn growled, anger painting his face as he approached, only to freeze at the sight of her alarmed expression.


    ¡°I saw something, Caliburn,¡± Morgan replied, her gaze locked on him. ¡°My speculation last loop has been confirmed.¡±


    He steadied her, helping her rise once again. ¡°What did you see?¡±


    Morgan hesitated, her eyes darting to the man on the bed. The very man they had coincidentally encountered on the streets of Inkia, a slave pleading for salvation¡ªand from his memory, she prodded¡ª


    ¡°The birth of a new Demon Lord.¡±


    ***


    A pair of eyes flickered open on a weathered bench in a child¡¯s playground, the bright colors of swings and slides juxtaposed against the encroaching shadow of something much darker.


    Laughter and squeals filled the air with the innocent joy of childhood, creating a symphony of pure oblivion that danced around him like the fleeting echoes of a forgotten lullaby. He smiled softly, but not out of admiration for the cheerful chaos; no, that would be far too simple.


    ¡°You found me, Original Saint,¡± he murmured, his voice a blend of reverence and mockery, as if addressing a deity who¡¯d misplaced their sense of humor.


    Here he sat, cloaked in the innocence of the playground, a fortress of bliss.


    Around him, parents watched, utterly unaware of the cosmic joke unfolding right under their noses. They might have thought he was just another weary adult admiring the scenery. Little did they know he was more like a prophet, waiting for the punchline amidst the joy.


    ¡°A change of plan, it seems.¡± Looking down at his palm on his lap, he softly clenched his fist. ¡°Be my guest.¡±

 164 - Inkia’s Factions

    It was two days until the first day of school, and Yvain had quite the to-do list. First off, he immersed himself in the political intricacies of Inkia and its two dominant factions.


    ¡°Let me enlighten you about the ¡®first prince¡¯s¡¯ party,¡± Finn began. ¡°Prince Locan Inkor is the King¡¯s first legitimate son who defied the odds¡ªhe actually survived past toddlerhood. With a favored queen mother held in high esteem, he¡¯s even touted as the crown prince by some, but that¡¯s hardly a hard-earned title.¡±


    Finn leaned in, his voice conspiratorial. ¡°The real puppet master behind this party is none other than Queen Celia, his mother. Cold, ruthless, and an expert in manipulation, she¡¯s revered not merely for her lineage or alleged beauty, but for her rather impressive management skills of the royal household. Nothing can escape her control, not even a single mouse.¡±


    Yvain could feel the impending pressure of a headache.


    ¡°So, let me get this straight: Prince Locan doesn¡¯t actually have any sway over his own party?¡± the boy queried.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Finn replied. ¡°And trust me, he couldn¡¯t care less. Despite his undeniable political acumen, Locan prefers the role of the reluctant observer. He knows every move his mother makes and possesses almost the same information as her, yet he¡¯s jaded enough to dodge anything that resembles actual responsibility. It is, ironically, why he¡¯s able to avoid danger.¡±


    Yvain nodded.


    ¡°Okay, now, can you tell me where His and Her Majesties have wandered off to? I¡¯m afraid we can¡¯t proceed with our plans without them,¡± Finn said, rolling his eyes.


    ¡°And the Prime Minister¡¯s faction?¡± Yvain asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Finn blinked, then cleared his throat. ¡°Well, the Prime Minister is quite the royal pain, actually. His faction has always opposed the royal family¡¯s influence, and, astonishingly, that hasn¡¯t changed in decades. But the two factions are the same in their principles¡ªlike the same actors wearing different costumes.¡±


    He continued, explaining that the Prime Minister was the latest installment of a long line of past kingmakers. His father¡¯s failure to crown a king was a scandal that still echoed through the halls of power, all thanks to Rafaye Inkor¡ªthe shrewd yet resilient current king.


    So, although both the royal and political factions paraded around with the same governance style and philosophies, they were like two sides of a tainted coin¡ªdifferent surfaces, same rot.


    That was in the past, but now, Rafaye had remarkably grasped a semblance of balance. After marrying Queen Celia¡ªhis rather astute partner in this dance of power¡ªand allowing her to bear their son, Locan, he managed to use them to fight against the Prime Minister.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He graciously permitted her to establish the first prince¡¯s faction. ¡°What a generous monarch he is, allowing her to play politics while he avoids the Prime Minister entirely.¡±


    Pity the poor Prime Minister; he was left shadowboxing with the queen and her reluctant prince while Rafaye enjoyed a royal tea party, blissfully ignoring the disagreements brewing beyond the castle walls.


    The fa?ade of governance continued, with everyone playing their part, while Rafaye sipped his tea, chuckling softly at the spectacle.


    ¡°Is Rafaye planning on crowning Locan, then?¡± Yvain asked.


    ¡°You can¡¯t say for sure. Rafaye always had cards up his sleeves¡ªthough now a few of them are marked. Remember, he was supposed to detain my family and shove me into war if Soulnaught had gone through with the attack,¡± Finn replied, the gravity of the situation not lost on him.


    Yvain hummed thoughtfully, though it sounded more like a chuckle. Not only that, Rafaye might just be the architect behind using the mythical community as pawns against Burn and stirring Wintersin to unleash its power on Soulnaught too.


    ¡°It¡¯s safe to assume that Rafaye raised Queen Celia and Locan mainly to keep tabs on the Prime Minister,¡± Finn said, shaking his head as if lamenting the absurdity of it all. ¡°As for who he¡¯ll choose as his successor¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, whoever wins the royal lottery, I assume?¡± Yvain quipped, a wry smile tugging at his lips.


    Finn nodded. ¡°Now, please tell me when Emperor Burn and his wife will return. Please, Your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°Then, who was the Prime Minister¡¯s brilliant choice as Locan¡¯s contender?¡± Yvain inquired.


    ¡°It¡¯s a tad premature for them to make any decisive calls,¡± Finn stated, shaking his head. ¡°Locan happens to be the oldest legitimate prince, but there are two other legitimate princes still too young to even grasp the weight of a crown. And don''t get me started on the countless illegitimate princes lurking in the shadows.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but one illegitimate prince outshines the others. The illustrious Prince Lance Inkor. Talented, yes, but choosing to live like a ghost. His personal life is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and frankly, it¡¯s all the rage,¡± Finn recalled.


    ¡°Do you have any information about him?¡± Yvain asked.


    Finn hummed, ¡°Well, one day, out of the blue, he presents his wife at the royal ball. And just like that, poof¡ªMiss Evere appears. It¡¯s a bit weird, this woman. No one knew where she came from or her identity. She also never spoke with anyone except him.¡±


    ¡°Does the king favor him?¡± Yvain inquired, eyebrows arched in curiosity.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite peculiar, really,¡± Finn replied. ¡°The king seems to have ignored him completely¡­ Well, considering he''s invisible and apparently prefers it that way, perhaps it¡¯s absurd for the king to be wary. Or maybe they¡¯re involved in some dealings while the rest of us twiddle our thumbs in the light.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think that?¡± Yvain mused. ¡°Do you suspect something?¡±


    ¡°Oh, just a hunch,¡± Finn chuckled. ¡°Unlike your run-of-the-mill illegitimate princes, our dear Prince Lance was acknowledged well into his adulthood. A tad late for a family reunion, if you ask me.¡±


    ¡°Now, don¡¯t change the subject again. We must begin our plan soon, so please contact Emperor Burn¡ª¡±


    Yvain shook his head, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. ¡°He won¡¯t be needed.¡±


    A profound silence enveloped them as they locked eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be in charge, not Papa¡ªI mean, His Majesty or Master,¡± Yvain declared, an unnervingly cheerful smile on his face.


    Silence.


    More silence¡­


    ¡°You will¡­ take charge?¡± Finn asked, disbelief lacing his tone, barely above a whisper.


    Yvain nodded vigorously, as if he¡¯d just announced he was going to hunt giant beetles on a summer afternoon. ¡°Yep! Please take care of me. I¡¯ll be the one to conquer Inkia for them.¡±


    This twelve-year-old boy, champion of chaos...


    ¡­


    ¡­


    ¡°THIS IS NOT WHAT WE AGREED UPON!¡± Finn exclaimed.

 165 - Silent War

    As of right now, there was a lot happening all at once: the great assembly, the demon lord problem, the whole Inkia thing, and, of course, those pesky outsiders. Burn and Morgan didn¡¯t change much, except for one particularly noteworthy detail¡ªabout the demon lord.


    ¡°After I pried into this guy¡¯s mind, I¡¯m pretty sure he felt me probing around in there. The abyss stares back,¡± Morgan remarked dryly, as she and the great assembly circled the unfortunate slave sprawled on a gurney beside the ever-watchful world tree.


    ¡°Which is precisely why I insisted we clear everyone out of Princess Shorof¡¯s room,¡± Morgan continued. ¡°We should lock off that corner of the Elven Palace to quarantine the corrupted trinkets.¡±


    They didn¡¯t fully understand what this demon lord was capable of, but Morgan had a rather vivid idea. He could confine her to a mind prison, all thanks to some corrupted artifacts festering in Soulnaught¡¯s treasury.


    The thought of him wielding the same power using Shorof¡¯s trinkets left a sour taste in her mouth. Taking any chances felt like playing poker with a magician¡ªutterly foolish.


    After all, in the last loop, the demon lord had presumably been plotting against her the very moment Shorof slipped from his clutches. It was as if he was sitting back, popcorn in hand, fully aware of her growing awareness. The second those trinkets were lifted from Shorof, it was game on.


    Now, stepping into the treasury¡ªthe sacred vault of a king long since fallen¡ªwas Morgan¡¯s opening. Too bad for her, the demon lord was ruthless enough not to let this opportunity vanish into the ether.


    It was a classic case of ¡°you snooze, you lose,¡± except in this case, the loser would find themselves locked away in their own mind, courtesy of the demon lord¡¯s insidious curse. Quite the poetic finale, wouldn¡¯t you say?


    And Burn would be forced to take her life again, restarting the loop.


    ¡°This is a rather stark departure from the demon lord we used to know, Miss Momo,¡± Vlad grimly said. ¡°A mind prison? Cursing you through some long-dormant corrupted artifact from afar? Just how powerful is this demon lord?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s not forget that the sands of time don¡¯t just creep on us; they frolic in the abyss, too. If they were never really vanquished, five hundred years is ample time to build a veritable empire of corruption,¡± Morgan said.


    ¡°Just like how I¡¯ve accumulated my soul energy to cleanse this world, it seems they¡¯ve been biding their time, sharpening their claws for the perfect moment to pounce,¡± Morgan gritted her teeth, the weight of her past bearing down.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    If Merlin hadn¡¯t stripped her of her power¡ª


    ¡°Fair Miss Momo, let us not tarry overmuch in self-reproach,¡± Isaiah intoned with gentle gravitas. ¡°It doth seem our newly risen demon lord is a master of cunning, ensconced in shadows as he doth orchestrate a grand game of chess, whilst we merely flail about in the simplicities of checkers. He presents a far more intricate menace than any we have encountered heretofore.¡±


    ¡°This is my inadequacy,¡± Morgan said. ¡°I am not fit for sainthood.¡±


    Burn¡¯s eyebrows immediately twitched. He narrowed his eyes, not even hiding his displeasure at her statement. ¡°Ah yes, let¡¯s chalk this all up to negligence on your part again,¡± he said, his frown deepening. ¡°Just what we needed¡ªextra guilt on top of our ever-growing list of ominous problems.¡±


    ¡°Caliburn,¡± Morgan helplessly sighed.


    The man turned his face away in irritation.


    ¡°Whoever this demon lord is,¡± Burn said with a resigned sigh, ¡°he¡¯s managed to poison my father with that corrupted mana and play puppet master with the minds of the elven youths.¡±


    He continued, ¡°Other than that, I can also list a few suspicious deaths of important folks scattered around the globe a few years back, not counting my father.¡±


    ¡°The pope of Luminus, for instance, conveniently expired from ¡®old age¡¯¡ªhe was the same age as my father, not young, but not old. Inkia¡¯s former prime minister, who had an accident, because, you know, those just happen. Wintersin¡¯s crown prince was killed in a civil war...¡± Burn frowned, his nonchalant expression fading into gravity as he continued, ¡°Yvain¡¯s father.¡±


    A heavy silence descended, the kind usually reserved for funerals¡ª


    ¡°And my husband,¡± Tashr suddenly added, her voice trembling like a wavering candle flame. She began to sway from the weight of the revelations and speculations. Isaiah, quick on his feet, caught her before she became a human rug, saving her from a rather unceremonious fall.


    ¡°At this point, we¡¯re clueless about what method he used to execute them¡ªwhether it was the same technique or with various dark usages of corrupted mana,¡± Morgan muttered dryly.


    ¡°But the demon lord resorting to such tactics means he realized he couldn¡¯t just bully his way through this world like the first demon lord,¡± Burn replied. ¡°Even after you¡¯ve lost all your soul energy, Morgan.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Morgan retorted, shaking her head. ¡°Yes, perhaps it was I who kept him in check before. But then we had those outsiders¡ªand especially you.¡±


    Burn¡¯s march of conquest across the continent had given the demon lord more than enough reason to play hide-and-seek in the shadows. Why charge out with swords blazing when you have a very real chance of tripping over Burn or rubbing elbows with those unlimitedly resourceful outsiders?


    And given how things have unfolded, it was painfully clear why the demon lord opted for the quiet life while Burn was out there, bravely (or brashly) trying to rewrite the rules. The darkness tends to take a low profile when the spotlight is on a show-off.


    ¡°Your presence forced him to stay hidden. Until...¡± Morgan glanced at the unfortunate soul on the gurney. ¡°Until we inadvertently stumbled upon the beast.¡±


    The butterfly had flapped its wings.


    Morgan had speculated about the demon lord¡¯s emergence in the previous loop¡ªand let¡¯s not forget her delightful little soiree in his curse¡ªbut only now was the confirmation settling in like a particularly bitter tea.


    ¡°Today,¡± she declared, her voice deepening, ¡°I, Morgan Le Fay, hereby proclaim the commencement of the second Holy War.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s begin the Crusades.¡±

 166 - Love Potion Duo

    ¡°It¡¯s a rather splendid notion,¡± Vlad remarked with a grin, his fangs glinting in the light. ¡°Not merely because we vampires enjoy a certain immunity to corrupted mana and curses, but also due to our notable prowess with mind spells.¡±


    ¡°Stereotypes aside, we creatures of the night do seem to have a specific affinity with corruption, yes?¡± Bella quipped, her laughter ringing like chimes in the dark. ¡°What say you, Your Majesty?¡±


    Turning to Onulph Sam, the Werewolf Alpha King, she found him nodding in agreement. ¡°I shall lend my assistance. Let us carefully dissect the corrupted items in Princess Shorof¡¯s room.¡±


    ¡°Should nothing alarming present itself, may I bother you to visit Soulnaught Palace and inspect my father¡¯s regalia?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Even better, I could dispatch my people to retrieve and quarantine them near the world tree. Surely, it¡¯s safer here,¡± Onulph replied.


    ¡°Do allow us the honor of assistance as well,¡± Aidyl Navarre, the Merfolk Monarch, said, floating closer with his amorphous blob of water. ¡°We have historians and researchers of artifacts too. And much like yourselves, we possess a commendable resistance to corruption. After all, the ocean is a bigger cesspool of corruption compared to the land.¡±


    Eos Kirmizi trotted forward, a chuckling neigh escaping him. ¡°But while you may bask in your resistance, you¡¯re also more prone to flirt with the dark side. I shall join in the purification efforts, lest you all succumb to the madness.¡±


    ¡°Master Kirmizi, just as we Merfolk can gracelessly plunge to become Sirens, you Unicorns do have the deteriorating option to become Bicorns,¡± Aidyl quipped. ¡°Do try not to get your sparkly horns caught in anything.¡±


    ¡°Since we¡¯re throwing ourselves into this war fest anyway, count us in,¡± Selen Blackmantle declared, walking closer with her minotaur husband, Theor, and the ever-serious Adroros Borion, Chief of Centaurs.


    ¡°Assuming he¡¯s been using these corrupted items as little death traps for prominent citizens worldwide, hunting them down will be quite the work vacation,¡± Morgan remarked.


    ¡°And our kingdom, with its sanctuary nestled beneath the world tree, shall aid in quarantining and dissecting them,¡± Tashr Reyrie added. ¡°We¡¯ll learn everything about them.¡±


    Wekkoun and Grumbletoe nodded sagely at Tashr and Morgan, a wry smile creeping onto Wekkoun¡¯s face. ¡°I must admit, I dread the thought of excavating our own tunnels. We might find a veritable treasure trove of such items¡ªor, heaven forbid, they might just be our own artisan¡¯s handiwork.¡±


    Morgan let out a resigned sigh, brow furrowing slightly. She turned toward Burn and Isaiah, the weight of the impending journey evident. ¡°It¡¯s time we go to the moon.¡±


    ***If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°There was an incident before?¡± Yvain shot up from his chair, his anticipation for the first day of school tomorrow now tinged with a hint of dread.


    He¡¯d hoped for a smooth intro, but thanks to Burn¡¯s backing, they were digging up information faster than a gopher in spring. Still, diving into the Vision Resonator was like navigating a dungeon system without a guide.


    ¡°There was an incident where a volunteer for a test awakened his vision and went on a rampage. Thankfully, it didn¡¯t kill him,¡± Finn Wilderwood disclosed, his tone grim.


    Yvain grimaced. ¡°And the genius behind this ¡®marvelous¡¯ contraption?¡±


    Finn shook his head, exasperation tugging at his lips. ¡°The inventor is more elusive than a shadow at midnight¡ªprotected like a royal heir and hidden like my last-minute cheat sheet. Even the patent documents are locked tighter than a dragon¡¯s vault. Whoever it was, they either have serious clout or a really good hiding spot.¡±


    ¡°Then, the choice to use the academy grounds for this experiment? I¡¯m really not fond of where this is headed¡­¡± Yvain murmured.


    ¡°But if the headmaster of the academy, Princess Bianca Lumine, agreed to host this experiment, doesn''t that imply¡­¡± Finn narrowed his eyes, the weight of the suggestion thickening the air around them.


    ¡°For her to acquiesce, safety measures must have been installed,¡± Yvain sighed, the thought sinking in like a stone. ¡°Which, considering how this device operates¡­ it¡¯s worth nothing at all.¡±


    What could possibly go wrong? A vision-awakening contraption with ¡®safety measures¡¯¡ªthat sounded like a recipe for a delightful school experience, Finn thought dryly.


    Yvain pinched the bridge of his nose, his precognitive dread solidifying. Vulnerable souls like Blair Inkor¡ªand, dare he admit, perhaps even himself¡ªwere at peril, perilously close to that contraption. The likelihood of a rampage was unsettlingly high.


    Finn contemplated the situation, his fingers tapping a light rhythm on the table. ¡°As I said, we should consult His and Her Majesty, after all,¡± he suggested.


    ¡°No,¡± Yvain replied, shaking his head with firm determination. ¡°They¡¯re far too occupied at the moment. Today, however, we shall welcome reinforcements from Soulnaught.¡±


    Just then, the door swung open, revealing a pair of knights strutting into the room with an air of flamboyance. The notorious duo of the round table, known far and wide as the Morrois Forest Duo¡ªTristan and Yvolt.


    ¡°Hello, Little Majesty!¡± Yvolt cheerily waved, resting her elbow on the hilt of her rapier as if it were an elegant fashion accessory.


    Tristan followed suit with a grin. ¡°Did you guys order a love potion?¡±


    Finn¡¯s jaw dropped to the ground. ¡°L-L-Love Potion Duo¡­ Tristan and Ysolt¡­!¡±


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s Yvolt now. You better not call me that name again,¡± Yvolt said, her head tilted, short black hair framing her lovely face with a hint of danger.


    Yvain chuckled, eyebrow raised. ¡°Of all the people, why did he send you two?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Tristan replied, smirking. ¡°It¡¯s because Yvolt and I excel at escort missions.¡±


    ¡°Escort?¡± Yvain blinked, skepticism dripping from his voice.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s clarify,¡± Tristan said, cocking his head at Yvolt. ¡°This time, it isn¡¯t an escort mission, is it?¡±


    Yvolt beamed innocently. ¡°It¡¯s a guarding mission instead.¡±


    Finn narrowed his eyes, suspicion etched across his face. ¡°Your fighting style is far too chaotic to handle the finesse of escort or guarding missions.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Wilderwood. Are we still dwelling on ancient grudges?¡± Tristan teased with a mockingly hurt expression.


    ¡°You¡¯ve crossed paths before?¡± Yvain asked, intrigued.


    Finn grimaced, his tone heavy with resentment. ¡°They brutally killed an Inkian diplomat I¡¯d just traded for some royal riches after he was detained at Soulnaught on espionage charges.¡±


    ¡°Oh! You figured out it was us?¡± Yvolt chirped, a fake surprise etching her face. ¡°We were masked!¡±


    Finn shot an accusatory finger at them. ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t recognize you with that one-of-a-kind fighting style? You might as well have worn neon signs!¡±


    Yvain chuckled. Oh, it¡¯s gonna be fun.

 167 - Miracle

    ¡°Maybe next time you see a skinny and dirty slave on the street, you shouldn¡¯t kick him with your metal-heeled boots, which will save us some time because I won¡¯t need to fix his concussion,¡± Morgan said as they were about to approach the moon.


    ¡°Oh, with pleasure, Madam. Next time we meet a suspicious stranger who holds up our carriage on the way home, I¡¯ll let him touch me all over so I can bring a curse back to you and Yvain,¡± Burn said sarcastically.


    He continued, ¡°If we¡¯re lucky, you can even catch a disease from the clothes I wore whenever I embrace you after saving a random dirty person on the street.¡±


    Morgan scoffed. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll never argue with you anymore.¡±


    Burn mock-gasped, ¡°What? What have I done? Heavens forbid¡ªno, the Gods have forsaken me. What did I do to deserve never being able to argue with you anymore?¡±


    Morgan desperately held back her smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Morgan. Don¡¯t take my arguing privilege away, I beg you. It¡¯s the only thing keeping me alive. Please, argue more with me,¡± his tone was almost too serious now, and Morgan glanced at him, only to see the little sneer on his lips.


    Morgan glared. ¡°Caliburn.¡±


    Pinch¡ªwell, it was barely a pinch on the arm since she had delicate fingers that couldn¡¯t twist his skin, and also because she wasn¡¯t seriously trying to hurt him.


    Burn grasped her arm and put it back on the mana rope she had created to secure the two of them on this ride. The man became genuinely serious now. ¡°I don¡¯t want to take chances after your last death.¡±


    ¡°I get it, but you could¡¯ve dodged if you actually didn¡¯t want to get touched,¡± Morgan sighed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a habit. I¡¯m used to kicking people away. And I didn¡¯t kick him that hard. There are a dozen other reasons why I didn¡¯t dodge, too. Do you want me to list them one by one?¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°First, what if I dodged and he somehow got to you in the blink of an eye? After the surprises, I can¡¯t guarantee that I¡¯ll be able to protect you even in my own territory,¡± Burn said.


    ¡°Alright, I get it; you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±


    ¡°And you know I don¡¯t like dodging or avoiding things. It¡¯s kinda stupid in hindsight, but I¡¯m familiar with danger, and I like to confront it directly most of the time. It¡¯s part of my instinct and experience.¡±


    ¡°Fine, you can stop¡ª¡±


    ¡°And I was this close to killing something that day. He was just conveniently there,¡± Burn said, reminding Morgan of his mood after returning from the future.


    Morgan couldn¡¯t argue anymore.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    After a lengthy silence, Burn sighed and conceded. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll apologize to him when and if he manages to regain consciousness.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Caliburn,¡± Morgan said, looking at him with a hint of pride and relief.


    Why did it feel like he was still in the wrong, even though he was clearly right? Why did this feel like a loss? This persistent nagging at his pride as a man, feeling like he was in a dilemma¡­


    But then he turned to Morgan, and there she was¡ªsmiling at him, brimming with pride and affection. He couldn¡¯t utter a single word. She acted as if he had improved and risen to the occasion, while he felt like a character in a bad play, getting cheated out of his rightful lines.


    What is this ridiculous feeling?! Is this what they called¡­ marriage?!


    ¡°Thou art correct, Mistress Momo. The son of Arthur is a good man,¡± Isaiah suddenly interjected, rather helpfully.


    ¡°Right? He¡¯s not only strong and cool but also a good man,¡± Morgan chimed in gently.


    Burn understood the problem. He had changed¡ª!


    ¡°I am not a good man,¡± he replied sullenly, with the enthusiasm of a wet blanket. ¡°I have always been the last person you could call good.¡±


    Morgan shook her head, smirking faintly. ¡°Nope. You¡¯re the goodest man in the world.¡±


    Burn blinked. Switch out "man" for "dog," and suddenly it all became painfully clear for Burn. He¡¯d been tamed?! When? How? The memory hit him hard¡ªthe one where he¡¯d buckled, dropping to one knee when Morgan first unearthed his little secret¡ªhis history of sapiophagy.


    He had caved long ago.


    Not that it mattered. He wouldn¡¯t stop the worst thing he¡¯d ever done, not by a long shot. He¡¯d do it again in a heartbeat. Gnawing on the flesh of a sentient being? Slaughtering his own family? Hard to top that, honestly. But he¡¯d do it again, all of it, if it pushed him closer to his goals. Every single time.


    Like when he had to kill Morgan to reset the loop. Again. Just yesterday.


    Burn felt a twisted sort of relief wash over him, bitter and sharp. No, he hadn¡¯t changed, not even an inch. Still the same wicked soul. If he had become a better person, well, he¡¯d have killed himself instead, wouldn¡¯t he? But nope¡ªhe killed her.


    The burden of being the cruel one? Let him be the one to shoulder that.


    ***


    Morgan hadn¡¯t read Burn¡¯s mind.


    For whatever whim, she thought peering into those murky depths would not just shatter her heart, but also steal something fundamental from Burn.


    Naturally, she opted for the charmingly old-fashioned approach: listening to his words directly. But, of course, surprise, surprise! Unlike looking directly into his memory, there were certain "minor" details he conveniently left out.


    Like¡­


    ¡°Mama! Papa! Unc¡ª? Big? Brother? Uncle¡­?¡±


    Morgan¡¯s jaw dropped, and Isaiah¡¯s followed suit, his own disbelief crashing to the floor.


    ¡°We meet again, Nemo,¡± Burn grinned.


    Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons radiated joy with the innocence of a little girl spinning gleefully at her father''s return from work. She even emitted sounds resembling giggles, albeit with the endearing quality of baby babble.


    Burn hovered nearby, attempting the most awkward of gestures, possibly to pat her head. The ouroboros snake performed a playful headbutt against his palm before coiling back around her form.


    ¡°H-how¡­?¡± Morgan finally found her voice, deep in confusion.


    The man turned to her and Isaiah, his expression a mix of incredulity and bewilderment. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Caliburn, did you know what just happened?¡± Morgan asked once more.


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t really told you this, but Nemo and I made a contract to share our perspectives of the futu¡ª¡±


    Isaiah interjected, shaking his head vigorously. ¡°Nemo shouldst not even be capable of speech!¡±


    Burn creased his eyebrows.


    ¡°Well,¡± Morgan resumed, her tone now tinged with gravitas, ¡°for her to gain sentience¡­ this is¡­ a miracle.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? Isn¡¯t she your catalyst? I assumed she was like those sentient legendary or mythical swords they prattle on about in stories and fairytales,¡± Burn asked.


    ¡°Caliburn, Nemo¡­ she¡¯s a Construct. Granted, there have been instances of a Construct gaining sentience, but they¡­ usually don¡¯t talk¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nemo! Talk! Help! Mama, Papa!¡±


    ¡°Holy fuck.¡±


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    ¡°No! Bad Nemo. Don¡¯t mimic your Papa!¡±

 168 - Construct

    After separating from Burn and strolling toward the treasury, Morgan felt everything was just peachy. She¡¯d practically taken up residence here after regaining her consciousness, so it had nearly become her comfort zone. A place she could put her guard down.


    Even knowing Burn¡¯s father was poisoned with corrupted mana, after all, she was still the Original Saintess. Cleaning up corrupted mana was her gig for five hundred years, and honestly, it would take more than a simple curse to toss her off her game.


    Then she strolled into the treasure chamber, and bam¡ªwhat a nasty surprise. This wasn¡¯t the garden-variety poison they used on Shorof.


    The moment she collapsed, because apparently the universe had a sick sense of humor, she managed to ping Nemo with jumbled orders via her consciousness. Lucky for her, her mind wasn¡¯t entirely switched off yet. The curse could take her body, but her soul? Nope, that was still on the line.


    Before long, help arrived. She was completely incapacitated, not able to lift a finger, and yet she was getting the front-row seat to her own disaster. Her body was a useless husk. But her soul was still very much able to witness everything.


    But unfortunately, communicating with Caliburn was a bridge too far. No texts, no calls, not even a smoke signal. Instead, she felt herself pulled deeper into the abyss.


    Until she saw that man.


    ¡°The demon lord certainly seized that golden opportunity to trap me in that mind prison curse. If presumably I¡¯ve been the bane of his existence for so long, it makes perfect sense for him to take that slim chance to render me utterly incapacitated,¡± Morgan said, having finally retrieved her memories courtesy of Nemo, rather than Burn.


    ¡°But in that murky abyss, I discovered that he paid quite the hefty sum to pull it off,¡± she added, directing her gaze at Burn.


    The man furrowed his brows, attempting to grasp the gravity of her words. ¡°Price. Right, like how you offered your soul to settle our curse?¡±


    Morgan nodded gravely. ¡°To trap me, the Original Saint, in that curse, he used the equivalent of an entire continent''s worth of corrupted mana. And he could only sever my mind, leaving my soul and body intact. That seems to be the extent of power he could muster.¡±


    That was why Morgan''s soul remained intact, with her body untouched. Burn''s memory flashed back to his earlier confirmation that her physical form was indeed perfectly unharmed.


    ¡°If I had learned Vision Art, would I have been able to communicate with you back then?¡± Burn asked.


    Morgan¡¯s lips curled into a gentle smile. ¡°Perhaps. But it should have been me actively trying to reach out, not just relying on Nemo, who shouldn''t have been able to speak.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Speak! Papa! Yell! Nemo! Yell!¡± Nemo chirped.


    ¡°Good girl,¡± Morgan sighed, patting the construct with a mix of affection and exasperation.


    Most constructs, created by past Mages and Vision users, lacked the charm of genuine sentience. Conveniently programmed to serve their creators, they were unique in functionality, sure, but hardly brimming with personality.


    Fashioned from magic, their so-called consciousness was merely a concoction of mana and materials. They typically took the form of catalysts¡ªshiny objects or treasures designed to help regulate mana and spells, as well as to calculate and program magic effects.


    Now, take Mnemosyne¡¯s Aeons. Built with an astonishing amount of soul energy¡ªbecause, of course, she belonged to Morgan¡ªher complexity was more than just ¡°very impressive.¡± She stood, well, floated, as one of the finest constructs ever conjured; an achingly beautiful combination of design and magic meant to impress.


    Yet, a construct, mind you, shouldn¡¯t be gracing the world with spoken words. The logic behind that is simple: no organic mouth, no vocal cords, and most importantly, no reason to speak. Sure, they could whisper into their creator¡¯s consciousness, guiding them through the meandering paths of magic, but that was a reserved function only for their masters.


    Yet here they were¡ªon this rather enchanting moon¡ªhearing her voice as it vibrated through the non-existent air, finding its way to Morgan, Burn, and Isaiah¡¯s ears.


    Oh yes, she could, of course, learn how to do it. Repeated observation of such ability could help her understand what she needed to do.


    The problem was that artificial intelligence usually learned new skills differently from humans. They were typically fed specialized information until they could replicate it well enough, but not through understanding. Not because they wanted to, either.


    Speaking, for one, was something Nemo shouldn¡¯t be able to replicate because she never needed to or was told to. Why? Well, because she only ever needed to communicate with her creator, Morgan, and no one else.


    The kind of communication a programmed construct used with its creator¡¯s mind was not like human speech patterns¡ªit was simplified and result-based.


    Another example would be when two constructs communicated with each other. They didn¡¯t even speak like humans. They spoke through codes and patterns they made up themselves using the program they were made from, in a much simpler way than humans.


    Like if code was made by a toddler, they communicated through their own little symbols and patterns, vastly simpler than the convoluted mess humans call language.


    Thus, not only had Nemo done something she should never have been able to do, but she also fought through the contradiction of Morgan¡¯s command to try and find a way to communicate with Burn.


    She talked.


    She offered Burn a contract.


    She created a solution Morgan had failed to provide, a solution unheard of before.


    She brought her memory to the past for Morgan to read.


    And she took the initiative herself.


    ¡°Mama? Proud?¡± Nemo asked.


    Of course, her language wasn¡¯t as complex as humans¡¯, but this...


    A miracle.


    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, Nemo, yes,¡± Morgan said, her smile warm and genuine.


    Burn narrowed his eyes, glancing suspiciously between Morgan and Nemo. The man hummed thoughtfully, his expression shifting.


    ¡°What are you thinking, Caliburn?¡± Morgan sensed some disturbance the moment the man¡¯s expression changed.


    ¡°It was just yesterday you asked me for a child, but apparently, you already have one more,¡± Burn said. It was astounding how quickly one could graduate from singlehood to a father of two. And she still wanted him plowing her with his seed on top of that.


    And assuming she wanted more than one of his blood and flesh¡ª


    Burn was about to say something when he stopped himself. Different from Yvain, a 12-year-old teenage boy who was also a king and could handle one dirty joke or two, Nemo sounded and acted like a child.


    The man closed his mouth and didn¡¯t continue with his usual shameless sarcasm.

 169 - Mind Games (2)

    ¡°Good afternoon, Admiral.¡±


    In the opulent hall of Soulnaught, there sat the notorious tyrant upon his grand throne¡ªa marvel of craftsmanship, reminiscent of both splendor and dread. His youthful visage, strikingly handsome and radiant, bore seemingly no imperfections, as though the creator had sculpted him from the finest marble.


    Yet there he perched, slightly hunched, leaning sideways in a posture that spoke of nonchalance, as if he regarded the affairs of mortals with the utmost indifference.


    ¡°You must¡¯ve heard about me.¡±


    Propping his chin on his arm, with his elbow nestled against the ornate armrest, he exuded a sense of regal apathy. His golden eyes flickered with a disarming charm, yet beneath that veneer lay a frosty disposition, dark and bottomless.


    The shadows danced on his alabaster skin, cast from the harsh light that poured through the grand hall''s floor-to-ceiling windows, imbuing him with a menacing aura that one could only describe as delightfully terrifying.


    ¡°But this marks our first official meeting, so allow me to extend the courtesy of an introduction.¡±


    Despite the grandeur surrounding him, his expression was a study in ironic detachment. ¡°I am Caliburn Pendragon.¡±


    ¡°How dare you¡­ Do you know who I am?!¡± a man yelled, his voice taut with indignation. ¡°I am the son of Marquis Blitzen! I was born a noble from the Fifth Heaven! You dare capture me, you low-born tyrant¡ª¡±


    The tyrant interjected with a throaty chuckle as one of his men, garbed in the heavy armor of his knights, presented a white contraption, just unearthed from the struggling man¡¯s private ship.


    The one sitting on the throne immediately cradled the contraption like a precious treasure, finally touching and examining it up close. ¡°Another White Dwarf! How delightful.¡±


    The older man on the screen in front of him frowned, his visage tightening.


    After losing one of those formidable planet-destroying weapons to this tyrant, he had been racking his brain for a strategy to recover it. Yet here was his junior, unwittingly tossing another weapon into the mix, all while getting himself captured.


    ¡°Caliburn Pendragon, what is the meaning of this?¡± the old man on the screen sharply asked, his voice a deep rumble, cloaked in wariness yet tinged with frustration.


    Letting his junior concoct a solution had been quite the miscalculation. Asking for the return of the lost weapon? How quaint. They were dealing with a tyrant, a man infamous for single-handedly decimating the first wave of the Alliance¡¯s troops.


    He should¡¯ve known.


    ¡°Oh, please,¡± the tyrant mocked, his voice a deep, teasing growl. ¡°Didn¡¯t you lose a White Dwarf to a gaggle of mercenaries intent on claiming my life? And now you have the gall to send your little junior on a retrieval mission?¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± the senior asked, his tone a simmering cauldron of fury.


    The tyrant shrugged with an air of unconcern. ¡°There¡¯s nothing you can provide that could possibly intrigue me. It was you who lost the weapon, after all. Why are you so surprised that I have zero intention of returning it?¡±


    ¡°Well, yes, it wasn¡¯t exactly a heartfelt handoff from you to me, but still, you lost it, I found it. Seems fair enough, wouldn¡¯t you agree? And let¡¯s not forget it was meant to terminate me,¡± the tyrant remarked, handing the weapon back to his men.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The senior opened his mouth to unleash a retort but was interrupted by a woman, who stepped forward, now facing the screen.


    ¡°I understand now,¡± she said. ¡°It seems our fleet misplaced the treasure we so generously entrusted to them, and it conveniently found its way into your hands.¡±


    Behold, a vision of the future, as if someone finally figured out how to blend the cosmic with the avant-garde. Draped in a midnight cape, the woman resembled a walking piece of the cosmos, with glistening constellations woven into the fabric¡ªwho needs a night sky when you can wear it?


    Her skin, ethereal silver, was a subtle trick of the light, because pale was just too boring for deep-space aesthetics. The spaceship and the surrounding void made her glow like a cosmic beacon, drawing attention from admirers and enemies alike.


    Gaze into her swirling black galaxy eyes, where mischief danced like a playful comet. Those orbs were not just deep; they could easily pull unsuspecting souls into an existential debate¡ªif only they could keep up with her wit.


    ¡°You may keep the weapon. It¡¯s not as if we¡¯re running low on such trinkets,¡± she said suddenly, leaving the senior and the others in stunned silence.


    ¡°Lady Mahkato¡ª¡±


    She raised a hand, silencing him. ¡°But my dear barbarian, might I inquire about your grand design behind detaining our admiral and conducting a raid on his personal vessel?¡±


    Her hair, iridescent black, cascaded in tendrils that looked like liquid shadow. Surrounding her were elite space guards, adorned in ornate armor that could only be described as ¡°fashionably lethal.¡±


    And when her words dripped with menace, it was a threat laden with substance¡ªa far cry from mere bluster. Proven by how that subtle change made the guards around her immediately shift, ready for command.


    Sure, the tyrant took the weapon they¡¯d lost, but detaining an officer of the Alliance who¡¯d come to negotiate? Bold move.


    ¡°Oh, this guy?¡± the tyrant chuckled, a humorless spark in his eyes. ¡°If you want me to return both White Dwarfs, give me the right to kill him.¡±


    The man rose slowly, a striking figure, his sword floating gracefully into his waiting hand, glimmering ominously. Each step he took down from his throne resonated with the sharp clinks of his metal-heeled shoes, echoing through the hall like a death knell.


    ¡°What?!¡± the senior admiral couldn¡¯t believe what he was hearing. ¡°You dare!¡±


    ¡°It seems he thought he could wreak havoc on this world with the shiny trinket he brought the moment I refused to return the first one you misplaced,¡± the tyrant said. ¡°Isn¡¯t he the problem, then?¡±


    ¡°Who let you all misplace the first one? Could it be him too? Since he is so eager to kill me along with this world, of course, it was him, yes?¡±


    At that, the junior¡¯s expression morphed, his eyes bugging out like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Shame, anger, and a dash of arrogance flickered across his face. ¡°It was you who rejected the Alliance¡¯s generous offer! I suggested helping you conquer the land, and you¡ª!¡±


    ¡°Do I look like I need help?¡± the tyrant shot back, his tone so cold it could freeze fire.


    The woman¡¯s eyes became cold.


    ¡°But it seems you really don¡¯t care about this world, do you?¡± he continued, a hint of mockery lacing his words. ¡°After all, what could possibly captivate the minds of people like you in this barbarian¡¯s realm? And let¡¯s be honest, you wouldn¡¯t have bothered with a world-destroying weapon like the White Dwarf if your intention was merely to set up shop here.¡±


    There was something the outsiders desired in this world. And the deployment of not one but two White Dwarfs made it abundantly clear just how much they valued this little planet. The tyrant was all too aware of its significance, and now, she knew that he knew.


    The very presence of that world-destroyer was proof that their ambitions weren¡¯t merely about claiming dominion¡ªoh no¡ªthey were prepared to obliterate this place if their grand designs went awry.


    They were understandably cautious about the source of power they sought, yet the allure of it was evidently too intoxicating to resist.


    This world existed merely as a pop-up in the larger saga, but the junior admiral appeared blissfully unaware of his supporting role.


    ¡°Nonsense!¡± the junior howled, his indignation ricocheting off the walls. ¡°Even if I were remotely tempted to raze this world to the ground, it¡¯s obvious it¡¯s doomed anyway! These backward peasants¡ªhow dare they question the great Alliance and capture me, the illustrious offspring of Marquis Blitzen!¡±


    Yet here stood a barbarian tyrant, an audacious thorn in their grandiose plans, someone with enough audacity to challenge the universe¡¯s most formidable army.


    He unsheathed his sword. ¡°You waltzed into my peaceful little backyard, and even after I silenced your ramblings once, you think to try again? Clearly, you¡¯ve not grasped the concept of ¡®lesson learned.¡¯¡±


    The junior¡¯s bravado crumbled as the man strode down the steps of his throne platform, black sword gleaming ominously. ¡°No¡­ no! You can¡¯t be serious! I am Rudolf Blitzen! My father is¡ª¡±


    Burn lifted his sword high, intent on delivering justice personally.


    And the blade descended.


    SLASH!!!


    Blood spilled.


    And the junior admiral¡¯s head rolled to the ground.

 170 - A Warning

    The moment Rudolf''s head rolled to the ground, Mahkato lost all of her nonchalance about this matter.


    For the first time since she ascended as one of the Overlords, she found herself genuinely affected by something. Her gaze snapped back to Burn, her eyes shimmering with a delightful cocktail of simmering anger and offended dignity.


    Just how formidable was this man? What audacity fueled his decision to snuff out the life of the Alliance¡¯s Fleet Admiral right before her disbelieving eyes? All while he strutted about as if he possessed the divine right to enact such barbarity¡ªfor two world-ending weapons, no less.


    Burn locked eyes with Mahkato, unwavering.


    Yes, she could have dismissed Rudolf¡¯s demise as the unfortunate fate of a foolish man who allowed two cataclysmic devices to slip into the hands of a barbarian after botching a quiet execution, all while planning to obliterate the very world that housed the thing they coveted.


    But witnessing him dead at the hands of the very instigator behind this disorder painted her anger in shades of irony; it was both deserved and fair, yet it felt like a slap in the face¡ªan indignity wrapped in cruel justice.


    Burn grinned, his expression nonchalant. ¡°I could¡¯ve sent him back to you, for you to punish him yourself, and kept the first white dwarf I picked up while returning the other one he foolishly brought here, but why not settle it here?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am sure you would¡¯ve humiliated him, stripping him of his title and duties. You would, perhaps, do it with your own hands,¡± the tyrant said. ¡°But why would I want to borrow your hands to deliver my own punishments?¡±


    Because of her pride, Mahkato would have preferred to punish her own subordinates, and now, with someone else¡¯s blade buried in her subordinate, he was rubbing it in her face too.


    Rudolf, poor wretched Rudolf, would find his life meticulously dismantled after this disgrace. No status within the revered Seven Heavens could shield him from the fallout of being captured by a barbarian, especially over two celestial weapons.


    His humiliation would be etched into the annals of history.


    Losing his title and duties would scarcely begin to compare to the wound inflicted upon the Alliance''s honor, nor could it wash away the stain of his blunder against the Alliance.


    The weight of shame might as well drive him to consider killing himself to avoid further tarnishing his family¡¯s name and the Seven Heavens'' prestige¡ªunless his shamelessness was as boundless as the cosmic void he trespassed.


    Burn, in his infinite wisdom¡ªor perhaps wickedness¡ªunderstood that letting Rudolf live would subject him to a fate far worse than death. Torment would seep into his bones even if he walked free. But he chose to kill him still.  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    All to humiliate Mahkato instead.


    Now, of course, Rudolf¡¯s life couldn¡¯t compare with the sheer value of those two world-ending weapons that had been seized. One fool''s soul could go missing anytime; returning the two white dwarfs after killing one measly man sounded like charity, even.


    But that just highlighted Burn''s uncanny fearlessness¡ªor perhaps his absolute disinterest¡ªin the white dwarfs. He just held onto them because he could.


    Two weapons in which one of their single sneezes could obliterate mountains.


    Burn found satisfaction not in the weapons'' might but in the delightful chaos their mere existence could unleash on the outsiders. The thought of them spiraling into panic at the mere mention of these beauties? Priceless.


    He held onto them not out of necessity, but to revel in the sheer power of having their minds aflame with terror. Quite the showcase of cosmic trolling, wouldn¡¯t you say?


    ¡°Send your men to pick them up,¡± Burn flicked his sword, cleaning it of traces of blood after decapitating a certain fool. He turned his back on the headless body and the screen, back to sit on his throne.


    Mahkato¡¯s face resembled someone who¡¯d just tried a lemon for the first time¡ªbitter, twisted, and utterly displeased. She waved her hand, relinquishing command for his men to scurry off and retrieve the two weapons, not uttering a single word.


    ¡°My wife is unwell,¡± Burn declared, as if announcing a holiday instead of a much-needed pause in an apocalyptic march, leaning back into his throne like a monarch of old. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve settled this little mess, I intend to put a hold on all worldly endeavors and focus on her recovery until she¡¯s back to health.¡±


    It was a warning.


    It was a bit unique for someone like him, a subtle warning wrapped in the guise of tenderness, like a wolf cuddling a lamb before dinner.


    Burn had announced to the world that he would pause his march to conquer the world due to his wife¡¯s illness. But that also included his dealings with the outsiders.


    The reason they had been trying to kill him all this time was because his meddling movements across the world caused them to be unable to investigate what had actually caused the burst of energy that was so strong it ruptured the dimensional walls.


    Now, with him seemingly at rest, their ambitions could unfurl freely at last.


    But it didn¡¯t mean that Mahkato would forget about this, and it didn¡¯t mean that Burn would stop meddling. It was unknown and unpredictable what was on his mind. Whatever had compelled him to pause his relentless advance hinted at far graver affairs lurking in his mind.


    Still, Burn¡¯s warning kept the outsiders at bay for now, and it conveniently suited them too, allowing a small, much-needed breather from his overwhelming penchant for chaos.


    ¡°Caliburn Pendragon,¡± Mahkato hissed, teeth gritted. ¡°I will remember your name.¡±


    The screen turned off. And Burn waved his sword away. He rose, and to everyone¡¯s surprise, the headless man on the floor reverted to a tied-up fellow¡ªmouth frothing, pants stained, sprawled out like a discarded puppet, eyes rolled back but unmistakably alive.


    Morgan and Bella emerged from behind one of the towering pillars in the hall. Bella, brimming with enthusiasm in her nun¡¯s garb, turned to Burn and Morgan, her joy palpable.


    "Your Holiness, Your Majesty, I absolutely slayed with my spell, didn''t I? Right?!¡± she chirped, a grin plastered across her face.


    Burn and Morgan exchanged glances¡ªtheir thumbs raised in a gesture of approval.


    ¡°Bring him to the dungeon,¡± Burn said to his men. ¡°We will begin his interrogation soon.¡±

 171 - Personal Growth

    ¡°You¡¯ve really managed to ruffle her feathers, haven¡¯t you?¡± Morgan remarked as they traversed the corridor.


    ¡°Quite the achievement, I must say. The angrier she becomes, the more delightful it will be to catch her off guard in a fight,¡± Burn replied, his smirk as sharp as his blade. ¡°And let¡¯s not forget, she seems to underestimate me.¡±


    ¡°But this Mahkato, I think she¡¯s around my age,¡± Morgan pondered. ¡°One might even think she possesses fighting experience comparable to warriors who had fought countless millennia.¡±


    Burn frowned, resisting the urge to inquire just how many candles adorned her last birthday cake. Did he really want to know, though?


    ¡°Aside from that, Caliburn, can I show you something?¡± Morgan asked, dragging him toward the palace¡¯s physician office. This was a level of randomness even Morgan rarely achieved.


    Upon entering, the physicians stood frozen in horror. Burn recalled meeting them when Morgan fainted in the treasury during the last loop. It wasn¡¯t exactly a flashback filled with peaceful associations.


    ¡°Hello, do you have a weight scale?¡± Morgan asked sweetly, flashing a smile that sent the staff into a flustered frenzy.


    ¡°Oh, yes, Your Majesty, it¡¯s over here,¡± one physician sighed in relief, realizing the imperial couple was merely entertaining a casual weight check rather than a medical crisis.


    In the far corner of the room stood a mechanical weight scale that looked well-loved by patients and ignored by bed rest. Morgan promptly took off her shoes and beckoned Burn to witness the scale¡¯s dramatic dance.


    As the needle flicked up, the physicians lined up beside them like soldiers on parade, bracing for whatever might come next.


    ¡°See? It¡¯s 115 lbs now!¡± Morgan beamed, that smug look firmly plastered on her face. ¡°I gained weight!¡±


    Seeing their empress¡¯ delight, the physicians couldn¡¯t help but feel a surge of happiness too. They nearly broke into applause when Burn, towering behind her like a shadow, inexplicably decided to lift her breasts with his hands.


    Morgan gasped¡ªa lovely, shocked little gasp¡ªand naturally, the scale¡¯s needle dipped dramatically, just like everyone¡¯s eyes now turned to. Down. Low. Why, the floor looked positively inviting today.


    ¡°6 lbs of it is just your tits,¡± Burn quipped, his tone dripping with indifference.


    ¡°Caliburn!¡± Morgan shrieked, her face flushing a hue that could rival ripe tomatoes, vividly creeping down her neck and shoulders.


    Without missing a beat, Burn halted her frantic embarrassment, lifting her entirely off the ground, trying to gauge her weight in detail. ¡°Not bad. You¡¯re definitely heavier than when I first lifted you off that coffin.¡±


    This was quite the progress report, wasn¡¯t it? The physicians evaluated the scene, wondering if they¡¯d unwittingly stumbled into the absurd drama of royal relationships¡ªweight and all.


    ¡°But why the sudden interest in body weight?¡± he inquired.


    The room fell into a weighty silence before the woman finally responded, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°So I can try to mend my reproductive organ,¡± Morgan admitted, a flush creeping across her cheeks. ¡°I heard being too thin can stop menstruation¡­¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    At that revelation, not only did the physicians nearby gawk, but even Burn raised an eyebrow. She was serious about wanting his blood and flesh.


    ¡°And let¡¯s not forget stress,¡± Burn added. ¡°That should be your first priority. Your body will eventually catch up.¡±


    But what was Morgan Le Fay without her special brand of stress? As if five centuries of relentless purification wasn¡¯t a hefty enough burden.


    ¡°I also want to learn Force soon,¡± Morgan pressed, her determination unwavering.


    ¡°Fantastic. Now, do me a favor: actually finish your meals and stop sneaking your food onto my plate,¡± Burn relented, gently placing her back above her towering heels, his grip steadying her as she clumsily maneuvered into the shoe box.


    ¡°I can really learn it, right?¡± Morgan asked, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Burn asserted, confidence bleeding through. ¡°You¡¯ll master Force magic, and your body will gradually come around, little by little. One day, you might even get pregnant.¡±


    ¡°...promise?¡± Morgan repeated, her eyes searching his, as if awaiting validation from the universe itself.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make it happen,¡± Burn said. Miracle medicines were practically his side hustle. He had a treasure trove stashed away in his special storage room. ¡°But you must have ¡®intention.¡¯ Remember how I drummed into Yvain¡¯s head that intention is the heartbeat of Force magic?¡±


    Morgan nodded.


    ¡°You need to intentionally learn about your body and aim for recovery,¡± Burn emphasized, an earnestness creeping into his voice. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    The woman smiled, and he sighed.


    ¡°You want to learn about Force, and I want to learn about Vision,¡± Burn reminded her as he pulled her back toward the corridor. She waved cheerfully to the physicians seeing them off.


    ¡°Do you think it will be hard for me?¡± he asked, turning to her. ¡°The way you explained how to manifest it is too simple. But despite my efforts, I can¡¯t seem to grasp the concept.¡±


    ¡°Well, I heard,¡± Morgan replied, ¡°that the more you¡¯re accustomed to Force art, the harder it becomes to understand Vision. And guess what? Since you¡¯ve managed to master the Force beyond anyone''s wildest dreams, it¡¯s probably going to be a Herculean task for you to manifest Vision.¡±


    Manifesting Vision wasn¡¯t as straightforward as flipping a switch, after all. It was not about what you aspire to become; it¡¯s about who you were inherently designed to be.


    If Force was how you saw yourself, Vision was how God viewed you. And well, God always had quite the knack for perspective, judging by the mess we humans often make of things.


    It was a contrast from how Morgan changed her mind about her life, now wishing to learn and recover her body through Force by intending it. Burn needed to understand that, different from the ever-changing Force depending on one¡¯s intention, Vision was the constant truth of one¡¯s existence.


    ¡°There¡¯s a theory that because God is all-knowing, God already knows our truth before ourselves. And since we are created as equals, we have the same potential. And this truth and potential is our specialty,¡± Morgan said.


    Burn narrowed his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t get it. Vision is not what God willed us to be?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Morgan chuckled as they passed by the palace¡¯s garden, and the late afternoon light filtered on the leaves, casting on the open corridor. She raised her hand to ¡®touch¡¯ one string of the filtered light and it started to swirl around her finger.


    ¡°Vision is the faith that you are already created as you. He¡¯s God, after all.¡±


    Defying logic and understanding, Vision already existed in one¡¯s soul. Despite the equal potential it granted to all creation, it was something he couldn¡¯t change no matter how he intended it. And he just needed to connect with it¡ª


    ¡°All-knowing, all-powerful,¡± Burn muttered, reaching out to light. His finger slowed, and then stopped at the boundary beyond which events cannot affect an observer. ¡°All-present¡­¡±


    Event horizon.


    ¡°AHH!¡±


    SLAP!


    Burn returned to his senses when the pain from Morgan¡¯s hard slap on his hand attacked his nerves. ¡°Are you trying to destroy¡ªCaliburn, what was that?!¡±


    Morgan¡¯s face was a mix of horror and amazement. ¡°Did you just¡­¡±


    The man blinked at her. ¡°Bitch?¡±


    Morgan slapped his mouth as she burst out laughing.


    ¡°You¡¯re banned!¡± she pointed her index finger at him, shaking her head, her smile full of fear and anger. ¡°No! You are banned from Vision art.¡±


    ¡°But I just manifested something,¡± Burn felt a surge of excitement for himself and amusement from Morgan¡¯s reaction. His heart was beating so fast seeing his wife walk away, goosebumps all over her. He smiled in disbelief, ¡°Madam, I just manifested something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fucking magic¡ª¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Morgan yelled, seeing him chasing after her. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®Madam¡¯ me.¡±


    ¡°Morgan, praise me. I¡¯m a good student.¡±


    ¡°You almost killed us! And everyone in the world¡ª¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®I love you¡¯ me! Stop chasing me, you monster!¡±


    ¡°I know you love this monster¡¯s massive di¡ª¡±

 172 - Smoke and Mirror

    Reality shifted.


    Bella found herself in the midst of Dirk and Percival, both diligently preparing Rudolf for extraction. Suddenly, an unsettling shiver danced down her spine. She turned to her companions, somewhat comforted to see that they also looked as though they''d just swallowed a live grenade.


    ¡°Holy shit, I felt that in my gut,¡± Dirk exclaimed. Though he wasn¡¯t exactly versed in the whole Force or Vision business, he was, after all, the universe¡¯s best world-ending weapon operator. ¡°Did the fabric of reality just bend, or is my lunch making a comeback?¡±


    ¡°Miss Bella, what just transpired?¡± Percival asked, his brow furrowing. As a Force user, he could sense the disturbance more distinctly than Dirk but found himself perplexed. This was unfamiliar for him. Shock and dread might as well have been his middle names at this point.


    Bella shrugged, a picture of calm amidst the chaos. ¡°I¡¯m not sure¡­ Can I check it out? It vanished so fast.¡±


    Both Percival and Dirk nodded, a tacit agreement that her curiosity was undoubtedly less dangerous than whatever this new mystery was.


    Climbing the dungeon¡¯s staircase, Bella was sure that it was Vision. She reached the dungeon entrance and nodded at the two guards standing nearby when she overheard a conversation¡ª


    ¡°Let me try it again. Morgan, just humor me.¡±


    ¡°I said you¡¯re not ready. That was too dangerous. You have no sense of fear, so you¡¯re even more dangerous than Yvain in a rampage!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to scare you.¡±


    ¡°You do that again and you are sleeping outside.¡±


    ¡°But I manifested Vision just now, didn¡¯t I? I did it, right?¡±


    ¡°Whatever that was, you are banned. Manifest a fireball like a normal person!¡±


    ¡°Well, clearly I was trying to!¡±


    ¡°That was a black hole!¡±


    ¡°No, it wasn¡¯t. You¡¯re exaggerating. That was just¡­ an unobservable boundary.¡±


    Bella saw the pair arguing as they walked toward her. She immediately knew what that was. ¡°C-congratulations!¡±


    Burn and Morgan turned her way. Burn beamed like a child on sugar, while Morgan wore a face of utter disbelief. Her congratulatory remark broke their quarrel, prompting Morgan¡¯s weary scoff and Burn¡¯s quiet chuckle.


    ¡°I need to sit down,¡± Morgan declared, reaching out to Bella. Bella eagerly held her hand, wrapping her arm around Morgan as she giggled softly.


    ¡°Your Holiness, you both are so cool,¡± she whispered.


    Morgan immediately shook her head. ¡°No. Nu-uh.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to brag to Isaiah,¡± Burn declared, striding behind them. ¡°Also, Vlad.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°See?¡± Morgan gestured to Burn¡¯s cockiness, turning to Bella, who was still giggling, shaking her head like one would at a stubborn toddler. ¡°That¡¯s not cool; that¡¯s downright dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Morgan, I just learned Hollow Purple,¡± Burn retorted.


    Morgan halted, shooting him a glare sharper than her wit, but saw him dramatically placing a hand on his own chest, his smile as bright as that time she told him she loved him back.


    ¡°God loves me too,¡± Burn proclaimed dramatically. ¡°Throughout heaven¡ª¡±


    ¡°Caliburn!¡± she interjected, unable to suppress her smile even as she shook her head. ¡°God¡¯s tired of your shit.¡±


    ¡°Father and Lord Isaiah will definitely be proud,¡± Bella chimed in, the sincerity somehow extinguishing Burn¡¯s grin like a wet blanket.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want them to be proud; I want to make them feel like trash,¡± Burn shot back.


    Bella snorted, and Morgan¡¯s lips twitched.


    But considering Burn¡¯s history with Soulnaught Syndrome, he thought it would affect his Vision magic. Apparently, once cured, he could connect to his soul without much effort.


    There might be another reason why. When his soul was forcibly wrenched from him to pay for that wretched loop, he ironically gained the ability to locate his soul more easily.


    Yes, the agony of his soul being shredded by Soulnaught Syndrome in his childhood was nothing compared to that horrific severance in the name of the time curse. But hey, what didn¡¯t kill you made you stronger.


    ¡°I really can¡¯t try it again?¡± Burn, now calmer, asked again.


    Morgan sighed. ¡°Not in the middle of the palace. Caliburn, this is not Force where you control it consciously. Vision is controlled using your emotional awareness.¡±


    ¡°I get it. I need to develop fear,¡± the man sneered.


    The truth was, Burn knew Morgan was right. He didn¡¯t expect his Vision awakening to be so dangerous either, and to familiarize himself with it, he might need to go to a secluded place where no one¡¯s around to harm.


    The moon, for example.


    He had sent his father¡¯s regalia to the World Tree, and the outsiders wouldn¡¯t bother him for a while. Now it was time to take over Inkia with Yvain. About this newfound dangerous strength, he definitely needed a t¨ºte-¨¤-t¨ºte with it, in a more contemplative venue.


    But for now¡­


    The dungeon they entered had a certain ambiance, if one could call it that. It was not the damp, moldy kind of place that clung to the skin or filled the lungs with the scent of rot. No, this dungeon was different.


    Dark, yes. Sinister, certainly. But dry as bone and, oddly enough, a bit cozy if one happened to be on the right side of the bars.


    It smelled of old dust and well-worn stone, the kind of place where interrogators could put their feet up between sessions of squeezing information from the unfortunate souls who found themselves chained to the wall.


    Rudolf Blitzen, the Junior Fleet Admiral, hung limply in his bonds, his head lolling as if it had forgotten how to hold itself up. His half-naked form was a pitiful sight¡ªthough, to be fair, it wasn''t the worst he had looked that day.


    His pants had been removed some time ago after a rather unfortunate bout of self-soiling. Modesty had left the room with his dignity, leaving him chained in nothing but his shirt, his legs exposed to the chill air of the dungeon.


    His unconscious form was still, save for the faint rise and fall of his chest. Foam collected at the corners of his mouth, the product of some wild, fevered illusion in which he¡¯d been decapitated¡ªa mistaken impression he had yet to shake.


    Percival and Dirk had been waiting, their patience still intact. They had prepared everything meticulously, down to the last drop of water to splash in Rudolf¡¯s face when the time came.


    This dungeon, despite its ominous atmosphere, was a well-oiled machine for breaking men, and they intended to enjoy every second of it.


    When they finally arrived, Burn had hidden away all his giddiness over Vision manifestation. He turned to Bella for a bit and sneered. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you showed him, but it seems he¡¯s having a hard time regaining consciousness.¡±


    ¡°My illusion is always so real that his brain feels pain even though your blade didn¡¯t graze him, Your Majesty,¡± Bella said.


    ¡°But I felt it too. It felt like I was actually slicing someone¡¯s neck¡ªthe density, the skin, the bone, the flesh¡­¡± Burn said.


    ¡°I am flattered,¡± Bella smiled. One of the reasons she was still here rather than following Vlad back to the Elven Kingdom to deliver the corrupted regalia was because Morgan recommended her to help them trick the outsiders.


    ¡°Smoke and Mirror,¡± Bella said. ¡°That¡¯s my Vision specialty.¡±

 173 - Signature Move

    SPLASH!


    When Rudolf opened his eyes, it was as though he had two pairs of them. His head felt impossibly heavy, his neck strained under the weight, and there was a disturbing pressure on either side of his skull. Then it hit him¡ªhe had two heads, fused to his torso.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAHH! AAHH! AAAAAAAH!!¡±


    ¡°Remarkable, isn¡¯t it? I cut off one head, and two grow back,¡± came a familiar voice. The man lounged in a chair, watching calmly as Rudolf struggled against the chains holding him to the wall.


    Rudolf''s eyes widened, and he tried to speak¡ªonly to realize that he didn¡¯t know which mouth to use. ¡°Aa¡­ aa! Aaah!¡±


    ¡°What did you¡­ you dare¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­you do to me?!¡±


    It was as if his mind had been cleaved in two, each half battling for control. The cacophony of his thoughts poured out through both mouths, each head betraying a different piece of his fractured consciousness. ¡°Stop! This is hell¡ªkill me! Make it stop! Kill! Kill me! Spare me!¡±


    Each mouth spoke its own nightmare, the twisted reality that now governed his existence. Two voices, two streams of desperate pleas, entwining into something far more grotesque than the sum of their parts.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t even begun,¡± the tyrant replied, almost amused.


    Suddenly, one of Rudolf¡¯s heads began to cough up blood, and the screams began again¡ªlouder, more ragged, more pitiful.


    ¡°What do you want from me¡­? Stop this¡­¡±


    The other head could only choke out, in a broken whisper, ¡°¡­ kill me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I will kill you,¡± the tyrant said. ¡°I will kill you if you give me what I want.¡±


    ¡°Anything! Please! Just let me¡­ let me¡­ let me¡­¡±


    ¡°Tell me everything you know about the Alliance, the Seven Heavens, and the Overlords,¡± Burn said. ¡°Everything.¡±


    ***


    CLASH!!!


    In the dimly lit outskirts of the capital, a symphony of clashing metal echoed through the narrow alleyway, painting a scene of chaos ripe for a spectacle.


    Two masked figures, draped in black, wove through the shadows like whispers, their movements a dance of desperation and finesse.


    They were not just running; they were maneuvering through a grim game of cat and mouse, blissfully unaware that they rehearsed their moving eulogy with every fleeting second.


    Behind them, a legion of guards¡ªalso clad in black and sporting menacing masks¡ªpursued with relentless fervor. The air was thick with tension, a delicious irony in their synchronized thuds as they crashed against cobblestones in futile attempts to close in.


    The first masked fugitive leaped gracefully over a stack of discarded crates, landing with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed this escape in the theater of their mind.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The second, however, tripped over the crates. With a glance that screamed, "Really?! Now?¡± and a glance back that said, ¡°Sorry!¡± they were off again, leaving a trail of unintentional comedy amid their dire straits.


    As the guards closed in, swords glistening ominously under the flickering light of a solitary lantern, a sinister gleam danced in their cold, calculating eyes. Heavy boots echoed on the cobblestone, an unsettling rhythm promising inevitable closure.


    Clad in deep black leather, the guards were a daunting assembly, each figure a dark silhouette against the night. At their sides, wickedly curved blades caught the faint glow, wielded by hands that relished the thought of embroidering the alleyways with tales of failure.


    The two fugitives, hearts racing, exchanged fleeting glances, their smiles under their masks of bravado tragically out of place. They sprinted, thoughts racing with the hope of escape, only to be met with the chilling realization that they had been encircled.


    Shadows slipped from the rooftops, figures poised like vultures, throwing blades glinting in the dim light, ready to rain down like merciless judgment. No way out.


    The alley shrank, walls closing in as figures emerged from the darkness, clad in shades darker than the night itself. Black cloaks billowed ominously, blending seamlessly into the shadows, while the metallic hiss of steel whispered promises of misfortune.


    ¡°Tan, I think we should kill them all after all,¡± one of the fugitives said.


    ¡°Did you bring it?¡± the other one asked.


    ¡°Always,¡± she said as she threw one potion bottle at him.


    As the potion glimmered ominously in the moonlight, the pursuers watched with a mix of confusion and disbelief. One pursuer wondered what those potions were, squinting through the darkness as if expecting a superhero transformation.


    In that moment, the fugitives downed the potion like it was a shot of overpriced whiskey, their grins mismatched to the gravity of the situation. A deafening silence fell, anticipating what would happen after.


    ¡°Huh? Nothing?¡±


    The pursuers exchanged baffled glances.


    ¡°Get them!¡±


    At their leader''s command, they took off, charging forward and cornering their targets in a narrow alley. But before they could even catch their breath, the duo pulled a move straight out of a fever dream. Like a pair of agile cats, they bounded off the smooth walls, vaulting toward the roof.


    ¡°Stop them! Attack!¡±


    And if that wasn¡¯t annoying enough, their movements were perfectly synchronized, like a duet of acrobatic show-offs, shoving and hauling each other upward. The rooftop assailants began hurling blades and daggers, but it was as if the weapons had developed stage fright and couldn¡¯t hit a thing.


    ¡°What is this? They¡¯re too fast!¡±


    As the pair ascended, it became obvious that something strange was happening. Their eyes¡­ were those hearts? Pink, heart-shaped eyes?


    The potion they¡¯d chugged earlier¡­


    They landed atop opposite rooftops¡ªone drawing a rapier and the other wielding a bow with zero arrows in sight. The Force art masters had clearly arrived in full, flashy form.


    But then, their dramatic moment was rudely interrupted. The leader of the pursuers leapt up in a single, unnervingly powerful bound, joining them on the roof and leaving the pair momentarily impressed.


    ¡°Oh, great. He¡¯s strong,¡± said the man with the bow.


    ¡°Think he¡¯s as strong as Galahad?¡± the woman with the rapier asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.


    The man let out a dry chuckle. ¡°What, Galahad? The walking nightmare? Are you complimenting this random guy?¡±


    The woman rolled her eyes. ¡°Well, then we can¡¯t lose. Imagine disgracing the Round Table.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely. But he¡¯s probably as strong as Morien.¡±


    ¡°Decent comparison.¡±


    The leader''s gaze flicked between the two, taking in the heart-shaped eyes. ¡°Hmm¡­ pink hearts after downing some random potion. You¡¯re¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, look at that. We¡¯ve been recognized again, Tan,¡± the woman drawled.


    ¡°It¡¯s the price of using our signature moves on an infiltration gig,¡± Tan replied, sighing theatrically. ¡°Which means¡­¡±


    ¡°We gotta kill you all.¡±


    And thus, the eleventh and twelfth members of the Round Table found themselves on yet another highly classified, absolutely absurd battlefield.

 174 - Team Strength

    The leader cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like a death knell in the moonlit night. "I''ll give you one last chance to surrender and return the papers," he declared, his voice a chilling blend of authority and annoyance.


    Tristan tilted his head, then mockingly cupped a hand to his ear. "Did you hear that, Yve? One last chance," he mimicked, voice dripping with exaggerated dread.


    Yvolt sighed dramatically, her rapier glinting as she casually flipped it. "Oh no, Tan. Whatever shall we do?" She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Surrender?"


    Tristan smirked, notching an invisible Force arrow onto his bow. "Surrender? Us? Nah."


    The leader''s eyes narrowed. "Enough." He lunged forward, his speed a blur, sword aimed to cleave Tristan in half. Tristan twirled away, light as a breeze, and replied, "Whoa there! At least take me to dinner first!"


    Meanwhile, Yvolt stepped in just after slashing one of the pursuer¡¯s neck, thrusting her rapier with surgical precision at the leader. The leader parried with a snarl, the clash of steel ringing out. "Nice try," he growled, retaliating with a ferocious overhead swing. ¡°Hrrah!¡±


    Yvolt dodged, using her free hand to wag a finger at him. "Tsk, tsk. Watch the temper. Anger causes wrinkles."


    The leader spun, and this time, his blade arced dangerously close to Yvolt''s neck. She ducked, rolling away with a playful laugh. "Close, but no cigar!"


    Tristan leaped in just after throwing three daggers the other pursuers threw at him back to them, killing them instantly, pretending to draw back an arrow. The leader scoffed. "You¡¯re threatening me with an imaginary bow?"


    Tristan winked. "Oh, you¡¯ll wish it was imaginary." With a sudden burst of energy, he released his hand, and an arrow of Force energy shot forth. The leader twisted, barely dodging, the projectile whizzing past to explode against a rooftop chimney.


    The leader¡¯s composure cracked for a moment. "You really are the worst," he muttered.


    "Aw, he likes us," Yvolt quipped, launching a flurry of rapier strikes just after killing another four pursuers around them. The leader defended with grit, his blade clashing, sparking, and countering with brutal precision.


    Tristan, meanwhile, fired another Force arrow, forcing the leader to sidestep. "Teamwork makes the dream work," he said, and the arrow the leader dodged killed two other pursuers.


    The leader snarled, lunging at Tristan again. "Your tricks won¡¯t work forever!"


    Tristan backflipped, almost effortlessly. "Good thing we only need them to work right now," he taunted. Yvolt slid back in, sword aimed at a gap in the leader¡¯s defense just after killing another one.


    "Surprise!" she declared.


    Their opponent was impressively strong, but the dynamic duo had a singular goal: eliminate every last one of them. It was entertaining to watch their leader¡¯s rage rise as his men dropped like flies, dispatched like cheap fireworks on a holiday.


    As Yvolt dealt with her charming adversary, Tristan was busy playing a game of human darts with his arrows, ensuring no man could escape¡ªbecause heaven forbid one of them gets away to tell the tale.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Just as the leader decided to halt Tristan¡¯s little sport, Yvolt graciously blocked him every time, like a bouncer at an exclusive club.


    ¡°Now, let him clear some space,¡± Yvolt quipped, but just as Tristan finished off the last unfortunate soul, their leader¡¯s frustration boiled over.


    Suddenly, with a growl that could wake the dead, he caught up to her speed and¡ªBLAM!¡ªpunched her square in the face.


    ¡°Yve!¡± Tristan shouted, expressing genuine concern.


    Yvolt, however, was sent soaring off the roof, her body flying through the air. Amazingly, her face remained unscathed, thanks to the impressive Force shield she had learned recently.


    Tristan didn¡¯t waste a single moment. He ascended toward the leader, keenly aware of the ominous black aura wrapping around him like a particularly clingy shadow. And just before Yvolt''s body graced the ground with its inevitable thud, Tristan murmured, ¡°I love you¡ª¡±


    The leader didn¡¯t blink, yet somehow, the man who¡¯d just lunged with such misguided bravado had swiftly transformed into the woman he¡¯d sent tumbling off the roof faster than a magician¡¯s trick.


    Yvolt smirked, seamlessly stepping into Tristan''s role, and hurled her rapier at him with a triumphant cry. ¡°HAAAAAAA!¡±


    CLASH!!!


    They switched.


    For a moment, the leader, caught off guard, stumbled backward, his mind frantically attempting to process this absurd turn of events. A Force arrow, complete with a mana string, zoomed to the roof, yanking away the man who¡¯d lunged at him.


    Their eyes sparkled with hearts, painted a lovely shade of pink, as both grinned like cats who just caught the canary.


    This was the Love Potion Duo.


    ¡°The famous switch of the lovestruck knights¡­ I finally witnessed it in the flesh,¡± the leader sighed, taking in the grim sight of his fallen men. Here he stood, outnumbered, as the odds shifted to a disheartening 2v1.


    Ah, the curse of fame¡ªtheir prowess as renowned as their name. The Love Potion Duo, with their signature flair, had etched their absurdity into the annals of popular culture with a move both romantic and incredibly annoying.


    Yet, the mystery surrounding their potion remained tantalizingly unsolved. Was it genuinely a love potion, or some bizarre concoction whipped up by a mad scientist? The world may never know.


    The only telltale sign was the delightfully ridiculous transformation of their eyes into pink hearts upon drinking¡ªpure poetry, if poetry were a fight choreographed by a particularly whimsical playwright.


    Until this very moment, all anyone had witnessed was their inexplicable ability to swap places and poses mid-battle¡ªan utterly infuriating dance.


    Individually, each knight was formidable, but together? Well, they were suspected to be more synchronized than a world-class ballet troupe.


    But both knew: this man wasn¡¯t merely as strong as Morien.


    ¡°Think Gawain?¡± Tristan asked, his voice dry, almost as if he were questioning a bad wine pairing.


    Yvolt tilted her head slightly. ¡°Gawain¡¯s still stronger,¡± she replied, as if discussing the weather.


    The leader of the pursuers chuckled, though the sound was more a low rumble of annoyance than genuine humor. ¡°I see. Comparing me to the ranks of the illustrious Round Table?¡± His lip curled in a sneer. ¡°I¡¯m flattered.¡±


    Having overheard earlier that he had been likened to Morien, and now Gawain, he should have felt honored. But the comparisons felt beneath him, like being measured against mere mortals. How revolting.


    The air around him thickened as his black aura began to seep and swirl, growing ever more oppressive. ¡°I suppose I should take pride,¡± he continued, voice dripping with contempt, ¡°since in your eyes, I¡¯ve climbed from seventh rank to fifth.¡±


    The world had never issued a formal statement that the Round Table¡¯s numbering matched their power. But the whispers persisted. After all, the number one was the Absolute Tyrant. Number two, the nightmare named Galahad. And the rumors, as rumors do, had stuck.


    ¡°But now that you¡¯ve acknowledged I¡¯m far stronger than you, the eleventh and twelfth, why do neither of you look the least bit terrified?¡± His words dripped with disbelief.


    Tristan and Yvolt exchanged glances, a slow grin forming beneath their masks. Then they laughed. It was a laugh full of mockery, like they had just heard the world¡¯s most predictable joke.


    ¡°Our titles don¡¯t reflect our strength ranking,¡± Tristan said, the explanation sounding more like he was humoring a child than facing a lethal opponent. ¡°And even if they did, that¡¯s our individual strength.¡±


    Yvolt bared her very human, very unimpressive canine. ¡°Together, we¡¯re about as strong as Landevale or Percival. Give or take.¡±


    ¡°As we¡¯ve been trying to say¡­¡±


    ¡°Unless you¡¯ve got Galahad-level nightmares packed in your punches¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to kill you.¡±

 175 - The Leaves Won’t Sweep Themselves

    In the realm of Vision art, circles were all the rage for measuring mastery. If you had 1-3 circles, congrats! You were a beginner. A charming 4-6 circles? Congratulations! You¡¯re advanced. But if you strutted around with 7-9 circles, oh, you¡¯ve reached the heights of a master.


    And let¡¯s not forget the mythical 10 circles¡ªlegendary status, if you will.


    Now, not everyone blooming in this world possessed the willpower or intelligence to manifest their Vision. Understanding one¡¯s soul was honestly an overachiever¡¯s task.


    And even when someone finally managed to manifest it, you¡¯d better believe not everyone could achieve the dizzying heights of others.


    After ten years, the average Joe might claw their way to 3 circle spells mastery. Then, twenty more years to edge into 4 circles, and another whopping forty years for 5 circles.


    But if you throw in specialties, that¡¯s another ballgame¡ªboost that mastery by a staggering 1000%. Faster and stronger. Not to mention folks like Vlad, Bella, Yvain, or Merlin. Let''s just say they¡¯re not your standard overachievers.


    Morgan often referred to her mastery as ¡®average¡¯¡ªhow humble of her. After all, her average spell mastery lingered at a mere 4 circles, despite her multitudes of millennia. But how could that be?


    It was simple really: she knew every single spell known to humanity and more¡ªall 118,144 of them, in fact. Most of them were her own creation.


    From the charmingly mundane bug repellent spell to the grandiosity of the world illusion barrier spell; from a remarkably practical bladder-emptying spell to the earth-shattering world purification spell.


    When one possesses such a staggering library of spells, it stands to reason that the average mastery of any individual spell might dip to the low end. In truth, a 4-circle average is nothing short of remarkable.


    Yet, even the illustrious Morgan Le Fay could do little more than blink in astonishment when Burn, in a fit of sheer audacity, manifested a never-before-seen, never-created 9-circle spell¡ªthe mind-boggling creation of a black hole.


    Oh, the irony! The one sorceress who thought she had witnessed everything was utterly speechless by this unexpected cosmic twist.


    And now, sitting outside the illusion Bella made to interrogate the young fleet admiral, Morgan was in a daze.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAH!¡±


    Bella flinched. Gruesome wasn¡¯t new to her, but this? This was a whole new category.


    No, she wasn¡¯t an innocent person who had never seen blood. She had tortured people before, and she thought she was excellent. but this¡­


    Sure, she¡¯d seen blood¡ªhell, she¡¯d been the one spilling it excellently often enough. She thought she had done the vilest thing to people she deemed worthy such. She considered herself a connoisseur of cruelty, an artist of punishment, but even she hadn¡¯t dreamed up this.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Two¡­ heads¡­¡± she muttered, watching Burn slice off a finger only for two to sprout in its place. Each part he lopped off grew back in duplicate, as if they were auditioning for the role of hydra.


    The man¡¯s wails ricocheted off the walls¡ªa symphony of sheer terror and degeneracy. It was beyond deranged.


    Bella hadn¡¯t thought to add ¡°grotesque body horror¡± to her interrogation toolkit. Transform a man¡¯s body into a carnival of pain of disgusting shape, slice by slice and let him experience every moment with agonizing clarity? That was¡­ devil¡¯s work, she had to admit.


    The man had a front-row seat to his own slow-motion breakdown, watching his ear, nose, lips regrow¡ªonly on one head, though, while letting the other head watch. Wouldn''t want it to get too monotonous. It was a bordering mind break, a psychological wound beyond repair.


    Yes, it was all an illusion. A little domain where reality could shape-shift to Burn¡¯s liking. But it didn¡¯t feel like an illusion. Every gruesome detail, all the flesh he took and the pain he inflicted went straight to the young admiral¡¯s brain, embedding itself there like shrapnel, tearing at whatever threads of sanity he had left.


    What had he done to deserve this? If you asked Burn, he¡¯d say the man had doomed this world and everything in it¡ªby making one stupid decision. Another timeline, another loop.


    But, technicalities aside, it had happened. The world didn¡¯t rewind; it looped. So while everything might look as though it never happened, it did, and Burn remembered every single thing.


    Besides, what was one or two ears? A couple of fingers? Burn was kind enough to let them regrow. In duplicate, even¡ªtalk about generosity.


    "Caliburn, wrap it up," Morgan said suddenly, rising to her feet. Bella glanced at her, noting how serene she looked¡ªwell, of course. Nothing seemed to rattle Her Holiness.


    Burn turned, meeting her calm with his own. Grining, he said, "You caught me."


    Clearly, he¡¯d been milking this for all it was worth, buying time. Now he¡¯d earned himself one of Morgan¡¯s legendary all-night lectures, and he knew it.


    Bella, watching the exchange, sensed there was something deeper going on¡ªsome unspoken tension. Morgan had been unusually quiet earlier, and Bella figured it was because she needed time to puzzle it out.


    It had to be Burn¡¯s vision manifestation! Bella¡¯s curiosity flared. What sort of spell could that be? She¡¯d felt its power earlier, something big and dangerous¡ªno wonder they were both downplaying it, seeing how cocky Burn were and Morgan humoring it.


    "You¡¯ve gotten more than enough out of him," Morgan said. "Let him pass out already."


    "Fine, fine," Burn replied, finally standing up. At that moment, Rudolf collapsed¡ªconsciousness shattered. Living as a human? No longer in the cards for him. But Burn simply waved his hand, and Bella dismissed the illusion. He nodded at her approvingly. "Good job."


    "I¡ªI''m honored, sir," Bella stammered, her spine tingling. This man was scarier than anything she''d faced. She was already pale, being a vampire, but somehow, she turned even paler. For someone to look this normal after that? What kind of life had he been living?


    ¡°Come on, feel free to unleash your best shouts at me on our way to Yvain. We both know that it''s about time we returned there¡ªthen off to the Great Forest. And¡­¡± Burn tugged her toward the dungeon entrance, casually strolling past Dirk and Percival.


    Dirk responded instantly to Burn¡¯s unspoken request. ¡°My family and the families of my merry band of men will arrive in three days. They¡¯ve brought along those splendid ships you wanted.¡±


    Burn chuckled, ¡°I know it¡¯s not quite Fall yet, but hey, who doesn¡¯t love a little preemptive Fall cleanup? The leaves won¡¯t sweep themselves.¡±

 176 - Switch and Dagger

    ¡°They¡¯re still not back?¡± Yvain asked, perched on the desk, his legs finally long enough to fit adult furniture.


    ¡°No, sir,¡± Finn replied. ¡°I¡¯d say sending them to meet the Vision Resonator inventor¡¯s representative was¡­ a bit risky.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And what was my alternative?¡± Yvain shot back. ¡°Sit here twiddling my thumbs until something goes wrong?¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯re here to take over Inkia from those politicians!¡± Finn sighed. ¡°I know I might sound cold, but do we really need to care about some random device?¡±


    Yvain sighed. Maybe it did seem unrelated to the whole conquering-Inkia business, but he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was off. Even if he was wrong, at worst, he¡¯d still end up saving the academy kids, especially the Vision users.


    But the fact that something potentially dangerous was just sitting in an educational institution? That was insanity. He couldn¡¯t fathom how anyone could make such a colossal blunder.


    And if it really was just a huge blunder and nothing more, the Vision Resonator was still too groundbreaking to ignore. A device that could help unawakened people to awaken? Something that could manipulate mana without the need for awakening?


    What was the medium? How could something connect someone to mana without using their soul?


    ¡°I think the real question,¡± Yvain muttered, ¡°isn¡¯t how this device made its way to Saint Lucia. It¡¯s how something this miraculous hasn¡¯t spread to the world yet. Why only Inkia?¡±


    ***


    ¡°I lov¡ª¡±


    CLASH!


    Ahlgrath¡¯s mind reeled as they switched places in an instant, leaving him face-to-face with the grinning Yvolt once more. The leader of the black-clad guards hadn¡¯t missed it¡ªevery switch followed that whispered phrase, ¡°I love you.¡± But the timing was unpredictable, catching him off guard at the most crucial moments.


    With a swift, forceful step forward, Yvolt lunged, her rapier gleaming with lethal intent. Ahlgrath barely managed to sidestep, deflecting her blade just in time, yet her attack didn¡¯t relent. Her strikes came at him in rapid succession, like a storm of steel and finesse, each one probing for an opening in his defense.


    As he countered, Ahlgrath raised his blade to deflect an overhead thrust from Yvolt, but before he could recover, Tristan was suddenly in her place, his bow drawn and aimed at Ahlgrath¡¯s heart. The force arrow crackled with energy, and in a split second, Tristan released it, sending a burst of mana straight at Ahlgrath.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Nice try,¡± Ahlgrath snarled, twisting to the side as the arrow flew past, exploding against the chimney behind him. He swung back, aiming to retaliate against Tristan, ¡°I lo¡ª¡± only for Yvolt to reappear, her rapier darting forward like a serpent. Her strikes, precise and deadly, forced him back as he parried each one with gritted teeth.


    The constant teleportation was maddening; there was no pattern to follow, no way to anticipate who he¡¯d face next. Each time Tristan said those words, they shifted like ghosts, reappearing in one another¡¯s place at random intervals¡ªeven in the middle of their attacks.


    Ahlgrath growled, bracing himself as Tristan reappeared mid-air, firing another force arrow while simultaneously throwing three gleaming knives from his free hand.


    Ahlgrath twisted, barely evading the deadly projectiles. The knives whistled past, embedding themselves in the walls behind him with a metallic thud. But Ahlgrath¡¯s moment of reprieve was short-lived.


    ¡°I love you!¡± Tristan, as if chasing the knives he just threw, said the words once more, and Yvolt materialized just inches from Ahlgrath, grinning with vicious delight as she raised her rapier high.


    She drove it down in a powerful, fluid motion, her stance so sure it was as if she¡¯d never missed a target in her life. He deflected, but her rapier caught his shoulder, drawing blood as he staggered back.


    Ahlgrath winced, narrowing his eyes as the duo¡¯s strategy became clear. Their teleportation was more than just a nuisance¡ªit was a form of spatial manipulation that allowed them to control the field, pressing him into a relentless offensive without ever giving him a chance to counter.


    Another ¡°I love you¡± filled the air from afar, and Ahlgrath knew another switch was coming. But this time, he was ready. He dropped to one knee, his sword raised in anticipation, hoping to catch Tristan off guard.


    Yet Tristan had already fired another arrow before he¡¯d even fully materialized, the force behind it nearly explosive. Ahlgrath deflected it with a hasty swing, but the impact reverberated down his arm, nearly throwing him off balance.


    Just as he steadied himself, Yvolt was there again, her rapier flashing in a deadly arc aimed straight for his throat.


    The barrage was overwhelming. Each time he found a rhythm, the pair switched seamlessly, creating a maddening illusion of omnipresence. He recognized the absurdity of their battle style¡ªit was strategic chaos, executed with a precision that bordered on the supernatural.


    ¡°As strong as Gawain? I don¡¯t think so anymore,¡± Tristan taunted, firing another arrow in rapid succession. Ahlgrath dodged, only to be struck across his back by Yvolt¡¯s blade, the pain sharp and sudden. He barely registered her mocking words as she quipped, ¡°You don¡¯t look half as terrifying.¡±


    Ahlgrath¡¯s mind raced. He wasn¡¯t just up against two fighters¡ªhe was up against two who moved as one, their movements so synchronized that they seemed to share the same heartbeat.


    Their combined strength rivaled some of the most feared knights in the realm. And with each step back he took, each blow he deflected, he felt his odds dwindling.


    Just then, another switch caught him mid-stride. Yvolt¡¯s rapier slipped past his defense, grazing his thigh with a vicious cut. She danced back, smirking as Ahlgrath winced in pain.


    ¡°I can see the frustration in your eyes,¡± she teased, circling him like a predator with its prey. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel great to be outmatched, does it?¡±


    Ahlgrath let out a snarl, summoning a dark aura that rippled with menace as he readied himself for another assault. Yet his opponents remained unfazed, matching his glare with those infuriating heart-shaped eyes and cocky smiles.


    Unless he managed to shatter their perfect rhythm, Ahlgrath realized he wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Or¡­


    ¡°That potion must have a time limit,¡± Ahlgrath said with a grin.


    No matter what kind of potion it was, the effect must not be forever.

 177 - The Measure of Mastery

    In the realm of Force Art, stars were all the rage for measuring mastery. And no, you weren¡¯t having d¨¦j¨¤ vu¡ªthis wasn¡¯t about Vision.


    So, stars weren¡¯t exactly the same as Vision¡¯s circles. Circles measured mastery over specific spells: like, you could be a 5-circle fire mage and a 2-circle, I don¡¯t know, mosquito zapper. Naturally, people would call you a ¡°5-circle mage,¡± sizing you up by your biggest accomplishment. Meaning? Technically, yes, you could be a 9-circle bug repellant mage.


    Maybe at that point, you might have been someone with a specialty in bug extermination. Yes, a literal Vision Specialty. Imagine that on a business card.


    But what about Force?


    Forget Burn; he was never in the league. Stars couldn¡¯t measure him in the first place. Heck, he achieved mind-body unity before he awakened his Force.


    Normal folks like Tristan and Yvolt (well, back when she was still Ysolt) actually had to struggle to figure their bodies out, step by step.


    One star was where they¡¯d find themselves when their bodies first, or maybe halfway through¡ªor heck, maybe even before¡ªthey awakened their Force.


    At that point, their body was just beginning to understand why it needed mana in the first place and was dabbling in how to make it work. Driven by the intention to be the most effective machine a human could ever control, it unlocked itself a new potential. But hey, baby steps.


    Two stars meant they¡¯d started integrating that mana with their specific body type, creating what was affectionately known as a Force Art type.


    This stage was a piece of cake for most, thanks to family traits. Who didn¡¯t love a little ancestral bonus? Unless, of course, your genetic luck decided to throw in some unexpected mutation or, let¡¯s say, a ¡®fun little twist.¡¯ Because, surprise! Force Art types had a habit of evolving over generations.


    Which brought us to three stars: the patch-up phase, where the user had to iron out those fun little ¡®quirks¡¯ and might even start finding their own ¡®style.¡¯ For first-gen Force Art types, this was their jam¡ªno baggage, no weird family legacy weighing them down.


    That was why the first three stars were a breeze, especially for those who came from a long line of Force Art masters or were born with more martial arts talent than they knew what to do with.


    Four stars meant you¡¯d reached that lofty level beyond family legacies and the limits of your wildest potential. Get to this stage, and you might qualify to be the lord of your clan, or at least an exceptional Force Master if you didn¡¯t have one.


    Heck, a lot of people felt ready to start their own clans by then.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    It was impressive, after all. Most people who reached mind-body unity were around this level. By this point, they knew their bodies like a well-read instruction manual and were prepared to micromanage every single cell¡ªwell, almost.


    That would come with five stars.


    Because, as you reached five stars, you essentially broke everything down and started from scratch again. It was like relearning how to breathe¡ªno, scratch that, even how to beat your own heart.


    But here¡¯s the kicker: at five stars, you no longer needed to get overwhelmed by every little detail. You didn¡¯t just stay aware of what your body was doing; you¡¯d become so used to manually controlling every last thing that it was practically second nature.


    Then came six stars, the stage most people aimed to reach only to¡­ well, die.


    With manual control over your body, sure, you could tack on some extra years and dodge that pesky life expectancy. You¡¯d do your best to keep your body in top condition, just to prolong the slow-motion disintegration a bit.


    This was the stage where you could even live a few hundred years.


    But the ultimate stage? Seven stars. Here¡¯s where you reached that elite level of enlightenment where you knew exactly what was best for your body¡­ and chose to ignore it. Because even if your body turned to dust, you''d still be set on growing stronger.


    This was the stage Urien Pendragon hit when he decided to die. Burn called this phase ¡°Intention Awakening.¡± Not exactly a common term¡ªsince barely anyone ever achieved it.


    And it wasn¡¯t hard to see why. Breaking free from the full potential, or in this case, limitation of your physical body, brushing it aside, and forcing it to obey pure willpower was the ultimate state of control.


    Burn had actually reached this phase ages ago, but back then he didn¡¯t have the energy or the means to craft the kind of body that could obey his every whim.


    But when he finally got the chance, with energy from the White Dwarf and Morgan helping with his transformation, he reached a new state entirely: Vessel Immortality.


    Galahad was a Six Stars Force Master. Practically brushing up against that elusive enlightenment, teetering on the edge of it.


    Percival and Landevale? They were just barely nudging their way through the Six Stars¡ªtrying to keep up, bless them.


    And as for Tristan and Yvolt...


    ¡°I love you!¡±


    SLASH!!! SPLAT!


    Four stars. Both of them. But hey, somehow, that was more than enough to throw down with the top-tier crowd.


    Ahlgrath¡¯s left arm tumbled off the roof, courtesy of Yvolt¡¯s blade. But it was unexpectedly tough. For someone with experience in the fine art of arm removal, this one had put up a surprising amount of resistance. It felt denser than an orc¡¯s limb on its worst day.


    Sure, Force masters could beef themselves up with mana, but this? This was pushing the limits of plausible arm density.


    Then came the man¡¯s laugh¡ªa low, ominous rumble that felt more like a storm rolling in than someone enjoying a good joke.


    His blood¡ªor what passed for it¡ªsplattered the roof in thick, black droplets. Definitely not the usual red stuff. Honestly, it wasn¡¯t even clear if ¡°blood¡± was the right term. And, as if the situation wasn¡¯t already questionable enough, something began to writhe and squirm from the freshly-made stump.


    A grotesque mass of flesh began bubbling out, looking like a particularly cursed tumor from someone¡¯s nightmares. Dark blue veins snaked through it, and the stench? Let¡¯s just say they¡¯d both smelled better things rotting in ditches.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Tristan muttered, his tone caught somewhere between horrified and insulted.


    The fleshy monstrosity twisted itself into something vaguely resembling an arm¡ªor at least a bad sketch of one. Three oversized fingers with claws poked their way through, and it radiated the kind of strength that screamed, ¡°Try me.¡±


    ¡°Lowly humans¡­¡± the man hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°Time to pencil in a meeting with your creators.¡±

 178 - Ahlgrath

    ¡°Huh? It¡¯s you, Masters?¡± Yvain blinked in disbelief. ¡°I thought you¡¯d return tomorrow now that it¡¯s so late!¡±


    ¡°This is your first day of school, right?¡± Morgan smiled, stroking the boy¡¯s head that was now almost her height. ¡°How¡¯s the investigation?¡±


    Yvain saw Burn walked out of the portal with Mnemosyne Aeons with him and his eyes glimmered in awe. ¡°Nemo!¡±


    ¡°Brother!¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Yvain yelped in shock. ¡°She talks?!¡±


    ¡°She talks now,¡± Burn said. ¡°How¡¯s the investigation?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Yvain blinked, and his face became worried. ¡°Sir Tristan and Dame Yvolt hadn¡¯t returned¡­¡±


    Morgan and Burn¡¯s eyes met each other¡¯s, and they also looked worried. Especially Morgan.


    ¡°Should we go and find them?¡± Morgan asked.


    Burn sighed, pondering for a bit.


    ***


    Ahlgrath¡¯s story began in filth¡ªliteral and figurative. He was born filthy. He didn¡¯t know his mother or anything similar, and he wasn¡¯t sure if he even was born through any birth canal like creatures created by God. Not even a dim recollection of some¡­ any womb.


    The earliest memory he had was huddling in the back of a damp cave, coated in some viscous, black substance that clung to him like a second skin. Was it tar? Oil? Or maybe just the liquid rejection of the universe itself? He didn¡¯t know. What he did know was hunger¡ªbottomless, gnawing hunger.


    When he finally stumbled into the light, society was kind enough to make one thing clear: he didn¡¯t belong. His form, a grotesque amalgamation of misshapen limbs, too many joints, and glistening skin like spoiled meat, was enough to send anyone screaming.


    Children cried. Livestock panicked. Villagers whispered legends of beasts and demons, though none of their stories were quite horrific enough to encapsulate him.


    They called him a monster. Fair enough, he supposed. He did think about eating their children¡ªadorable little morsels that they were¡ªbut he hadn¡¯t actually done it. He¡¯d thought about snatching a cow or two, too, but he hadn¡¯t gotten around to that either.


    Yet thoughts, it seemed, were crime enough. It didn¡¯t take long before the torches and pitchforks came for him.


    That¡¯s when he arrived. A figure cloaked in shadows, with a voice like honey laced with poison. He didn¡¯t speak much at first, but he acted. The men hunting Ahlgrath down? They didn¡¯t last long, their screams echoing in the woods before silence claimed them.


    Then came the village. The place that had cast him out as if his very existence were an affront to decency. Together, Ahlgrath and his savior returned. The villagers barely had time to panic before the massacre began.


    Ahlgrath was allowed to revel, as he put it. He could indulge himself, whether that meant playing with the livestock and children as toys or something darker. Either way, by the time the village was silent, Ahlgrath¡¯s hunger had finally been sated.


    Of course, loose ends were tied up. The blame was laid at the feet of a nearby orc camp, and Ahlgrath emerged reborn. No longer nameless, he was christened ¡°Ahlgrath¡± by the only being who had ever given him purpose.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    From that moment on, he followed him, the only master worthy of his devotion.


    Years turned into decades, and Ahlgrath did what all monsters do best: adapt. In the shadow of his savior, he learned more than survival; he learned cunning, patience, and the fine art of turning malice into power.


    His brilliant mind¡ªyes, brilliant, despite what those drooling villagers might have thought¡ªsoaked up knowledge like that cursed black substance had once soaked into his skin. He wasn¡¯t just some brute; he was evolving.


    He rose from pathetic prey to a weapon, a hand and foot of him, as loyal as he was grotesque.


    Living in the shadow of greatness wasn¡¯t so bad. In fact, it was freeing. As long as he obeyed the orders given to him¡ªand, let¡¯s face it, he never asked for anything Ahlgrath wasn¡¯t dying to do anyway¡ªhe could indulge in all the things society once condemned him for.


    Want to raze a village? Done. Toy with the weak? Why not. Experiment with new ways to make people scream? Just part of the job description.


    Along the way, he took up the blade and the magic, though neither felt quite as satisfying as his claws. Still, they had their uses, and Ahlgrath was nothing if not practical.


    He also learned what made him tick¡ªor, rather, what had created him.


    The foul darkness that had birthed him, that had clung to him like guilt, was no curse. It was power. It was the essence of something ancient, something forbidden, and it strengthened him with every kill, every act of destruction, every ounce of terror he inspired.


    The darkness wrapped itself around him, a shroud he no longer feared but embraced. He became a walking nightmare, a weapon so finely honed that even those who hadn¡¯t heard his name trembled at the thought of what he represented.


    Ahlgrath wasn¡¯t just a monster; he was his savior¡¯s monster, and that made all the difference.


    In his mind, this was justice. The world had cast him out, after all. Labeled him a freak, a mistake, before they even understood what he was capable of.


    Now, he got to return the favor, one village, one kingdom at a time. And the best part? Every atrocity he committed, every act of destruction, only deepened his bond with the darkness and with him.


    Ahlgrath had finally found his place in the world: as a force to be feared, a weapon to be wielded, and a creature who had turned rejection into unholy purpose.


    Two knights. Two mere knights from the oh-so-glorious Round Table, paragons of honor and justice and whatever other noble nonsense they sang about in their little halls. Did they really think they could stop him?


    Ahlgrath¡ªthe creature cast out by the world, molded by shadow, and sharpened into perfection by horrors they couldn¡¯t begin to imagine? The thought alone made him laugh¡ªa deep, guttural sound that rumbled like thunder across the battlefield.


    ¡°Tristan and Yvolt, was it?¡± he drawled, his voice practically dripping with disdain. ¡°Born into lives of privilege, groomed for greatness by your precious knights. How quaint. You had teachers, comrades, shining armor polished daily, and a cause to fight for. A prepackaged life of purpose, served up with all the trimmings of nobility.¡±


    He stepped closer, his grotesque form unleashed, towering over them like a shadow cast by their own inadequacies. His clawed fingers flexed, dripping with malice and a lifetime of rage.


    ¡°Well, aren¡¯t we the same?¡± he sneered. ¡°Working like dogs for your master, thrown into life-and-death battles, forced to face the monsters and defects of the world. But in the end, you¡¯re nothing more than slaves to the man above you. Just like me.¡±


    He expected shock, denial, outrage¡ªanything to remind him of their supposedly noble lineage. Instead, Tristan and Yvolt turned to each other, raised their eyebrows, and then¡ªsmiled.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Tristan said lightly, his tone so casual it felt like a slap in the face. ¡°We are the same. Like you, following your master, we¡¯re just following orders. So, no hard feelings, okay?¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Yvolt added, her eyes gleaming with what could only be described as curiosity. ¡°What kind of creature are you, anyway? And who commands you? You¡¯ve got to admit, this is interesting.¡±


    Ahlgrath froze, his mind reeling. The same? They, the sanctimonious knights of the Round Table, were actually admitting it? Acknowledging, without hesitation, that they were as much slaves as he was? The idea was... disorienting.


    He opened his mouth, ready to launch into a scathing tirade about how they were nothing alike, how their shiny titles and noble causes made them a different breed entirely¡ªbut they¡¯d already shrugged it off. Dismissed him. Like he was some petulant child throwing a tantrum.


    For the first time in years, Ahlgrath was at a loss for words. And it infuriated him.


    But by the time he was awakened from his confusion, the two had chugged up the second dose of the potion.


    ¡°With this, we¡¯ll also get serious.¡±

 179 - Broken Rhythm

    The moonlight filtered through the uneven rooftops of the sprawling outskirts, casting long shadows over the rough-hewn tiles. The air was heavy with the faint tang of iron and the muffled hum of distant revelry, oblivious to the battle raging above.


    Ahlgrath¡¯s grotesque body had fully unraveled, his form now a writhing mass of sinew, claws, and blackened flesh pulsing with dark veins. His monstrous presence loomed, each step cracking the brittle shingles beneath him.


    Across from him, Tristan and Yvolt stood side by side, their pink heart-shaped eyes now glowing even brighter, like lamps cutting through the gloom. Ahlgrath snarled, his claws elongating into sharp talons as he lunged, his speed a blur. But the duo moved as one, stepping apart with a practiced elegance.


    ¡°I miss you,¡± Yvolt murmured, and in a blink, she vanished, replaced by Tristan mid-draw. The shock hit Ahlgrath like a slap; the phrase was different this time, throwing off his rhythm.


    The delay cost him. Tristan loosed a Force arrow point-blank, the crackling projectile slicing into Ahlgrath¡¯s side and hurling him backward. Yvolt appeared above him mid-air, rapier gleaming in the moonlight.


    ¡°I like your smile,¡± she said sweetly, thrusting downward. Ahlgrath barely raised an arm in time, his claws catching the blade just as it sliced into his exposed shoulder.


    He roared, his body twisting unnaturally as he threw her off, but another voice rang out before he could counter.


    ¡°You¡¯re my favorite,¡± Tristan called, switching places with Yvolt yet again. A Force-powered kick sent Ahlgrath reeling, tiles crumbling beneath his bulk.


    The seamless exchange of their positions was maddening, but the new phrases, each laced with casual affection, were outright infuriating. Ahlgrath glared at them, his grotesque features contorted in a mix of rage and confusion.


    ¡°What is this?¡± he snarled, his voice guttural and thick with disbelief. ¡°Why do your words change?!¡±


    Tristan grinned, nocking another invisible arrow. ¡°Oh, come on,¡± he said. ¡°Didn¡¯t anyone ever teach you about love?¡±


    Yvolt smirked, appearing beside Tristan once more. ¡°Guess not,¡± she quipped. ¡°But don¡¯t worry¡ªwe¡¯re great teachers.¡±


    Ahlgrath¡¯s roar reverberated through the maze of rooftops, shaking loose tiles as he surged forward with renewed ferocity. The black aura around him thickened, spreading like a living shadow that seemed to consume the dim moonlight.


    Tristan and Yvolt dodged and weaved as they always did, but this time, Ahlgrath¡¯s movements were sharper, faster, and more deliberate.


    The rooftops beneath their feet began to glisten with a slick, dark substance, sticky and unsettlingly warm. The air grew heavy, thick with a faintly acrid scent.


    Tristan¡¯s foot slipped slightly as he pivoted to fire another Force arrow, but he compensated with a nimble leap, his glowing heart-shaped eyes narrowing in concentration.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°I miss you!¡± Yvolt called, switching places with him mid-strike. Her rapier flashed toward Ahlgrath¡¯s throat, but he twisted with inhuman speed, the blade glancing off his hardened flesh.


    ¡°You¡¯re slowing down,¡± Ahlgrath growled, his voice dripping with malice.


    Tristan and Yvolt exchanged a glance, their smiles faltering as they noticed the creeping fatigue in their limbs. The black fog that filled the air wasn¡¯t just for show; it was sapping their strength, dulling their reflexes.


    Tristan¡¯s next arrow fizzled mid-flight, and Yvolt¡¯s normally precise strikes started to falter, her movements a beat slower than before.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, little knights?¡± Ahlgrath sneered, his clawed feet effortlessly gripping the slickened tiles as he lunged. His claws slashed in wide arcs, forcing Yvolt back. She stumbled, barely able to raise her blade in time to deflect another blow.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me this is the extent of your love,¡± he mocked, his monstrous grin widening as he anticipated their next move.


    ¡°We¡¯re fine,¡± Tristan said, though his voice betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.


    ¡°Are we?¡± Yvolt muttered, her eyes darting to the blackened fog swirling around them. The sticky substance coating the rooftops seemed alive, creeping and clinging to their boots with each step.


    Ahlgrath chuckled, the sound low and grating. ¡°You thought your little game of switches was clever. But in my domain?¡± He spread his arms wide, his aura expanding further. ¡°I decide how this ends.¡±


    He darted forward, faster than before, claws gleaming as they slashed at Tristan¡¯s midsection. Tristan barely managed to dodge, but the force of the swing sent him sprawling across the roof.


    Yvolt leapt to his defense, but Ahlgrath was already there, blocking her blade with his own claw and shoving her back with a brutal swipe.


    ¡°You¡¯re not used to being prey, are you?¡± Ahlgrath hissed, his grotesque form shifting as he crouched low, preparing for another strike.


    His movements were no longer wild or erratic¡ªthey were calculated, each attack aimed at dismantling their rhythm.


    For the first time, the Love Potion Duo was on the defensive. And Ahlgrath was relishing every moment of it.


    The rooftop battle spiraled into chaos. The black fog thickened, pressing against their lungs, and the creeping sludge on the tiles made every step a risk.


    Tristan and Yvolt, once a seamless symphony of movement, now stumbled through their routine like a broken melody. Each swing of Ahlgrath¡¯s claws seemed closer than the last, and the monstrous grin never left his grotesque face.


    Yvolt parried another swipe with her rapier, the force of the impact numbing her arm. ¡°He¡¯s getting faster,¡± she muttered through gritted teeth.


    Tristan loosed a Force arrow, but it lacked its usual precision. Ahlgrath sidestepped effortlessly, his hulking form closing in like a predator savoring the kill.


    ¡°Your tricks are failing you,¡± he hissed, his claws raking dangerously close to Tristan¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± Tristan growled, his glowing heart-shaped eyes narrowing.


    The duo fought stubbornly, their strikes and switches becoming more frantic, more desperate. Every move they made was met with counterattacks that came closer to drawing blood.


    Ahlgrath, now grinning with smug satisfaction, began to anticipate their rhythm. He lunged at Yvolt, forcing her back against the edge of the roof.


    ¡°Yve!¡± Tristan shouted, his voice sharp with panic. Then, with a sudden ferocity, he yelled, ¡°I love you!¡±


    Ahlgrath braced for the switch, his gaze snapping to where Tristan would reappear. But no switch happened.


    Instead, Tristan stood his ground, unleashing a powerful burst of Force energy that coiled around him like a tempest. Yvolt followed suit, her rapier glowing with mana as she charged.


    Ahlgrath realized too late¡ªit was a feint. The duo¡¯s energy struck him simultaneously, Yvolt¡¯s rapier piercing his shoulder while Tristan¡¯s Force arrow detonated against his chest.


    He roared in pain, his monstrous form staggering back. But even as he bled, his retaliation was swift. A claw lashed out, tearing through Tristan¡¯s defense and carving a jagged wound across his side.


    ¡°Tristan!¡± Yvolt screamed, stepping between them with her rapier raised, her breath ragged but her determination unbroken.


    Ahlgrath straightened, black ichor dripping from his wounds. His grin, now tinged with rage, returned. ¡°Clever,¡± he growled. ¡°But not clever enough.¡±

 180 - Switching Strategies

    Tristan grimaced as he uncorked the mana potion, the sickly-sweet smell wafting up like a slap to the face. He sighed before downing it in one gulp. The glow of magic flickered around his wound, knitting flesh back together with all the grace of a rushed tailor.


    Yvolt stood in front of him, her rapier raised, the ever-present pink hearts in her eyes shining brighter than any sense of self-preservation. ¡°Can you hurry up, Tan? I¡¯m not exactly thrilled about playing meat shield tonight.¡±


    ¡°Almost done,¡± Tristan replied, flexing his newly healed side and rising to his feet with a smug grin. ¡°Good as new.¡±


    Meanwhile, Ahlgrath was proving that even in battle, he was an overachiever in the ¡°gross and horrifying¡± department. With a satisfied growl, he stalked to the mangled remains of his fallen men and began crunching through their bodies like a grotesque buffet.


    Bones snapped, ichor dripped, and the sound was enough to make anyone¡¯s stomach turn.


    Yvolt wrinkled her nose. ¡°Oh, great. He¡¯s snacking.¡±


    Tristan tilted his head. ¡°Should we be worried?¡±


    ¡°Tan, he¡¯s literally eating his friends. What do you think?¡±


    Ahlgrath licked his lips, his wounds sealing with grotesque efficiency. ¡°Round two, little knights?¡± he rumbled, his grin wider than ever.


    Ahlgrath had seen plenty in his monstrous lifetime¡ªangry mobs, screaming villagers, and knights who thought a shiny blade and a righteous cause could fix everything. But this? These two were something else entirely. Their fighting style wasn¡¯t just infuriating; it was borderline insulting.


    He¡¯d figured out their little trick quickly enough. Say an endearing phrase, switch places, rinse and repeat. Predictable, right? Wrong.


    Apparently, they¡¯d decided the old ¡°I love you¡± wasn¡¯t enough. Now, the battlefield was littered with sickly sweet declarations: ¡°I miss you,¡± ¡°I like your smile,¡± ¡°You¡¯re my everything.¡± If Ahlgrath hadn¡¯t been so focused on killing them, he might¡¯ve vomited on the spot.


    Not to mention, their little feints. Now they had added the delightful little twist of not switching after their cue, just to keep him guessing. Was it going to be a swap or a trick? Who knew? Certainly not him, and that was driving him insane.


    He growled, his claws flexing as he tried to anticipate their next move. But the so-called ¡°Love Potion Duo¡± weren¡¯t just fighters; they were chaos wrapped in pink hearts. Worse still, the potion¡¯s effects showed no signs of wearing off.


    ¡°How much longer are you going to glow like some lovesick fireflies?¡± he snarled, glaring at their annoyingly synchronized movements.


    Yvolt smirked, her blade gleaming as she darted forward. ¡°Long enough to kill you.¡±


    Ahlgrath gritted his teeth. Fine. Let them play their twisted little game. He¡¯d just have to make sure they didn¡¯t live long enough to finish it.


    The rooftops shook under Ahlgrath¡¯s relentless pursuit, his grotesque form swelling with black substance that hardened like armor. Each step he took sent shards of tiles tumbling to the streets below, his monstrous presence filling the narrow skyline like a living nightmare.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Yes, he knew people around would start noticing, but he would eat them all. Food wouldn¡¯t talk or spread stories.


    Tristan and Yvolt darted around him, their glowing pink eyes undeterred, but Ahlgrath¡¯s patience for their tricks had long since run dry.


    They struck with their usual unpredictability¡ªan arrow glowing with mana here, a rapier slicing through the fog there¡ªbut it didn¡¯t matter anymore.


    Ahlgrath barely flinched, the thickened mass of his skin absorbing the hits with a sickening squelch. Even their clever feints, once enough to wound him, now only managed to chip away at his outer layer.


    He pressed forward, unrelenting, his claws swiping through the air with murderous intent.


    ¡°You think you can dance around me forever?¡± he snarled, his voice a guttural growl as he deflected Yvolt¡¯s rapier with a backhanded swipe. ¡°You¡¯re only delaying the inevitable.¡±


    Yvolt¡¯s blade barely scratched his shoulder before bouncing off, the force of the impact sending her skidding back across the slick rooftop.


    Tristan, ever the sharpshooter, loosed another Force arrow, its glowing tip hissing through the fog. Ahlgrath didn¡¯t even bother dodging; it struck his chest and dissipated harmlessly into the black armor coating his body.


    ¡°Still trying, huh?¡± he sneered, stepping toward them. His eyes flicked to the satchel at Tristan¡¯s side, the one carrying the stolen documents.


    He couldn¡¯t let them escape with that¡ªnot because of some misguided sense of duty, but because those papers represented something bigger. His master¡¯s plans couldn¡¯t be compromised.


    But he knew these knights weren¡¯t the fleeing type. They weren¡¯t here to run; they were here to kill him.


    Good. He could work with that.


    Yvolt glanced at Tristan, and he returned the look with a faint nod. No words passed between them, but their intent was clear. They were at a stalemate, and something had to give. A decisive blow was their only chance, and both knew it.


    Across the rooftop, Ahlgrath growled low, his monstrous form crackling with dark energy. The black substance coating his body pulsed and shifted like living armor, prepared to tank whatever they threw at him. ¡°I see you,¡± he rumbled, his claws flexing. ¡°Your little plans won¡¯t save you.¡±


    Yvolt dashed first, her rapier shimmering with mana as she charged directly at him. Her movements were sharp, deliberate¡ªan unmistakable tell of an incoming all-or-nothing attack. Ahlgrath crouched low, his hulking frame coiled like a spring, ready to intercept her blade.


    ¡°Predictable,¡± he sneered, swiping his massive claws in a wide arc.


    But just as Yvolt was within striking range, her form flickered and vanished. Before Ahlgrath could react, Tristan appeared in her place, bow already drawn.


    ¡°No more games,¡± Tristan said coldly, loosing a Force arrow point-blank.


    BLAAAAAAST!


    The projectile exploded against Ahlgrath¡¯s chest, sending him skidding back. He roared, swinging wildly, but the duo had already shifted again. Yvolt was now above him, her rapier plunging toward his neck in a streak of light.


    No cue?!


    Ahlgrath twisted, his claw catching her blade mid-air, but the sheer force of her strike sent cracks spidering through his black armor. Before he could retaliate, she flickered, and Tristan was behind him, driving a kick infused with mana into his exposed side.


    Where¡¯s the ¡°I love yous¡±?!


    They attacked in perfect harmony, switching positions without a single word or sign. Ahlgrath¡¯s monstrous strength gave him the ability to counter any one of them, but their seamless transitions left him swinging at air, his claws scraping against tiles as their relentless blows landed faster than he could track.


    How did they know when to switch? How did they synchronize their movements then?


    Yvolt reappeared in front of him, feinting with a thrust before slipping to his flank. Tristan loosed another arrow, its crackling mana forcing Ahlgrath to stagger into her waiting strike. She spun, her rapier slicing cleanly through his side, ichor spraying across the roof.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who can adapt,¡± Tristan muttered as he landed another arrow into Ahlgrath¡¯s shoulder, the force blasting him back another step.


    Ahlgrath growled, shaking his head as if to clear it. For the first time, the monster seemed genuinely disoriented. Their attack had thrown him off balance, his monstrous confidence cracking along with his armor. The Love Potion Duo was no longer just unpredictable¡ªthey were unstoppable.


    But how?


    No, they didn¡¯t switch places every time they whispered some cutesy endearment. And no, it wasn¡¯t some fancy spellwork either. That would¡¯ve been far too simple.


    What they had was something more physical, more chaotic, and far more obnoxiously personal.


    Every time their hearts beat at the same time, their bodies switched places.


    The trick came after that.

 181 - Beat as One

    Before they achieved mind-body unity, it was all guesswork and frantic counting, trying to predict when their heartbeats would sync. They had to use their Force to amplify their hearing, straining to focus on the rhythm of each other¡¯s hearts. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and downright insane.


    At first, it didn¡¯t work. At all. But as they kept at it¡ªthrough trial, error, and sheer stubbornness¡ªthey started to understand the rhythm, learning how to sync their movements to match.


    Control? That was out of the question. But once they memorized the subtle nuances of each other¡¯s heartbeats, everything began to click. Together, they became something far greater than the sum of their parts, defeating enemies they could barely touch when fighting alone.


    And that¡¯s how they hit mind-body unity¡ªat the same time.


    With their world expanded, they didn¡¯t need to guess or count anymore. They could control when they switched. They didn¡¯t even need cues, to begin with; syncing heartbeats became second nature, like breathing.


    The ¡°I love yous¡± and ¡°I miss yous¡±? Smoke and mirrors. Just a clever little act to make their switches seem like magic or a spell.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Ahlgrath roared, unleashing a thick black explosion that sent them skidding backward.


    But it wasn¡¯t enough today.


    They¡¯d mastered the early stage of mind-body unity, sure, but as Four Stars, even that had its limits. Timing each switch by deliberately slowing their heartbeats to gain the upper hand? That was one thing. But speeding them up, syncing each and every heartbeat to pull off rapid switches?


    Now that was insanity. And it seemed they had to do it.


    Ba-dum¡ªSLASH!


    Ahlgrath¡¯s monstrous roar shook the rooftops as his arm flew through the air, severed cleanly from his grotesque body. His eyes widened in disbelief.


    Ba-dum!


    Ba-dum!


    Ba-dum!


    Three more switches, lightning-fast, and in the blink of an eye, his remaining limbs were gone, hacked apart before he could even process what was happening.


    Ba-dum! Ba-dum! STAB! STAB!


    The strikes came faster now¡ªrelentless, vicious, each one perfectly timed to the erratic rhythm of their synchronized hearts. Blood surged through Tristan and Yvolt¡¯s veins, their faces flushed with exertion. Their movements were a blur, the staccato beat of their hearts driving them into a frenzy.


    Ba-dum!


    BLAAAAAAST!


    A Force arrow detonated against Ahlgrath¡¯s chest, sending his amorphous body staggering backward. The black sludge that made up his form writhed in defiance, but the Love Potion Duo didn¡¯t let up.


    Their rapid switches weren¡¯t just disorienting¡ªthey were punishing. The rhythm of their battle was absolute chaos, and yet, to them, it was perfect harmony.


    Their bodies screamed in protest. Blood pounded in their ears, their veins felt like they might burst, and the disorienting dizziness of constant switching gnawed at their focus. But they pushed through, driven by sheer determination.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°ROAAAARR!¡±


    Ahlgrath¡¯s voice was no longer human¡ªit was a guttural, alien bellow that sent shivers down their spines. His form, once monstrous but still humanoid, dissolved into a writhing blob of black substance. The stumps where his limbs had been twitched and shuddered, struggling to regrow, but the duo didn¡¯t give him the chance.


    Ba-dum! SLASH! Ba-dum! STAB!


    The switches became even more erratic, the rhythm entirely unpredictable. Tristan and Yvolt were everywhere at once, their glowing heart-shaped eyes darting in and out of the fog as their weapons tore through Ahlgrath¡¯s grotesque mass. The monster was strong¡ªbut they were relentless.


    When a lover¡¯s hearts beat as one,


    The battle¡¯s rhythm has just begun.


    No force can sever what they¡¯ve spun,


    Two souls entwined, a war hard-won.


    ¡°COUGH!¡± Yvolt hacked, spitting blood onto the already grimy rooftop. ¡°Lovely,¡± she wheezed. ¡°As if this fight wasn¡¯t disgusting enough, now it¡¯s getting personal.¡±


    The black mist had slithered into their lungs, gnawing away at them from the inside like it had a grudge. Yvolt swayed slightly but still gripped her rapier, because of course, dignity first.


    Tristan wasn¡¯t much better. He clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth didn¡¯t crack, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. ¡°Great,¡± he muttered through the metallic tang. ¡°We¡¯re bleeding inside and out. Perfect.¡±


    They exchanged a quick glance, the unspoken agreement clear: this was going to suck, but giving up wasn¡¯t on the table.


    One more round!


    Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum!


    SLASH! BLAST! STAB-STAB-STAB!


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAH!¡±


    Ahlgrath¡¯s voice was a guttural scream of anguish, each syllable tearing from his throat like shattered glass. His body was in shambles¡ªhis limbs reduced to ragged stumps, the black ichor oozing sluggishly from the mangled remains.


    The once-impenetrable armor of his grotesque form was cracked and peeling, his monstrous bulk trembling under the strain of trying¡ªand failing¡ªto regenerate. Every strike, every switch had left him more battered, more broken, until he was little more than a quivering mass of pulsing sludge and desperation.


    But then he felt it. A presence so vast and suffocating it drowned out the pain. The air thickened, humming with power. He was here.


    Ahlgrath¡¯s ruined form quivered as an unhinged grin split his face. ¡°AAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!¡± he cackled, his voice ragged but filled with twisted joy. ¡°YOU¡¯LL DIE! YOU¡¯LL DIE! BEHOLD, AHLGRATH¡¯S MASTER! BEHOLD!¡±


    The black substance coating the rooftops surged to life, rippling like a pool of tar before shooting skyward. Tendrils of darkness wove themselves into a perfect circle, hanging ominously in the air.


    The gate shimmered with malevolent energy, the swirling black surface alive with ripples that hissed and spat like acid. Thick droplets of the liquid dripped from its edges, steaming as they hit the ground.


    The portal pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, its swirling depths promising nothing but despair. The very sight of it seemed to mock reality itself, as if the world were bending to the will of something unspeakable. Ahlgrath¡¯s laughter echoed through the night, a symphony of madness.


    Tristan and Yvolt stood on the edge of something monumental¡ªthe verge of breaking through to Five Star. Their bodies screamed with strain, every cell aching as they pushed their limits, relearning how to function and control themselves at a molecular level.


    But blood still seeped from their lips, a grim reminder of the black substance that had invaded and poisoned them. Their bodies felt like a battlefield already lost, and now, something even more colossal was coming? Really? Just perfect timing.


    ¡°See? They¡¯re fine.¡±


    The two flinched. That voice¡­


    A man strode past them, casually emerging between the pair like he owned the night. When their eyes landed on his broad, dependable back, something shifted. The suffocating tension in their nerves loosened, just a bit.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Ahlgrath growled, his monstrous form coiling with unease.


    ¡°Bitch, it¡¯s you who¡¯s gonna die,¡± Yvolt snapped, a grin spreading across her blood-streaked face.


    Tristan chuckled beside her, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah. You and that master of yours. Better start writing your wills.¡±


    Then they felt it¡ªa hand on each of their shoulders. They turned and found themselves looking at a devastatingly beautiful woman standing right where the man had passed.


    From her touch, a wave of soothing energy spread through their battered bodies. It was warm, gentle, and perfect.


    The black mist recoiled, dissipating into nothingness. The substance coating the floor hissed and evaporated, leaving behind a clean circle around them, like the universe itself decided it was done with Ahlgrath¡¯s nonsense.


    Now, even if the sky fell, Tristan and Yvolt wouldn¡¯t be afraid.

 182 - Slow Outro

    ¡°They¡¯ve been hit hard, Caliburn. Let¡¯s finish this swiftly,¡± Morgan said, her voice calm but carrying the weight of finality.


    Tristan and Yvolt exchanged a quick, uneasy glance. They weren¡¯t sure what felt worse¡ªthe fact that they¡¯d gotten their asses handed to them by this grotesque monstrosity or the fact that Burn was here to witness it.


    Burn¡ªEmperor Caliburn, the epitome of perfection wrapped in strictness and an endless supply of terrifyingly high expectations. The man could turn a minor critique into a life lesson you¡¯d regret for years.


    And now they had to face him after struggling to deal with some random monster? It stung. It burned.


    Yvolt muttered under her breath, ¡°He¡¯s gonna roast us alive, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    Tristan winced, already imagining the lecture. ¡°Do you remember how he scolded Galahad? Galahad, Yve. I still have secondhand trauma from that.¡±


    Ah, yes. The time Burn gave the walking nightmare himself a verbal thrashing for failing to meet his impossibly high standards. If Galahad couldn¡¯t avoid Burn¡¯s wrath, what chance did the Love Potion Duo have?


    ¡°I mean, we could¡¯ve done worse,¡± Yvolt added halfheartedly.


    Tristan snorted. ¡°Yeah? Like what? Accidentally helping this monster grow a second head?¡±


    Morgan¡¯s sharp gaze cut through their whispered exchange, and the two knights straightened instinctively, swallowing their fear. They¡¯d survived worse than Burn¡¯s scolding. Probably.


    Well, of course, they knew Galahad was strong. The man wasn¡¯t called a nightmare incarnate for nothing. And that strength? That¡¯s precisely why Burn¡¯s expectations for him were sky-high.


    It was only natural, really. When you were a six-star Force Master practically teetering on the edge of enlightenment, people expected you to work miracles¡ªor, in Burn¡¯s case, act like the Absolute Tyrant himself.


    Achieving the seven-star only needed one decisive choice after all¡ªto abandon everything he knew and mold his body to follow his intention.


    Which made it all the more terrifying that Burn still managed to find fault with Galahad. But Tristan and Yvolt? They were nothing compared to Galahad. They weren¡¯t nightmares; they were¡­ well, nuisances at best. Surely Burn couldn¡¯t hold them to the same impossibly high standards. Right?


    Then again, knowing Burn, he probably could¡ªand would.


    After all, like how they had each other to protect, Galahad had Landevale to¡ª


    A pair of eyes suddenly materialized on the swirling black portal, and the air grew heavier, as if reality itself recoiled at their presence. They were grotesque things¡ªvast, lidless orbs that seemed to pulse with a sickly, uneven rhythm. The sclera wasn¡¯t white but a murky gray, veined with black like cracks in decaying stone.


    The irises burned with an unnatural glow, a molten red that churned and flickered like embers in a dying fire. They didn¡¯t simply look¡ªthey pierced, their gaze carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken horrors.


    Around the edges, dark, fleshy tendrils writhed and slithered, connecting the eyes to the portal¡¯s swirling surface as if they had grown directly from it.


    The pupils, narrow and inhuman, shifted erratically, never settling, as though scanning for something unseen. And then, they blinked¡ªa slow, wet motion that sent a ripple through the portal, the sound akin to flesh tearing and reforming.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Greetings.¡±


    The voice slithered from the portal, unpleasant and cloying, like oil dripping down Burn¡¯s spine. His eyes narrowed at the sound, sharp as a blade poised to strike.


    ¡°What a pleasant surprise to finally meet you,¡± the voice continued, its mockery barely veiled beneath a tone of feigned civility.


    Burn sneered, the corner of his mouth curling into something between disdain and amusement. ¡°Luck seems to favor me these days,¡± he said coolly.


    ¡°First, one of your disposable pawns had the audacity to cling to my leg in the middle of the road. Then there was your sloppy scheme for the first elven princess. And let¡¯s not forget the unmistakable stink of your interference in my father¡¯s regalia.¡±


    His gaze hardened, his voice lowering into something colder. ¡°Frankly, it¡¯s a surprise I hadn¡¯t noticed your presence sooner.¡±


    But as Burn let the pieces settle in his mind, the memories started to click together. The whispers and rumors that had shadowed him since his teenage years¡ªthe kind that painted him as something monstrous before he¡¯d even earned the title. Could those have been this man¡¯s handiwork?


    His jaw tightened. Considering no one but himself, his father, and God knew he had killed the old man personally¡ªand even fewer knew about his hunting the unicorn or the merfolk king¡ªthis man had a knack for digging up secrets best left buried.


    Not just digging them up¡ªspinning them, spreading them like poison through the veins of society, twisting truth into slander.


    ¡°Quite the talent for intel you¡¯ve got,¡± Burn murmured, his voice calm, yet laced with venom. ¡°Pity you waste it on such petty schemes.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯d been more interested in scheming than ransacking the realm, we might¡¯ve met just a moment sooner,¡± the voice mused, its tone equal parts mockery and menace. ¡°But sooner or later, our paths were bound to cross.¡±


    Burn¡¯s lips twitched, but his gaze remained steady. He knew the real reason they were meeting now¡ªMorgan¡¯s little ¡°curse¡± on the timeline. But still, it didn¡¯t matter. If they had met later, he¡¯d still find a way to destroy him.


    Unless... Morgan died.


    She was the only one with the power to stop the creeping corruption, to purify this rotting world. Without Morgan, the corruption would devour the realm, and Burn¡¯s competence would amount to nothing but ashes in the end.


    He could fight, he could scheme, he could bring down gods¡ªbut without her? This world would fall to ruin, and there would be nothing left but a decaying husk of people and land.


    As these thoughts twisted in his mind, the gurgling portal grew louder, sucking in the remains of Ahlgrath¡¯s broken form.


    The gurgling portal churned violently as Ahlgrath¡¯s ruined body began to dissolve into its swirling depths. His grotesque, shifting form was dragged inch by inch into the black, a sickening sound filling the air¡ªhalf a wet squelch, half the agonized screams of something not entirely alive.


    Tendrils of black sludge snaked out from the portal, latching onto the remnants of Ahlgrath like parasitic veins. Yet, amid the grotesque spectacle, the monster laughed¡ªa sound that crawled under the skin like nails on glass.


    His broken form twisted unnaturally as he turned his gaze to the four humans before him. His mouth stretched wide¡ªhorrifically wide¡ªsplitting his face horizontally in a grotesque grin. Fangs, jagged and shifting, writhed atop blackened gums lined with thorn-like protrusions. The sight was enough to unnerve even the bravest.


    ¡°When we meet again, humans¡­ when we meet again¡ª¡±


    The portal began to drag him in fully, his form distorting and twisting into the churning darkness. But just as the abyss was about to consume the last of him, Burn moved.


    He strode forward without hesitation, his expression cold and unflinching.


    ¡°Caliburn!¡± Morgan¡¯s voice rang out, her eyes wide with alarm as she reached to grab him. But it was too late.


    Burn thrust his right hand into the portal, the black sludge eagerly swallowing his arm as if devouring prey.


    GRAB¡ª


    A moment of stillness hung in the air, sharp and taut as a blade. Then, from the swirling depths, Burn¡¯s arm emerged. His hand clamped tightly around something.


    The man on the other side¡ªthe one behind this entire twisted spectacle¡ªstiffened, his eyes widening in astonishment as he felt the iron grip on his collar.


    ¡°You¡ª¡±


    Burn burst out laughing¡ªa deep, resonant sound that carried a chilling edge. ¡°So there is someone behind this portal,¡± he said, his voice sharp and triumphant, his grin a wolf¡¯s snarl. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you a pleasant surprise?¡±


    The man¡¯s hand instinctively shot to Burn¡¯s wrist, his grip testing the strength that held him. For the first time, the portal rippled with something other than malice¡ªit wavered, as though startled by Burn¡¯s audacity.


    The tension crackled in the air, a moment suspended between triumph and terror.


    ¡°How does it feel to have your asshole fisted?¡± Burn asked. ¡°Blame your slow outro.¡±

 183 - A Grasp Away

    ¡°Evacuate the people,¡± Morgan ordered sharply, her voice leaving no room for debate. Tristan and Yvolt exchanged a glance but obeyed without hesitation, darting off as Morgan sprinted toward Burn.


    Without breaking stride, a crown of radiant light materialized around the black portal, its glow slicing through the oppressive darkness. She reached Burn, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade: ¡°Pull!¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t hesitate. Whatever reckless impulse had driven him to reach into the portal¡ªsomething entirely out of character for him¡ªwas now replaced by calculated determination. The risks were massive, but the potential gain outweighed them.


    With every ounce of his Force, he pulled, channeling his power to counter the corruption surging through the portal.


    But, of course, corruption never played fair. The darkness spread into him, seeping through his veins like poison. He gritted his teeth, his iron will refusing to falter even as the man behind the portal recovered from his initial shock.


    The tug of war that followed was vicious and unrelenting, a battle of strength and will locked in perfect balance.


    Then¡ª


    SLASH!


    Burn staggered backward, almost losing his footing. His arm was gone, severed cleanly at the shoulder, and the dark voice within the portal erupted in laughter, full of amusement and disbelief.


    ¡°Pffff¡ªHAHAHAHAH!¡±


    Burn¡¯s jaw clenched, his fury barely contained.


    ¡°Not yet. Not today,¡± the voice growled through gritted teeth.


    With his remaining hand, he reached forward again, intent on dragging the figure to the surface, arm or no arm. But before he could make contact, the portal vanished, leaving nothing but silence and a deep, simmering rage in its wake.


    Except... his severed arm remained on the other side.


    Still gripping the collar of the man from the portal, the dismembered limb seemed almost defiant. The dark figure was about to pry it away when he felt it¡ªan overwhelming heat, as if a thousand suns had ignited in his palm.


    BLAAAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    The explosion ripped through the void with unrelenting fury, a shockwave of searing heat and blinding light that turned the surrounding space into a swirling vortex of destruction.


    The dark figure staggered, shielding his shifting visage with a tendril-like arm of black mana. The sheer force of the blast drove him back, his form flickering violently as he fought to maintain cohesion.


    It wasn¡¯t the fire itself that got under his skin¡ªit wasn¡¯t like his twisted form hadn¡¯t endured pain before. No, it was the sheer audacity of the situation. Being blasted by a severed arm? An arm?! The indignity of it burned hotter than the explosion itself.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    He hissed in fury, molten black ichor dripping from the charred, cracked edges of his form. His entire being radiated an unstable energy, struggling to reabsorb the corrupted mana he¡¯d been forced to sacrifice in defense.


    The air was thick with suffocating heat and crackling remnants of the blast, the very fabric of the void trembling under its residual force.


    The explosion wasn¡¯t just devastating¡ªit was absurdly overpowered. That severed arm wasn¡¯t a mere appendage; it was laced with the condensed heat energy of a dying sun. Even now, his body screamed under the strain of countering it.


    That man. What was he made of? Carbon material that could cleave through gods? The figure¡¯s thoughts churned as suspicion took root. Probably cutting off an arm of a god wouldn¡¯t cost him this much.


    Had Burn let his arm be severed deliberately? Was this some cruel ploy? The figure shuddered at the realization that he might have been outplayed. If he hadn¡¯t guarded himself with everything¡ªevery ounce of corrupted mana he could muster¡ªhe would¡¯ve lost far more than he cared to imagine.


    ¡°That damned son of a bitch,¡± he muttered, his voice dripping with venom and something bordering on begrudging respect. ¡°Even dismembered, he¡¯s an obnoxious thorn.¡±


    The blast had left him exposed, his surroundings in complete ruin. Smoke rose in tendrils from the scorched remnants of the void, an acrid stench clawing at what passed for his nostrils. The corruption that had once flowed like a living entity now felt hollow, weak¡ªan insult to his power.


    As he adjusted himself, his flickering form finally stabilizing, his glowing eyes narrowed with fury barely restrained. The humiliation lingered, festering alongside his anger. ¡°Next time,¡± he hissed, voice like grinding stone, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure there¡¯s nothing left of him to explode.¡±


    ***


    Tristan and Yvolt stood in stunned silence, their earlier determination to evacuate the civilians now feeling almost¡­ redundant. The threat had retreated, metaphorical tail firmly tucked between its legs.


    They¡¯d half-expected Burn to drag the demon out of the abyss. Instead, Burn had his own reasons to let him slip away¡ªor so it seemed.


    ¡°That didn¡¯t kill him,¡± Burn said flatly, his voice laced with frustration as he incinerated the corrupted parts of his body with cold precision. Morgan, beside him, worked frantically to purify the lingering traces of thick black mana, her usually serene demeanor replaced with tense focus.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time Burn had taken a risk like this, and Tristan and Yvolt knew it wouldn¡¯t be the last. Just as the demon lord gambled an equivalent of a continent¡¯s worth of corruption to trap Morgan in a mind prison, Burn had gambled his own body to try and drag his enemy to the surface¡ªor, at the very least, leave a parting gift with his severed arm.


    To land even one decisive blow.


    ¡°Kiss me,¡± Morgan said abruptly, her tone devoid of tenderness and calm, replaced with something darker, heavier.


    Burn paused, his gaze meeting hers. He didn¡¯t need to ask why. He knew. She knew. This recklessness wasn¡¯t like him. He wasn¡¯t one to lose his cool and pull stunts like this¡ªexcept when it came to her. He held a great grudge after the last loop.


    He leaned down, lips meeting hers, the purest form of mana radiating from her soul flooding into him. Slowly, the corruption burning through his veins began to dissipate, the divine energy purifying what remained.


    As the corruption faded, his arm began to regenerate, forming anew from the light and heat energy he had once amassed from the White Dwarf.


    Morgan, however, was clearly not satisfied. Her hands glowed with relentless divine energy, and the look in her eyes was downright zealous. If she could, she¡¯d dunk him into a tub of holy water and scrub him with her soul until not even a speck of corruption dared remain.


    And Burn, ever the picture of composure, savored the moment in silence. It wasn¡¯t every day you were kissed back to health by a goddess in all but name.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine now. Let¡¯s clean this up,¡± Burn pulled away, arm restored. He turned to the pair of Round Table Knights standing behind them, ¡°Let¡¯s return and check on you first.¡±

 184 - Post-Battle Strain

    Morgan, with her characteristic efficiency, opened a dimensional portal straight back to Wilderwood¡¯s capital mansion. It was a clean cut between realms, the kind of thing that could only be accomplished by someone with absolute control over Vision¡ªand a lot on her plate.


    She had made sure, of course, that the civilians nearby weren¡¯t left too implicated in what had just unfolded.


    A soothing spell was already at work, blanketing the area with a subtle calm and blurring the memories of those who had wandered too close to the chaos.


    It wasn¡¯t mind control¡ªnot exactly. Just a gentle nudge to ensure that nobody woke up screaming about eldritch horrors and gods blasting each other above their roofs.


    The district itself wasn¡¯t a slum, though its humble charm wouldn¡¯t win it any noble visitors. It was packed with poorer commoners, families scraping by but still maintaining a quiet sense of dignity.


    These were people who knew how to endure life¡¯s hardships, but this? This wasn¡¯t your usual tough day of fetching water or haggling over stale bread.


    Initially, for Tristan and Yvolt, the operation had been straightforward: sneak in, grab some seemingly insignificant information, and sneak out. A simple job. But, unexpectedly, things spiraled out of control, landing them in yet another near-apocalyptic showdown.


    The commoners had, of course, realized something was wrong. They¡¯d left their homes, stepping cautiously into the streets to investigate. But the action had taken place on the rooftops, well out of view for most of them. All they¡¯d likely seen were flashes of light and strange sounds¡ªenough to send their imaginations running wild.


    And while it felt like a lifetime for those involved, the entire ordeal hadn¡¯t stretched for more than an hour. Just long enough to almost destroy the neighborhood¡¯s roof and leave Morgan cleaning up the mess, as usual.


    Yvain greeted the returning group with a sigh that couldn¡¯t decide whether it was from relief or exhaustion, his smile stretched thin but genuine. Beside him, Finn looked like he¡¯d just narrowly avoided a heart attack, his shoulders shaking as he tried to pull himself together.


    ¡°Sir, with this, we don¡¯t even need to report further,¡± Tristan said, his voice heavy with fatigue as he handed over the documents he and Yvolt had risked their lives to protect.


    Yvain took the papers with a solemn nod. ¡°Then go recover. Thank you for your service.¡±


    Morgan wasted no time, opening another dimensional portal with a graceful flick of her hand. ¡°This one leads to the World Tree,¡± she said calmly. ¡°There¡¯s a team of purification specialists waiting there. You two should head over and recover.¡±


    Tristan and Yvolt exchanged a weary glance, their expressions mirroring the helplessness they felt.


    ¡°We¡¯re sorry we could only be used this far, Your Majesties,¡± Yvolt said, her voice tinged with regret.


    Burn didn¡¯t even pause as he brushed past them, his tone as cold and cutting as ever. ¡°What are you talking about? Recover quickly so I can use you again later.¡± He didn¡¯t spare them a second glance, striding further into the mansion without so much as a backward look.


    Morgan, however, offered the pair a warm smile. ¡°Excellent work,¡± she said gently.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Tristan and Yvolt straightened, holding their smiles with every ounce of strength they had left. They were ants, they knew that¡ªtiny, insignificant compared to the legendary figures standing before them. Yet, to witness even a fraction of the apocalyptic stakes these two Majesties shouldered was enough to make their hearts swell with pride.


    The world spun because of Burn and Morgan. The abyss was held back because of their strength. And to serve them¡ªeven as tools, even as small players in the grand scheme¡ªfelt like the highest honor Tristan and Yvolt could ever hope to achieve.


    Heroes against the darkness, defenders of the world¡¯s fragile balance. If history remembered them for even a single moment in this grand battle, then perhaps it was all worth it.


    Still, both Tristan and Yvolt knew that if word of this spread, the aftermath would be catastrophic. The air felt heavy with the shadow of history repeating itself, something akin to the calamity five hundred years ago looming closer by the second.


    ¡°So¡­ it is¡­ the demon lord¡­?¡± Tristan¡¯s voice was shaky, his legs barely holding him upright as he reeled from the weight of the revelation.


    Morgan nodded, her expression calm but grave. ¡°We¡¯ve been debating how best to handle this situation. The mythical community has already been alerted, and we have united in preparation for the Second Holy War.¡±


    The words hit like a hammer, and the two knights visibly shuddered.


    The Second Holy War.


    Their minds spun with the implications. Just as Apostle Romeuf had led the heroes on a crusade to vanquish the darkness five centuries ago, it was now their time. History was calling again, and they would bear witness to its making.


    Unconsciously, their eyes drifted to the back of the man striding deeper into the mansion. Burn¡ªtheir Emperor. Steadfast, reliable, and undefeated. His presence was unshakable, his very steps a promise of battle. The man who would lead this crusade, the one whose back would carry the weight of an entire world.


    ¡°We will find a good time to announce this matter to the Round Table soon,¡± Morgan said softly, her voice gentle but firm. ¡°For now, focus on your recovery.¡±


    Tristan and Yvolt were not Galahad, but in that moment, it took everything they had not to drop to their knees and pledge their lives entirely to their Majesties.


    The sheer magnitude of the task ahead left them breathless, but seeing Yvain¡¯s worried expression and the still-open portal waiting for them, they forced themselves to bow instead. Without another word, they stepped through to the Great Forest.


    Morgan watched them leave, her serene expression giving way to something sharper, something heavier. She turned to Yvain and gestured for him to follow. ¡°Come. We need to catch up with your Papa.¡±


    This was going to be a long night. One of many to come.


    ***


    Blair¡¯s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching as she jolted awake from yet another nightmare. Or was it a memory? At this point, it hardly mattered. The sharp pain in her wrists, ankles, and neck pulled her attention back to reality¡ªa reality that wasn¡¯t much kinder.


    The red thread binding her body wasn¡¯t just metaphorical. It tugged at her from the darkness, controlling her like some grotesque marionette. It reminded her of the so-called red thread of fate, except there was nothing romantic about being yanked around like a puppet in someone else¡¯s grand cosmic plan.


    What purpose did she even serve in all of this? Who held the other end of the string? And, more importantly, why was she the one tangled in this mess?


    Blair leaned back against the bedframe, staring blankly toward the bedroom window. The giant crack in the sky loomed outside, a jagged scar splitting the heavens. It shimmered faintly, like it was mocking her with its ominous beauty.


    The world was breaking apart, and she was over here wondering if she was fate¡¯s favorite chew toy.


    She closed her eyes, slowly, with the kind of painstaking effort one reserves for things like holding in a sneeze or pretending everything¡¯s fine when it clearly isn¡¯t. Sleep didn¡¯t come easily¡ªof course, it never did¡ªbut tonight she forced it. Tomorrow, after all, was a big day.


    Tomorrow marked the weekend, the much-anticipated reprieve from the grind, and with it, a visit to the Wilderwood Capital Mansion. Not just any visit, though¡ªshe¡¯d be going with her friends. Her friends. The word still felt strange, like wearing a new pair of boots that hadn¡¯t quite been broken in yet.


    A small smile crept onto her face, a rare warmth melting the usual cold reserve. Evan¡­ and her very first friends. It was almost enough to feel normal. Almost.


    The thought wrapped around her like a soft blanket, soothing her into a hesitant, fragile sleep. She didn¡¯t notice the shadowed corners of the room or the glint of something watching¡ªunblinking, unwavering¡ªfrom the darkness.

 185 - Sator Household’s Weekend Plan

    The weekend had arrived.


    Matthew, Alan, and Blair had expected a grand, elegant reception at the Wilderwood Capital Mansion, courtesy of the illustrious and enchanting Sator family. They could not have been more mistaken.


    ¡°Why does it keep chasing me?!¡± whimpered the madam of the Sator household, curled into a miserable ball on the sofa. Her laughter was enchantingly maniacal, her face a tear-soaked, blotchy mess of red from sheer humor. She cried and laughed in turns, a woman on the brink.


    On the table was a slithering light animation that looked almost too realistic as it kept chasing a small figure of a character.


    The marquis, a pillar of composure himself, pressed on. ¡°The giant octopus wriggled and writhed, its tentacle¡ªthe peculiar one, shaped almost familiarly¡ªspouted not ink, not black, but white, someth¡ª¡±


    ¡°I rolled a natural twenty,¡± interrupted the head of the Sator family, seething with a righteous, barely-contained rage. ¡°I punched it away from Momo. How many tickles does it take to make an octopus laugh? Ten tickle¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ah, you punched its peculiar tentacle!¡±


    Burn burst out in anger, his fist to the table¡ª¡°I said ten tickles, not testicles!¡±


    Finn shook his head, ¡°It¡¯s the ninth tentacle. Not tenth.¡±


    The madam, for her part, spiraled deeper into her delirium, her laugh a wail that tickled the air. She melodically shrieked, her body convulsing into a shapeless heap of black hair and soft flesh. ¡°Bunny ha¡ªWASH YOUR HAND!¡±


    The head of the Sator family turned an unnatural shade of green, laced with flickering black undertones. His eyes burned with a void-like glint as he stared into the abyss of his life choices. Gloomily, he said, ¡°I can¡¯t wash my hands yet, it¡¯s not my turn to play!¡±


    ¡°BWHAHAHAHAH!¡±


    ¡°The monster is slain,¡± Finn coughed-laughed-choked, declared with somber gravity, ¡°but at great cost. You¡¯ve been cursed. The Curse of the Perpetual Sneeze. You shall forever teeter on the edge of sneezing, yet never find relief.¡±


    Madam Bunny Fay, the devastatingly beautiful goddess of the Sator family, died in that instant. She simply couldn¡¯t. She could not laugh anymore. ¡°That¡­ha¡ªwas¡­¡ªthe curse¡­ I¡­ recommended¡ª¡±


    Morgante, however, seemed strangely revitalized. With an air of tragic sincerity¡ªno, of eternal love¡ªhe scooted closer to her on the sofa, his voice as smooth as molten honey, his expression as solemn as death itself. ¡°Madam¡­ are you alright? Haa¡­ haa¡­ ha-ha¡­¡± His breath hitched in maddening increments, the looming sneeze always a moment away but never arriving. ¡°I just saved you¡­ from th¡ªhaa¡­ haa¡­ HACHH¡­ ha¡­¡±


    The madam screeched like a boiling bedazzled kettle, liquefying into a formless cosmic puddle on the sofa, her laughter now a haunting memory of its former self. ¡°Stop¡­ stop! Papa, I¡ª I can¡¯t¡­YOU HAVEN''T WASHED YOUR HAND! ROLL THE DICE TO WASH YOUR HAND WITH HOLY WATER!¡±


    Even the marquis, the so-called master of this doomed campaign, lay sprawled across the floor. He snorted, unceremoniously resembling a pig. ¡°I can¡¯t DM anymore,¡± he groaned, tears streaking his face. ¡°The two of you¡­ you¡¯re too good at this. It¡¯s too much. It¡¯s too funny¡­¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Alan, Matthew, and Blair turned toward Evan. Their faces in silent disbelief.


    The Marquis of Wilderwood, commander of ten thousands¡­ the terrifying Morgante Sator, leader of the second richest merchant family in the continent¡­ the devastatingly beautiful goddess Madame Bunny Fay¡ª


    Evan chuckled, ¡°You guys wanna come join?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Morgante and Bunny immediately said.


    Finn slowly rose from the floor. ¡°This is an adult campaign. Young Master Evan, you can prepare a separate campaign with your friends later. I will help you DM.¡±


    Bunny, still caught in the chaotic aftermath of the ridiculous play, made a feeble attempt to wipe her tears¡ªthough whether they were from laughter, despair, or both was anyone¡¯s guess. Her efforts were as effective as using a sieve to scoop water, leaving streaks of moisture shimmering on her porcelain cheeks.


    She laughed, or maybe she cried¡ªreally, it was impossible to distinguish anymore. The sound that escaped her lips was a blend of mirth and misery, as though the universe itself couldn¡¯t decide whether to gift her joy or torment.


    And somehow, somehow, this unholy combination only made her look more devastatingly beautiful. Her disheveled hair framed her flushed face with the precision of a Renaissance painting, while her smudged mascara lent her the tragic elegance of a doomed heroine from a gothic novel.


    Even her hiccuping breaths seemed to harmonize with the very fabric of existence, as though the cosmos itself had arranged this moment purely to mock everyone else in the room with her unattainable perfection.


    It was, frankly, infuriating.


    Morgante¡¯s deep golden eyes, rich and mesmerizing like molten amber, stayed fixed on Bunny with an intensity that could have melted steel¡ªor at least weakened someone¡¯s resolve to remain annoyed.


    Ever the chivalrous tormentor, he even produced an additional handkerchief, offering it with the kind of smug grace that only he could manage.


    His expression was a masterpiece of layered emotions: the quiet satisfaction of a man who had achieved his goal of making his wife laugh and the barely-contained mischief of someone who knew he¡¯d pushed her to the brink of madness in the process.


    It was a look that said, Yes, I¡¯m proud of myself, and no, I don¡¯t regret a thing.


    The handkerchief itself was almost an insult, a token of faux-repentance that did nothing to mask the glint in his eyes. He was clearly enjoying the sight of her half-laughing, half-crying, all while she tried¡ªand failed¡ªto maintain a shred of dignity.


    The man was a paradox in action: charming, infuriating, and undeniably effective at weaponizing both.


    Morgante, ever the gentleman (and occasional menace), took her hand and helped her to her feet. Bunny, for her part, looked effortlessly radiant in a white silk summer dress that clung with just the right amount of delicacy, held up by twin, laughably flimsy straps.


    A trace of amusement still lingered in her glittering eyes, and her velvety lips quivered slightly as she greeted them with the poise of a queen, ¡°My lady and gentlemen, I¡¯m glad you came early. Where¡¯s His Highness Prince Locan and Her Highness Princess Nahwu?¡±


    Matthew and Alan turned redder than ripe tomatoes, while Blair forgot how to function altogether. As certified 12-year-olds, none of them had encountered someone as absurdly beautiful and animated as Evan¡¯s mom.


    It was so unfair it bordered on criminal. The very concept of a ¡°your mom¡± joke with her as the subject felt like an automatic self-burn to whoever dared attempt it.


    ¡°They said they¡¯d come at lunchtime,¡± Blair managed to choke out, her voice wobbling as if fighting gravity. Her blush deepened under the madam¡¯s kind, utterly disarming smile, which seemed designed to reduce children to babbling wrecks.


    Morgante, meanwhile, seemed less enthused but didn¡¯t appear entirely opposed to hosting royalty. Finn, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He gasped dramatically, his face the perfect picture of betrayed disbelief. ¡°What?! Who?! No one told me about this!¡±


    Without waiting for an answer, the man shot off like a maniac, frantically preparing for the arrival of not one but two more royals to his already chaotic mansion. He moved with the energy of someone hosting a surprise dinner party they¡¯d only just heard about.


    And that was the moment they heard it¡ªa small, cheerful voice echoing from the second floor:


    ¡°Evan Bro! Evan Bro!¡±

 186 - Little Sister

    ¡°Evan Bro! Evan Bro!¡±


    The voice floated down the hall, oddly familiar and yet inexplicably out of place.


    And then, a blur of blonde hair practically latched onto the staircase railing, barreling down the steps with the speed and coordination of a caffeine-fueled squirrel. It squealed, ¡°Evan!¡±


    ¡°Nemo?¡± Evan chuckled, entirely too amused by the chaos descending upon them. ¡°Done with the morning study?¡±


    The ¡°blur¡± revealed itself to be a tiny girl¡ªblonde hair, blue eyes, practically a pint-sized replica of Evan. ¡°Yep! Praise! Nemo good?¡± she chirped, her speech an unpredictable whirlwind of enthusiasm and questionable grammar.


    ¡°Who is this, Evan?¡± Matthew asked, blinking like he was seeing a magical porcelain doll brought to life by a rogue mana spell.


    ¡°Good Nemo,¡± Evan said casually, as though that explained everything, while giving her blonde head an affectionate rub. ¡°I haven¡¯t told you guys yet, huh? This is my little sister, Mnemosyne di Sator. We call her Nemo.¡±


    Alan, Matthew, and Blair exchanged loaded looks, each trying very hard not to visualize a certain bright orange clown fish with an unfortunate fin situation. It was a battle they were losing.


    ¡°Her speech pattern is still a mess. Is tutoring not enough?¡± Morgante murmured, watching his youngest with an expression somewhere between pride and abject horror.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think of something,¡± Bunny whispered back, her tone a quiet but determined I¡¯m-this-close-to-unraveling kind of reassurance.


    The three 12-year-olds, ever the experts in adult subtext, heard every word. Their minds spiraled into the great abyss of speculation, undoubtedly landing on a conspiracy theory or two.


    ¡°Greetings!¡± the pint-sized whirlwind announced grandly, pointing a chubby porcelain finger at herself as though delivering her own thesis statement. ¡°Nemo! Three!¡±


    Morgante and Bunny visibly twitched. It wasn¡¯t just a flinch¡ªit was the kind of simultaneous reaction that only long-suffering parents can achieve. They looked like they weren¡¯t sure whether to laugh, cry, or throw themselves into the nearest abyss at the sheer absurdity of their youngest child¡¯s¡­ communication style.


    The duo shared an expression of shared misery and relief, as if saying, ¡°At least she¡¯s trying. Kind of.¡± Meanwhile, Nemo, entirely oblivious to the existential crisis she¡¯d triggered in her parents, just smiled like she owned the place.


    But then, a tiny, unsettling puzzle piece clicked into place for the trio of teens. Nemo had just announced¡ªloudly, proudly, and with no small amount of dramatic flair¡ªthat she was three. And if memory served (and it usually did when it came to juicy details), the madam had only recently recovered from a three-year-long chronic illness.


    The timeline was, as they say, interesting.


    Could it be? Was Nemo¡¯s birth somehow tied to that mysterious illness? The possibility loomed over them like the ominous final boss in an RPG¡ªsomething just a little too big and too personal to deal with right now.


    And then there was Nemo herself, innocent and silly as a baby duck waddling into traffic. The way she mangled her words and pointed at herself like she was making a presidential address was¡­ endearing, sure. But also? Concerning.


    Most kids her age could string together sentences without sounding like they¡¯d just lost a battle with autocorrect. But Nemo? Nemo seemed stuck somewhere between ¡°adorable toddler¡± and ¡°magical construct prototype in beta testing.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    It made sense, though, didn¡¯t it? If there was something unusual about her birth¡ªsomething unnatural or even dangerous¡ªit would explain a lot.


    It would explain why Morgante and Bunny had been watching her like she was an emotionally-charged grenade about to go off. It would explain the shared wince when she spoke, as though every word she said chipped away at their carefully-constructed composure.


    The three teens exchanged glances, their unspoken thoughts swirling like storm clouds. Nemo wasn¡¯t just an eccentric little sibling. But rather an expanding lore of the Sator. And while part of them wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the scene was, another part felt the quiet, solemn weight of it all.


    Because if they were right¡ªif Nemo¡¯s birth really had come at a cost¡ªthen her parents¡¯ reactions weren¡¯t just understandable. They were heartbreakingly human.


    No. Of course, the teens had gotten it all wrong.


    Morgan and Burn weren¡¯t concerned about Nemo¡¯s speech because they thought something was ¡°wrong¡± with her development. Oh no, their concerns ran far deeper¡ªand far riskier¡ªthan mere parental worry.


    They weren¡¯t fretting over the adorable little disaster¡¯s coherence. They were panicking because Nemo wasn¡¯t even their child.


    Nemo was a construct. A living, breathing doll of pure magic, cobbled together by Morgan¡¯s genius and, frankly, her questionable life choices. She wasn¡¯t a toddler with slow speech development. She was a magical marvel masquerading as a three-year-old. And that ¡°three¡± she¡¯d so confidently yelled? It was practically a miracle.


    Because if these privileged brats¡ªer, young nobles¡ªfigured out the truth, it would all come crashing down. The ruse, the carefully crafted facade of ¡°family bliss,¡± and, most importantly, their own 12-year-olds feeble safety.


    You didn¡¯t just let people find out you¡¯d created a magical construct and decided, ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s raise it like a kid. No one will notice.¡± Especially not when said ¡°kid¡± yelled out silly-almost-normal-but-not-normal-enough-phrase.


    Morgan¡¯s craft had been meticulous, of course. Nemo¡¯s current form was as close to human as magic could possibly make her, perfectly matched to her cognitive and communicative quirks¡ªor so she¡¯d thought.


    But then she had to go and yell ¡°three,¡± throwing her into a quiet panic spiral. Was she pretending? Could she lie? Or was it sheer luck that she¡¯d chosen a number that made sense in context?


    The thought that Nemo might be capable of deceit sent a pleasant chill down Morgan¡¯s spine. She wasn¡¯t sure whether to feel proud of her creation¡¯s cleverness or utterly terrified that her construct was already outperforming its design specs all over again.


    Meanwhile, Burn looked calm on the outside but was inwardly cycling through twelve stages of existential dread. What if Nemo decided to yell ¡°three hundred¡± next time, since it was her real age?


    What if she started spouting things like ¡°I¡¯m made of magic!¡± in that same chipper, oblivious tone? Could a construct even blurt out a confession? Knowing Nemo, it seemed entirely possible.


    Well, if it happens, it happens. Not like he couldn¡¯t fix it. Still, changing the plan now would be a colossal, looping detour¡ªexactly the kind of mess Burn hated dealing with.


    Nemo¡¯s presence was crucial. She had to witness Morgan¡¯s perspective of the loop and send that data back to herself in the next one.


    But keeping Nemo as her original form¡ªa radiant floating and talking hourglass entwined with a coiling snake¡ªwas not an option. That would be akin to walking into a masquerade ball dressed as a giant blinking neon sign screaming, ¡°Suspicious as hell!¡±


    ¡°We should invite Master Vlad and Isaiah for the next session,¡± Bunny¡ªMorgan¡ªsaid thoughtfully, already crafting the perfect excuse.


    ¡°This campaign has been successful so far, and we can include the kids in a milder version to help Nemo¡¯s communication skills.¡± Translation? Let¡¯s consult the experts before this situation spirals further into absurdity.


    ¡°They¡¯re good with kids,¡± Morgante¡ªBurn¡ªadded, nodding in solemn agreement. ¡°Let¡¯s bring them along.¡±


    The teens, meanwhile, were utterly blindsided by this revelation of unexpected wholesomeness. Here were Nemo¡¯s amazing parents, working tirelessly to help their daughter thrive despite her ¡°developmental difficulties.¡±


    They even used tabletop RPGs as a tool for education and bonding! This wasn¡¯t just good parenting; it was next-level. And if Nemo¡¯s older brother, Evan, had turned out so kind and cool, clearly these parents were onto something magical¡ªliterally and figuratively.


    For now, though, Emperor Burn and the Infinite Witch Morgan had unknowingly secured themselves a place of respect in these kids¡¯ hearts. Ironically, the very thing they wanted to avoid¡ªstanding out too much¡ªhad happened anyway.


    ¡°So, shall we start today¡¯s activity?¡± Morgan scooped Nemo up with the practiced ease of someone holding both a child and a potential PR disaster. She turned to Blair, flashing a smile so polished it could blind.


    ¡°Your Highness, do follow us to the training ground. At last, I¡¯ll get to witness the magic my dear son can¡¯t stop raving about.¡±

 187 - Bottled Happiness

    The official reason for today¡¯s meeting was to exchange knowledge about magic¡ªa convenient excuse for their gathering. Beneath the surface, politics might have been at play, but there was also a genuine desire to grow closer to the friends they¡¯d unexpectedly clicked with at the start of the term.


    After all, the four of them were the cream of the S Class. Evan, the undisputed top ranker; Blair, holding steady in second place; and Alan and Matthew, tied for third.


    This year¡¯s S Class was unusual, though. Alongside these four were four more Force awakeners¡ªamong them, three were talented commoners brought in on sponsorship and scholarship¡ªand two more students teetering on the edge of Vision awakening.


    Such an arrangement wasn¡¯t the norm. S Class had always been reserved for those who had already awakened, not for those who hadn¡¯t. But this year, they¡¯d made an exception. Officially, it was because only one student with Vision awakened was available. That was the story, at least.


    Of course, both of those unawakened students happened to be nobles. Had they been commoners, exceptions would¡¯ve been far less likely, wouldn¡¯t they?


    In total, there were ten students in the S Class: seven from the Force Department and three from the Vision Department. Among them, four were commoners¡ªincluding Evan, though his wealth made that status feel more like a technicality¡ªand six were nobles. One of those nobles, naturally, was a princess.


    All the Force Department students had seen Evan¡¯s entrance test, and every single one of them admired him. Especially the six other Force Awakeners in the S Class. On the first day of class, they flocked to him like moths to a flame, drawn by the fact that he wasn¡¯t affiliated with any political faction.


    That is, until they noticed how chummy he was with the other three top rankers, who just so happened to also hold the highest noble standings: Alan, from the Prime Minister¡¯s faction; Matthew, from the neutral faction; and Blair, from the First Prince¡¯s faction.


    Of course. Of course. Why wouldn¡¯t they cozy up to him? A powerhouse appearing out of nowhere, unattached to any political side? Oh, and did anyone mention his family just happened to own the second richest merchant group on the entire continent?


    Naturally, this epiphany made everyone else think twice about approaching Evan. It didn¡¯t help that they started to notice something strange¡ªEvan wasn¡¯t sucking up to the nobles, and, oddly enough, they weren¡¯t fawning over him either. No scandals, no drama. In fact, the three of them seemed to be making a point of keeping Evan out of politics entirely.


    Seriously, was the academy always this... peaceful?The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    But that was just inside the academy walls. Out in the real world, it was probably a whole different story. Surely, the politics would kick in eventually¡ªright?


    Then came the news: the four had scheduled a weekend lunch meeting.


    Perfect. Let¡¯s see how the dust settles on Monday morning. Which faction would win the prize of roping the Sator into their fold?


    HONK!


    ¡°AAAAAAA!¡±


    HONK! HONK!


    ¡°WHY ARE THEY SO MAD? WE DIDN¡¯T EVEN DO ANYTHING!¡±


    ¡°KYAHAHAHAHA!¡±


    With a horde of geese in hot pursuit, Alan, Matthew, and Nemo dashed around the outer rim of the field. Despite her short legs, Nemo somehow outran both teens, leaving them scrambling behind as makeshift guardian knights for their friend¡¯s baby sister. How exactly they managed to provoke the geese was anyone¡¯s guess.


    ¡°Your family raises geese, Evan?¡± Blair asked, trying¡ªand failing¡ªto suppress a chuckle.


    ¡°Mama wanted to raise chickens for the eggs,¡± Evan began, completely unbothered by the chaos. ¡°But Papa scared them so badly that they froze up and died from stress. So, we replaced them with geese instead. At least they don¡¯t keel over just from having him around.¡±


    Blair chuckled awkwardly, her amusement tinged with concern. ¡°How¡­ strange.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not strange,¡± Evan said with a serene smile. ¡°Dogs also pee themselves when they see Papa, so the chickens¡¯ reaction makes perfect sense.¡±


    Blair blinked at him. ¡°...Is your Papa the Demon Lord?¡±


    Old legends did say animals lost their minds in the presence of ultimate evil. But Evan just laughed, bright and carefree. ¡°Worse! He¡¯s my Papa!¡±


    He¡¯s Emperor Burn, the Absolute Tyrant after all!


    Before Blair could think of an appropriate response, Bunny appeared, Morgante trailing behind her. ¡°The safety precaution has been installed,¡± she announced cheerfully. ¡°Now, just show me the spell you like the most.¡±


    Blair hesitated, her nerves creeping back. ¡°¡®The spell I like the most?¡¯¡±


    Bunny nodded, still radiating enthusiasm. ¡°Worried? Is it the hardest spell you know?¡±


    Blair frowned, clearly caught off guard. That definitely wasn¡¯t the question she was expecting.


    ¡°No, actually, it¡¯s¡­ silly,¡± she admitted, her cheeks turning pink.


    ¡°Is it sillier than my favorite spell?¡± Bunny chuckled, lightly tapping Blair¡¯s head as if to tease her further.


    The moment the Infinite Witch spoke, not only Blair, but even Evan and Morgante immediately perked up, hanging on her every word. What was the legendary witch¡¯s favorite spell?


    ¡°It¡¯s a voice fault spell,¡± Bunny said with a playful smile, her elegant fingers dancing through the air like she was plucking strings only she could see. And then it happened¡ªflowers and starry sparkles bloomed from nothing, accompanied by soft, indistinct voices. The sound of people talking and laughing, warm and carefree, filled the air.


    Blair¡¯s breath hitched as she started picking out details. She heard Evan¡¯s voice first¡ªhigh and sweet, the way it must have sounded when he was much younger.


    Then Morgante¡¯s deep, rumbling tone, rich and commanding. And then, more voices joined in¡ªcountless echoes of laughter and chatter, carrying the warmth of moments long gone.


    ¡°See? What¡¯s sillier than an unintelligible recording of laughs?¡± Bunny asked, her tone lighthearted and self-deprecating.


    But Blair knew better. It wasn¡¯t silly, not at all. That spell wasn¡¯t just noise; it was a snapshot of joy, a memory of warmth preserved in magic. And somehow, that made it even more beautiful.


    Voice Fault Spell? It¡¯s more like bottled happiness, made with magic.

 188 - Favorite Spell

    Voice Fault Spell? It¡¯s more like bottled happiness, made with magic.


    Blair was mesmerized. Each laugh seemed to bloom a new constellation of stars and a fresh array of flowers, each shaped uniquely and bursting with vibrant, shifting colors.


    Evan¡¯s youthful voice came bright, bubbly, and yellow, effervescent like sunlight bouncing off a spring morning. With every syllable, soft petals of pastel hues and greens unfurled, like fresh blooms in an untouched meadow. The sight was so vivid it felt as though the air itself was carrying the fragrance of those imagined blossoms.


    Then came Morgante¡¯s voice, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that whispered of strength and mystery. His tones conjured swirling galaxies, their nebulas rich and dark, painted in hues of deep blues, purples, and smoldering golds. Stars glinted like fragments of shattered light, suspended in the dark canvas of his presence.


    Other voices followed, each unique, painting the magical scene with layers of sound and light. Some voices were soft and tender, weaving intricate floral patterns that glimmered with subtle beauty.


    Others were louder and more boisterous, forming bursts of fiery reds and oranges, streaked with the energy of laughter so full it could shake the heavens.


    The spell was more than magic; it was a symphony of memory made visible. Blair felt herself pulled deeper into it, as though she could reach out and touch the colors, feel the laughter in her fingertips.


    It wasn¡¯t just an auditory experience¡ªit was alive, breathing, and blooming in front of her eyes, each voice a thread in an iridescent quilt of warmth and joy.


    ¡°I¡­ I think I have a new favorite spell,¡± Blair said, her smile soft and genuine. Bunny chuckled lightly.


    ¡°...Me too¡­¡± Evan murmured, his mouth still hanging open in awe, while Morgante stood there, utterly frozen.


    Bunny teased the air with her fingers one last time, and the spell faded away. It was silly, really¡ªafter millennia of existence, this was all she had to show for herself.


    A handful of moments, scraps of warmth preserved through time like pressed flowers in a book. Not exactly the grand archives of an immortal being, was it?


    She didn¡¯t have many friends. And of the few she had, even fewer moments like this¡ªmoments of laughter and stories¡ªever made it into her collection.


    Most of them, like everything else in her life, had come and gone in a blink, leaving her to gather whatever fragments she could before they disappeared completely.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    What she didn¡¯t realize¡ªthough maybe she should have¡ªwas that, between the four of them here, she was the only one who might ever have the chance to gather this much laughter. Blair and Evan? They were just kids, weighed down by their roles and expectations, with little time to collect anything so frivolous.


    And Morgante¡ªBurn? Well, rulers tend not to leave much room for joy in their carefully controlled kingdoms. That was the price of putting the weight of the world on your own shoulders¡ªno time left to carry the sound of laughter.


    ¡°I love it,¡± the man said as he reached out, pulling her waist to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead. ¡°Just wait long enough, and my voice will dominate it.¡±


    He had eternity to make it happen.


    ¡°Mine too!¡± Yvain chimed in enthusiastically.


    ¡°That¡¯s if you don¡¯t die early, brat,¡± Burn shot back, his tone mocking.


    ¡°As long as you teach me your Force Magic, I won¡¯t die! I¡¯ll achieve Vessel Immortality one day too!¡± Yvain retorted, practically yelling.


    ¡°Oh, really?¡±


    ¡°Papa promised he¡¯d teach me! So if I die, I¡¯ll just demand compensation in the next loop!¡±


    ¡°You die quietly every time.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but Mama brings me back every time, so bleh!¡±


    ¡°Bleh? Kek¡ªyou dare ¡®bleh¡¯ me, brat?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re talking nonsense,¡± Bunny said with a serene smile, turning her attention back to the visibly confused Blair. The girl nodded awkwardly, grateful for the change in focus.


    ¡°Now, are you ready to show me your favorite spell?¡± Bunny asked, her tone light but expectant.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Blair said with a bright smile. ¡°It¡¯s just a simple golem spell.¡±


    Oh sure, simple. But as she began casting, it became clear this wasn¡¯t just any run-of-the-mill spell. Her red string magic came to life, unraveling like thick, vibrant wool. Slowly, delicately, the strands twisted and coiled together, forming the unmistakable shape of a small, crocheted kitten.


    Not just any kitten either¡ªthis one had an oversized, perfectly round head and comically large black button eyes that seemed to stare directly into your soul. It was equal parts adorable and slightly unnerving, like it could follow you home and silently judge your life choices.


    As Blair worked, the golem came together with the precision of someone who¡¯d clearly spent way too much time perfecting its design.


    The fluffy little creature twitched its tiny yarn limbs as though it were testing out its new body, and honestly, the effect was almost too cute. It was the kind of spell you¡¯d expect to win over anyone¡ªright before it stole all their secrets with its unassuming charm.


    ¡°Adorbs!¡± Bunny d¡¯awwed, clasping her hands together like she¡¯d just seen the cutest being in existence.


    Evan and Morgante turned toward her, curious at what had caught her attention. When they saw Blair¡¯s creation, they froze. The little crocheted kitten, with its intricate red string weaving and hauntingly adorable black button eyes, immediately reminded them of the day Nemo¡¯s body was formed in the Infinite Witch¡¯s hands. It was no less intricate, no less stunning.


    Bunny¡¯s expression shifted, her playful smile softening into something more profound. Her eyes glimmered with genuine awe as she realized what she was witnessing. Another talent¡ªone ready to bloom and take the world by storm.


    ¡°See, Mama? She¡¯s as amazing as I told you, ri¡ª¡±


    COUGH!


    Blood sprayed on the ground.


    Blair¡¯s eyes went wide, her pupils shrinking as panic overtook her. Bloodshot and unfocused, they darted around wildly while her trembling, blood-streaked hands shot up to clutch her neck, desperate and instinctive.


    The crimson droplets slid between her fingers, vivid and horrifying against her pale skin, as if her body itself was rebelling against the magic she had so carefully woven.


    This wasn¡¯t a rampage.


    This was a curse.

 189 - The Wrong Kind of Strings to Pull

    Blair saw red¡ªliterally. Her vision swam as the recoil tore through her body like a freight train. It had never been this harsh before. Why now? And for what? She wasn¡¯t even using her best spell!


    ¡°Your Highness, calm down,¡± Morgan was at her side in an instant, her delicate frame supporting her small, trembling body with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Burn¡ªever the paranoid watchdog¡ªwas already narrowing his eyes, sensing that something was very, very wrong. He was one step away from yanking Morgan off Blair when¡ª


    ¡°Monsieur Sator!¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t even flinch, though he recognized Finn¡¯s voice immediately. The man was running toward them, out of breath and frantic.


    ¡°Monsieur! I just got a report¡ªthe First Prince and the Elven Princess have been kidnapped on their way here!¡±


    What.


    Burn¡¯s mind spun like a wheel greased with chaos. The First Prince and Nahwu? Kidnapped? Of course they were. Because why not? It wasn¡¯t like things were already spiraling into madness. And for what? Because they¡¯d already lost Shorof? Someone was either making a point or just being particularly obnoxious today.


    Morgan turned to Burn, her sharp, clear eyes locking onto his. She frowned, her perfectly sculpted brows creasing in just the right amount of irritation and focus. ¡°Go. I¡¯m fine here. I won¡¯t fall for it again.¡±


    Burn pointed a finger at her, index raised like a stern teacher scolding a particularly stubborn student. ¡°You better not. If I blink and we¡¯re back at that cursed entrance ceremony buffet, I¡¯ll punish you even harder.¡±


    To that, Morgan flashed him a smile¡ªa little too confident for his liking. Burn, unwilling to let her charm him into second-guessing his instincts, turned decisively and walked away. Because when things started going sideways, someone had to act¡ªand it sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to be while he was babysitting someone else.


    ¡°Your Highness, focus. I¡¯m going to calm your rampant Mana. Can you try breathing slowly for me?¡± Morgan coaxed, her voice as smooth and steady as silk¡ªlike she had all the time in the world despite the chaos unraveling around them.


    Blair looked up at her, wide-eyed and trembling. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted ¡®Evan¡¯ sprinting toward them, Nemo, Matthew, and Alan trailing close behind.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared¡­¡± she choked out, her voice thin.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. I won¡¯t let you die,¡± Morgan said matter-of-factly.


    Die. Now, normally, hearing the word would send anyone into a full-blown meltdown. Screaming, crying, maybe even fainting if they were particularly dramatic.


    But Blair? No. Instead, the bluntness of it brought her calm. It was as if Morgante¡¯s reassurance finally gave her permission to accept the truth¡ªyes, she could die from chanting a single spell. And yes, it was absolutely unfair.


    Dying? How unfair. How unbelievably unfair!


    She finally had friends¡ªpeople who didn¡¯t just tolerate her but actually liked her. And now this? This was a serious condition, wasn¡¯t it?Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    This wasn¡¯t some fluke, some minor hiccup. So having terrifying side effects from using her Vision wasn¡¯t normal after all, huh?! Those stupid court magicians! What did they know?! Nothing, apparently!


    ¡°Save me!¡± Blair cried out, raw and desperate. ¡°No one listened to me when I said I was hurt! They ignored me, even though I had horrible nightmares and woke up with marks on my neck and limbs! And it¡¯s all because¡­ because¡­¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re a bastard?¡± Morgan interrupted with a soft, serene smile.


    Blair froze, stunned into silence, as did Matthew and Alan, their brains clearly short-circuiting. The only difference? Yvain. Yvain chuckled, the little menace.


    Morgan tilted her head, still smiling like she¡¯d just paid Blair the highest compliment in the world. ¡°You sound exactly like my husband.¡±


    At first, there was silence. And then¡ªBlair broke into a laughing mess. Because clearly, what else do you do when life decides to take a sledgehammer to your dignity? And got praised for that?


    Meanwhile, Morgan remained impossibly calm, her focus razor-sharp as she tried to tame the rampant mana threatening to tear Blair apart. She spared Yvain a quick glance, silently commanding him with the kind of look that could launch ships.


    Yvain, bless him, immediately dragged the other two boys away to safety, no questions asked. Nemo, however, stayed behind and, without a word, started constructing a proper mana barrier.


    Morgan side-eyed Nemo who just did something without being told again. But whatever. One crisis at a time.


    Pouring holy energy into Blair, Morgan got to work. The corrupted mana writhing inside Blair like a nest of snakes made her job both infuriating and delicate.


    She could feel it¡ªtwisted, filthy, and very, very out of place. Holy energy was the antidote, but it wasn¡¯t the time to ask Blair how on earth this mess got into her system. Priorities.


    ¡°There you go,¡± Morgan coaxed, her voice steady and gentle. ¡°You can do it. See those dirty, vile little threads of mana wrapped around your soul? The ones that hurt to use? Expel them. Push them out. Do you feel my energy? Replace it. Take the pure energy and shove the rest out. You can do it, Your Highness.¡±


    Blair tried. She really did. But all she felt was the unbearable tightness¡ªlike an invisible thin tread wrapped tightly around her neck, binding her wrists and ankles, pulling at her limbs like a grotesque marionette.


    She could feel something, someone, yanking at her very control, and it was like she was on the brink of losing her own body.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared! I¡¯m scared!¡± Blair choked, panic swallowing her words whole.


    Morgan¡¯s smile tightened as her teeth grit together, the edges of her patience showing for just a split second. ¡°How brave,¡± she said, almost through clenched teeth. ¡°Do you know how much bravery it takes to tell someone you¡¯re scared? But that¡¯s fine. It¡¯s okay to be scared. You¡¯re dying after all.¡±


    A beat.


    ¡°But it¡¯s not over yet!¡± Morgan¡¯s voice cut through, sharp as steel and unrelenting. Because apparently, even on the brink of disaster, she wasn¡¯t about to let anyone call it quits. Not on her watch.


    Blair roared¡ªa guttural, primal sound that shattered what little calm remained. Her voice unleashed a tidal wave of pure Mana, ripping through the air with enough force to drown out even sound itself. Everything fell silent, swallowed by the oppressive vacuum left in its wake.


    Thin, thread-like marks on her neck, wrists, and ankles began to ooze an ominous, mud-like black substance, bubbling and writhing as if alive. Her eyes¡ªonce the soft purple of the Inkia Royal lineage¡ªflared blood-red, the color of something ancient and angry.


    The sheer force of her Mana burst out of her tiny body like a hurricane given flesh. Fierce, violent, unnatural. It was a storm¡ªone Morgan had seen before. Yvain¡¯s rampage came to mind, but this? This was different. This was corruption let loose.


    Morgan¡¯s arm strained against the backlash. Her skin blistered, tore, and peeled under the relentless blast, but she didn¡¯t so much as flinch. The price of standing too close to a miracle¡ªor a disaster¡ªwas steep.


    And then they appeared.


    A pair of blackened, monstrous hands, dripping with a thick, mud-like corrupted Mana, hovered in the air as if clawing their way out of the void itself. Each finger was tethered by thin, sinister red threads, trailing down to Blair¡¯s neck, wrists, and ankles, like the strings of a master puppeteer controlling her every move.


    The sight was grotesque, a twisted mockery of life¡ªundeniably wrong, yet hauntingly familiar.


    Morgan¡¯s lips curled into a grin.


    ¡°So you bear a grudge after all, huh, Demon Lord?¡± she said, her voice laced with both mockery and exhilaration. ¡°Or should I call you¡­ Lance Inkor?¡±

 190 - The Heavens Never Sleep

    Burn didn¡¯t dare blink. Not even once. Because what if, the moment he did, he found himself hurled back into the cursed past? Again. And honestly, he was done with that.


    Sure, Morgan wasn¡¯t weak¡ªfar from it. He believed she wouldn¡¯t fall for the Demon Lord¡¯s tricks a second time. But that didn¡¯t mean he trusted fate, or whatever cosmic joke had been playing on him lately. So no, blinking was out of the question.


    Instead, Burn coated his eyeballs with Mana. Practical and efficient. It kept them moist while he bolted across the city rooftops like a deranged cat burglar. Finn trailed behind, doing his best to keep up, though "best" was clearly relative in this scenario.


    This whole mess had started with Finn sending his men out to prepare for the arrival of the two royals. He wanted everything to be properly dignified¡ªa rare goal in a world that thrived on chaos.


    But then his men had returned with the minor inconvenience of a report: the First Prince and the Elven Princess had just been kidnapped. From their royal chariot. No big deal, right?


    And now here they were, chasing shadows and unraveling a fresh disaster. Well, Burn was. Finn, bless his heart, was just doing his best to follow along without dying.


    Burn didn¡¯t waste time interrogating witnesses or following obvious trails like some amateur. No, he took one glance at the overturned carriage and knew. A single moment of analysis, and he had deduced exactly where the royals had been taken.


    He paused for a fraction of a second¡ªjust long enough for Finn to wonder if he was having some kind of epiphany¡ªand then took off in a decisive new direction. Finn, being a man of sense, didn¡¯t question him.


    Why would he? This was the man who, not metaphorically, ate the sun for breakfast. You didn¡¯t question Burn unless you had a death wish¡ªor a talent for getting spectacularly ignored.


    ¡°Your Majesty, is this the Demon Lord again?¡± Finn asked, his voice edged with the kind of unease that came from knowing the answer was going to ruin his day.


    Burn didn¡¯t respond immediately, probably because acknowledging it out loud felt like giving the universe permission to make things worse. But after a pause, he finally said, ¡°Everything happening in Inkia right now is the Demon Lord.¡±


    Finn narrowed his eyes, grimacing like someone who¡¯d just realized the pit was deeper than he thought. So it was true, then. Inkia wasn¡¯t just floundering¡ªit was circling the drain under the looming shadow of a Second Demon Lord. Lovely.


    To be fair, the writing had been on the wall for a while. Ever since that cursed night when they¡¯d sent the Love Potion Duo to dig up documents about the Vision Resonator, things had only gotten worse.


    Turns out, the Resonator wasn¡¯t just a random magical device causing headaches; no, it was connected directly to the Demon Lord himself. Because of course it was. Nothing less dramatic would do.


    The deeper they dug, the more tangled the threads became. Hours of Yvain, Morgan, and Burn tossing around jargon-heavy sentences Finn could barely follow had painted a horrifying picture of just how much of a shit Inkia was neck-deep in.


    One more leap and they left the capital behind, where a dense forest greeted them like an uninvited guest that might be hiding something murderous in its depths.


    ¡°I¡¯m going full speed now that we¡¯re outside the city. Can you keep up?¡± Burn asked over his shoulder, his tone almost conversational¡ªif you ignored the underlying good luck keeping up, mortal vibe.


    The only reason he hadn¡¯t been going full throttle before was, apparently, because he didn¡¯t feel like leveling half the capital¡¯s architecture. Generous of him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll follow your Mana trace and catch up!¡± Finn shouted back. He got it. He really did. As the head of his family and a formidable Force Art user¡ªa fully fledged four-star practically brushing against the fifth¡ªFinn was no slouch.


    But keeping up with the strongest man on earth? Yeah, no. That was like racing a thunderstorm.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Burn replied. And then¡ª


    BLAAAAAAAAAST!!!


    The shockwave tore through the air with such violent force it might as well have been a declaration of war. Finn froze mid-step, his jaw dropping as he stared at the sheer destruction Burn left in his wake.


    The trees? Snapped like twigs. The ground? Ripped apart like paper. And the air? Probably traumatized for life.


    ¡°I won¡¯t even need to follow your Mana¡­¡± Finn muttered, still staring at the carnage, half in awe and half wondering how he was going to spin this mess into something even remotely manageable.


    But of course, this kind of chaos came with a price. Broad daylight. A clear trail of destruction. Witnesses, because why not. Covering this up was going to be about as easy as hiding a dragon in a haystack. Finn sighed deeply, already preparing himself for the inevitable damage control circus.


    Then again, Burn probably didn¡¯t care. In fact, Finn had the distinct impression that Burn had already accounted for everything¡ªand decided it didn¡¯t matter. After all, who could possibly cover up the fact that the First Prince of Inkia had been kidnapped in broad daylight in the middle of the capital?


    Yeah. Subtlety was clearly off the menu today.


    Still, Finn couldn¡¯t help but feel a twinge of surprise at how much Burn actually seemed to care about the First Prince and the Elven Princess.


    Sure, it was probably just a calculated move to gain some sort of advantage¡ªBurn wasn¡¯t exactly the poster child for sentimental heroes¡ªbut there was a glimmer of something in his actions. Something that almost looked like genuine concern.


    Then again, the girl they¡¯d invited wasn¡¯t just anyone. She was the First Prince¡¯s beloved baby sister, and the Elven Princess? Well, she was the Elven Princess. And given Morgan¡¯s close ties with the mythical community, letting anything happen to her would be bad business. Catastrophic, even.


    It had been a few days since the last minor inconvenience¡ªyou know, the one involving the demon. On the surface, it might have seemed like nothing was happening in the Sator Family or Wilderwood March¡¯s side.


    Outsiders would see the same calm, collected facade they always did. But behind the scenes? They¡¯d been working overtime, compiling information from every corner of the world. Because that¡¯s what you did when the apocalypse knocked politely on your door.


    Today, though, they were expecting nothing more than a royal visit. Maybe a bit of polite chit-chat about political alliances between Yvain¡¯s school friends and the royals. Nothing outrageous. Definitely not a freaking royal kidnapping with a side order of princess-induced mayhem.


    And as if that wasn¡¯t enough, they¡¯d almost finished building a new faction¡ªone with enough influence to rival both the First Prince¡¯s and the Prime Minister¡¯s. Almost. Because of course chaos had to strike just as things were coming together.


    But panic? Hesitation? Finn didn¡¯t see an ounce of it from Burn or Morgan. The two of them moved like seasoned players in a deadly game of chess, splitting up and tackling the mess without so much as a blink. Literally, Burn refused to blink.


    As for how they¡¯d come to the conclusion that Prince Lance Inkor was the Demon Lord? Well, Finn couldn¡¯t say. That particular revelation had almost gone over his head, buried under layers of cryptic chatter between Morgan, Burn, and Yvain. But honestly? He wasn¡¯t even surprised.


    That man¡ªLance Inkor¡ªhad always been dangerous. And now? Well, now he was just dangerous with a title.


    ***


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!¡±


    Blair roared again, her voice raw and guttural, her face twisted in agony as another glob of that black, mud-like sludge erupted from her body, splattering onto the ground like the bile of nightmares.


    Above her, the grotesque pair of hands¡ªthose blackened, monstrous things¡ªtwitched unnaturally. Their sinister fingers tugged at the threads binding Blair¡¯s neck and limbs like a macabre marionette.


    Then, as if this horror show wasn¡¯t unsettling enough, a pair of eyes cracked open in the palms of the hands. Wide, round, and unblinking, they locked onto Morgan¡¯s presence and narrowed instantly, as though they recognized something¡ªor someone¡ªthey hated.


    Morgan¡¯s lips curled into a smirk, her tone casual in the face of the utterly horrifying. ¡°Ever heard that phrase, ¡®The abyss stares back¡¯?¡± she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. Her expression hardened, her eyes blazing with unshakable resolve. ¡°Well, guess what? The heavens... never sleep.¡±


    SLASH!!!


    Yvain shot through the air like a bullet, his blade gleaming in the corrupted light as it sliced clean through the red threads binding Blair. One strike, and the sinister cords snapped, recoiling violently like severed nerves.


    A radiant crown of light flared into existence, encircling the grotesque black hands in an instant, binding them as if they¡¯d been shackled by divinity itself. The light pulsed, tightening like a noose, and the hands twitched violently against the restraint.


    Morgan pulled Blair close, cradling her trembling form against her body as if shielding her from the very essence of corruption itself.


    Her wrist flicked with practiced precision, and the crown of light responded, constricting further until the hands spasmed under its pressure, the grotesque eyes in their palms bulging unnervingly.


    The present had shifted, bent under the weight of their actions. This time might not be just another mind prison spell.


    She glanced briefly at Nemo, standing firm in case the unexpected struck. And her own mind? It was steel, fortified against tricks, or anything else the Demon Lord might throw at her. She wouldn¡¯t be blindsided again.


    Her voice dropped to a low, venomous velvety growl, each word a deliberate threat. ¡°You took my husband¡¯s arm. Now I¡¯ll take both of yours.¡±

 191 - Old and New Grudge

    ¡°It¡¯s Lance Inkor.¡±


    After dispatching Tristan and Yvolt to the Elven Kingdom for corruption recovery, Burn, Yvain, and Morgan settled down to piece together the information they had gathered.


    Yvain finished reading the documents Tristan and Yvolt brought for them and set them back on the table. ¡°The inventor of the Vision Resonator is the illegitimate prince, Lance Inkor.¡±


    Burn nodded. He decisively said, ¡°One.¡±


    Yvain started recounting everything he''d learned from Finn and the nobles he''d met. Their movements, it seemed, had been noted¡ªand not kindly. To both the First Prince¡¯s and the Prime Minister¡¯s factions, their actions were nothing less than an attempt to establish a new power bloc.


    ¡°They¡¯ve seen us, and they know us,¡± Yvain said grimly.


    Morgan tapped a finger against her temple, her tone reflective yet sharp. ¡°After finding that pitiful slave and everything that happened that night, it¡¯s obvious the Demon Lord is operating out of Inkia. It¡¯s just a matter of time before they make a move.¡±


    She paused, then let out a dry laugh. ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s not even Inkia¡¯s problem anymore, is it? The problem is the Demon Lord. Or rather, Inkia¡¯s problem is because of the Demon Lord.¡±


    Burn shifted in his seat, glancing behind him. Finn, standing near the door, had stiffened, narrowing his eyes at someone approaching.


    The man stepped forward, addressing Burn with a low voice. ¡°Sir, are you sure it¡¯s wise for me to be here? Sir Bedivere¡¯s guarding Edensor alone now.¡±


    It was Gawain, Rank 5 of the Round Table¡ªa knight whose steadfastness could put most saints to shame.


    ¡°Did you bring my steeds?¡± Burn asked, ignoring the question entirely.


    Gawain chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Of course I did. Couldn¡¯t leave those beauties behind.¡±


    In every loop, Gawain was the one trusted to care for the two mechanical Griffiths. He¡¯d also been charged with overseeing Edensor under Soulnaught¡¯s banner. With Yvain¡¯s duties piling up, it fell to Gawain and Bedivere to keep Edensor¡¯s occasionally treacherous nobles in check.


    Though, to be fair, the magical pact ensured treachery was mostly a thing of the past.


    Gawain knelt before Burn, his posture perfect, his demeanor severe. If loyalty were measured, Gawain was only second to Galahad himself¡ªamusingly, even he surpassed Percival, Burn¡¯s so-called first guard knight.


    ¡°Gawain Agravaine, reporting to His Majesty.¡±


    Burn gave a nod of approval. ¡°Good work. We¡¯re stretched thin as it is¡ªTristan and Yvolt are out recovering.¡±


    And thin didn¡¯t even begin to cover it. The entire Round Table was drowning in assignments. Percival went back and forth between Soulnaught Capital and the Northern Border. Morien was camping near the borders of Inkia and Soulnaught.


    Gawain and Bedivere had been tasked with Edensor, while Sagramore, Erec, and Howl alternated between guarding Elysian and shuttling between the emptied kingdom and Soulnaught.


    Galahad and Landevale, mercifully, had avoided being dragged into yet another charade of replacing Burn and Morgan.


    For now. Both knights had been absent from their posts for far too long, and Burn had put out a carefully worded statement claiming that he¡¯d taken Morgan south to a ¡®winter retreat¡¯ for her health. Better air. Better weather. Convenient excuses.


    Though Edensor required attention, Gawain wasn¡¯t particularly concerned about Bedivere managing things solo. With the region stabilizing, its once-defiant nobles had been cowed¡ªif not by the magical pact, then by Morgan¡¯s return and the reluctant acceptance of Yvain and Burn¡¯s co-rule.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Even the most stubborn holdouts had started to fall in line. Begrudgingly. Naturally.


    It wasn¡¯t often that Burn summoned Gawain like this. Typically, he assigned him to distant matters, tasks that required a steady hand far from Burn¡¯s direct oversight. The reason was simple: Burn trusted Gawain implicitly. Beyond Galahad and Percival, Gawain was one of the very few given the freedom to wage war as he saw fit, without the need for prior consultation.


    In other words, Burn wouldn¡¯t so much as bat an eye at Gawain¡¯s decisions, no matter how unorthodox¡ªor how absurd. Whether it involved executing criminals, slaughtering innocents, or picking fights with allies and enemies alike, Burn trusted him to handle it.


    When it came to decision-making and sheer cunning, Gawain¡¯s methods mirrored Burn¡¯s more closely than anyone else¡¯s. That¡¯s precisely why Gawain felt there was more to this summons than met the eye. If Burn had called him here in person, it wasn¡¯t without reason.


    ¡°Take a seat and try to keep up with the conversation,¡± Burn instructed, his tone as sharp as ever. ¡°I¡¯ll let you ask questions when I think it¡¯s time for you to understand.¡±


    He then turned to Finn, who still hadn¡¯t moved. ¡°You too. Sit.¡±


    ¡°We are talking about the rise of the Demon Lord¡­ in Inkia.¡±


    The political landscape of Inkia wasn¡¯t exactly difficult to grasp¡ªit was chaos neatly disguised as order. Rafaye Inkor wasn¡¯t meant to ascend the throne. That honor had been reserved for his older brother, Ledger. With the support of the former Prime Minister and a formidable Queen Mother, Ledger¡¯s claim to the crown had seemed unshakable.


    But while Ledger was busy cleaning up his brothers¡ªremoving anyone who might challenge his right to rule¡ªsomeone else decided to clean him up. The result was nothing short of stunning.


    Ledger Inkor, a healthy young man of 25, died peacefully in his sleep. A heart attack, they said. No poison, no foul play, no evidence of tampering. Just a tragic twist of fate. Or so they claimed.


    Of course, no one believed it. How could they? The timing was impeccable. Suspicious. Too convenient by half. And with Ledger gone, there was only one legitimate heir left to claim the throne: Rafaye Inkor.


    No one had ever expected him to rule. Unfavored and unsupported, his ascent to power seemed less like destiny and more like a cruel joke. But where luck failed him, shrewdness carried him. Rumor had it that Rafaye had once confessed to the former Prime Minister that he had killed Ledger¡ªa quiet boast whispered in passing. True or not, Rafaye wasted no time solidifying his position.


    He married strategically, claiming influential daughters from powerful families. In turn, those families fought tooth and nail to curry his favor, their self-serving schemes only strengthening his own. All Rafaye had to do was sit back, play the long game, and build his power base.


    Years of machinations eventually bore fruit. Queen Celia Angemoux emerged as his strongest ally, creating the First Prince¡¯s faction with his blessing. But the former Prime Minister didn¡¯t forget. He¡¯d lost the battle to secure the throne for Ledger, but he wasn¡¯t done fighting.


    The old man used his remaining influence to make his son the next Prime Minister, passing down the war like a family heirloom before dying of an accident. And the current Prime Minister needed a prince to make his vision of the future a reality.


    The two younger legitimate princes¡ªchildren of another queen and a concubine¡ªweren¡¯t worth the effort. But an illegitimate prince? One who was already a towering success in his own right? That was a different story.


    Enter Lance Inkor. At 30 years old, he was everything Rafaye wasn¡¯t: young, brilliant, influential, wealthy, and powerful. The son of a Wintersin noble, Princess Willow, Lance¡¯s bloodline stretched to the Wintersin Emperor himself. Yes, he was technically the son of the distant fourth cousin of Wintersin¡¯s ruler.


    As the owner of the continent¡¯s most exclusive gentlemen¡¯s club and a close associate of Loneborn Merchant Group¡ªthe wealthiest merchant syndicate in the land¡ªLance was more than capable of holding his own.


    In fact, it wasn¡¯t so much that the Prime Minister backed Lance; it felt more like Lance was backing the Prime Minister. Even after the death of Princess Willow and her father in the Wintersin¡¯s Civil War.


    What truly set Lance apart was his survival. Rafaye hadn¡¯t acknowledged him until well into adulthood, conveniently sparing him from Queen Celia¡¯s earlier purges of potential threats to her own son¡¯s rise. By the time anyone cared to look twice, Lance was untouchable.


    But it was actually deeper than that. Because all of this couldn¡¯t have happened only recently. This all seemed to be something that had been planned for decades.


    So, they had to start from the very beginning.


    Burn raised his voice, ¡°Who helped Rafaye¡¯s rise to the throne?¡±


    A heart attack. Ledger Inkor¡¯s death had never sat right. And now, with the Demon Lord¡¯s shadow creeping through the world¡¯s rulers, Rafaye being one of his pawns felt almost inevitable.


    ¡°Rafaye met Princess Willow Barbarella¡¯s father about a month before Ledger¡¯s death,¡± Finn said, handing Burn a document. ¡°It¡¯s the only unusual thing in his timeline.¡±


    ¡°Lance Inkor¡¯s grandfather helped Rafaye secure the throne, opposing the previous Prime Minister¡­¡± Yvain said.


    ¡°Two,¡± Burn noted in his mind. ¡°Next?¡±

 192 - Connections

    ¡°Two,¡± Burn noted in his mind. ¡°Next?¡±


    Finn nodded. ¡°The former Prime Minister¡¯s death a few years ago was labeled an ¡®accident¡¯¡ªconveniently after he secured his son¡¯s position as his successor. People say Queen Celia had a hand in it.¡±


    ¡°After that, Lance Inkor became the current Prime Minister¡¯s chosen candidate,¡± Yvain continued.


    ¡°Three,¡± Burn leaned back in his seat, tossing the document onto the table with a flick of his wrist. ¡°Princess Willow and her old man died in the Wintersin Civil War. If the Prime Minister put his trust in Lance, then Lance must have been the one who pulled it off.¡±


    Silence fell over the room.


    ¡°What about Queen Celia? The First Prince¡¯s Faction¡¯s biggest involvement this whole time was the death of the former Prime Minister,¡± Yvain reminded them.


    ¡°Four,¡± Burn said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. ¡°The former Prime Minister had to die because he¡¯d never allow an illegitimate prince to rise to power. That was his whole grudge against Rafaye in the first place¡ªhe barely escaped illegitimacy himself. The former King only married his mother after she was already pregnant.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying it was Lance?¡± Finn asked, spelling it out plainly. ¡°Lance helped Celia kill the former Prime Minister?¡±


    No matter how one looked at it, Lance Inkor was the center of it all. All of the deaths were there to give him advantages.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see?¡± Burn said, tapping the documents Tristan and Yvolt had brought in. ¡°The inventor of the Vision Resonator was hidden so securely that even they took out the heavy gun to eliminate all leaks.¡±


    He didn¡¯t wait for a response, ¡°The trinkets the Demon Lord sent to Shorof, the regalia that poisoned my father¡ªthose can all be categorized as artifacts, intricate designs with a purpose. And then there¡¯s the Vision Resonator, a device capable of controlling Mana without Vision.¡± He turned to Yvain. ¡°You felt it, didn¡¯t you? Something¡­ off.¡±


    Yvain stiffened, his unexplainable discomfort. ¡°I¡ªI thought I was imagining it,¡± he admitted. ¡°We were supposed to focus on invading Inkia, but I kept getting distracted by something I couldn¡¯t explain.¡±


    ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t nothing,¡± Burn said. ¡°And in the end, it¡¯s all connected.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for trusting me, Masters,¡± Yvain said, his voice steady but tinged with relief. He knew neither of his masters had ever doubted him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve earned it,¡± Burn replied. ¡°Sending spies out so quickly, prioritizing the right leads¡ªit¡¯s no small feat. And in under three days since we left you? That¡¯s impressive insight.¡±


    All this information wasn¡¯t available to him before. It¡¯s either he didn¡¯t care, or it slipped between the cracks. After all, in the previous loops, he was focusing only on the urgent, bigger view.


    Yvain smiled, brushing off the praise. ¡°With your resources, what can¡¯t I find?¡±


    Morgan, seated beside him, ruffled his hair with an affectionate grin. ¡°You¡¯re too modest,¡± she said, her pride in him unmistakable. Burn¡¯s expression, though more restrained, carried the same sentiment.


    ¡°Now,¡± Morgan said, snapping her fingers.


    The documents rose into the air, neatly organizing themselves to make way for the transparent screens she¡¯d conjured. Images of the Vision Resonator, the regalia, and Shorof¡¯s trinkets floated into view, glowing faintly with magic.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Even with all my knowledge, these devices feel... foreign,¡± Morgan mused. ¡°Not Outsider foreign, though. More¡­ modern.¡±


    Burn¡¯s gaze hardened. Modern. That word carried weight in Nethermere, a world caught in the awkward flux between tradition and the influx of Outsider technology. The latter, powered by the sun itself, dwarfed anything mana-based in scope and efficiency. But the Vision Resonator? That was local. A breakthrough born of this world, corrupted or not.


    ¡°If the Outsiders hadn¡¯t arrived,¡± Burn muttered, ¡°the Vision Resonator could¡¯ve triggered a new technological era for Nethermere.¡±


    Morgan sneered. ¡°And yet, it turns out to be a creation of the Demon Lord.¡±


    Her words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Burn could feel the weight of her unspoken frustration¡ªthe centuries she¡¯d spent purging corruption from this world, the betrayal she¡¯d endured. For a moment, a shadow passed over her face, a thought too dangerous to share just yet. She kept it to herself.


    Burn didn¡¯t press her. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the images before him, already piecing together the next move.


    ¡°Anyway, as we all know, we might as well lump the suspicious deaths of recent world rulers under the Demon Lord¡¯s handiwork,¡± Burn said, his tone flat but laced with dry cynicism.


    The former Prime Minister of Inkia¡¯s death? Sure, they had their theories. But without the Vision Resonator tying Lance Inkor to any of this chaos, it would¡¯ve been impossible.


    ¡°Wintersin¡¯s Crown Prince died during a civil war a few years ago,¡± Yvain began, leaning forward as the pieces started falling into place. ¡°And guess who just happened to witness his death? Lance Inkor¡¯s uncle. Princess Willow¡¯s full-blood brother. Oh, and let¡¯s not forget¡ªit¡¯s the same war that killed her and her father.¡±


    Burn didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°Five,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°Go on.¡±


    Yvain continued, ¡°King Lazarus Lumine rose to power in Luminus Kingdom after years of being stifled by the Pope of Luminus. With the Pope out of the way, he had free rein to steer the kingdom¡¯s political tides. He even married his daughter, Bianca Lumine, to Duke Padparadscha. She then became Saint Lucia¡¯s headmaster too.¡±


    Finn frowned. ¡°But doesn¡¯t it seem odd? Princess Bianca marrying into a neutral faction?¡±


    Burn¡¯s eyes darkened, his gaze drilling into Yvain¡¯s hesitant expression. ¡°Six?¡±


    Yvain hesitated, then shook his head. ¡°It fits the pattern, but I don¡¯t believe Princess Bianca and Duke Padparadscha are¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let personal ties cloud your judgment,¡± Burn snapped. ¡°Just because you¡¯re friends with their son doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re exempt.¡±


    Yvain stiffened under the reprimand. ¡°Understood, Master.¡± He swallowed, then added, ¡°And¡­ she¡¯s also one of the founding members of the Democratic Teachers. They¡¯ve been supplying Princess Nahwu with her trinkets.¡±


    Finn jumped in, brows furrowed. ¡°The Democratic Teachers? They¡¯re a group of educators friendly with the Outsiders. No clear ties to Lance Inkor¡­ until¡­¡± he paused, letting the gravity of the next statement sink in. ¡°Turns out, they¡¯re sponsored by a gentlemen¡¯s club. A club owned by Lance Inkor.¡±


    Burn exhaled sharply, closing his eyes as his thoughts coalesced. In three years, the Loneborn Merchant Group¡ªthe group Lance was deeply tied to¡ªwould be revealed as the Outsiders¡¯ largest customer. Larger even than Velaryon.


    And he couldn¡¯t forget: the descent of the White Dwarf¡ªthe world-destroying weapon sent to kill him¡ªwasn¡¯t random. It was triggered because he¡¯d seized control of Inkia and Luminus, the base of the Loneborn Merchant Group¡¯s operations.


    ¡°Six,¡± Burn concluded, his voice heavy with finality. ¡°There¡¯s your answer.¡±


    Lance Inkor. The second Demon Lord. The web of power, death, and manipulation? It all led back to him.


    But him specifically?


    It all came down to one detail: Burn remembered Lance Inkor should¡¯ve been dead. The moment he conquered Inkia, Lance¡¯s death was so utterly unremarkable, so pathetically unflashy, that Burn barely spared it a second thought in any of his loops. The name simply slipped through the cracks every time.


    And that was the point, wasn¡¯t it? The second Demon Lord had been hiding from him all along¡ªintentionally, meticulously. It was almost funny in hindsight. The clues were there, sure, but just vague enough to slip by unnoticed.


    After all, if he was the Demon Lord, changing his identity wouldn¡¯t exactly be a challenge. Faking his age? Child¡¯s play. Killing his own people? Barely worth a mention. No, the hard part was staying unremarkable. And he had mastered it.


    How exactly had Lance managed to kill the Pope of Luminus? Stage the ¡°accidental¡± death of Inkia¡¯s former Prime Minister? Engineer the Crown Prince of Wintersin¡¯s demise in the middle of a civil war?


    And what about Yvain¡¯s father? The late Elven King? Was the demon king someone with specialties in cursed artifacts and devices and used it to quietly assassinate them?


    The questions hung in the air, heavy and damning, until Gawain finally broke the silence. He raised his head, his expression twisted into something dark and ugly.


    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± Gawain said, his voice quiet but cutting, ¡°I understand why you called me now.¡±

 193 - Gawain Agravaine’s Loyalty

    Gawain didn¡¯t rush to respond. He leaned back, letting the pieces of the puzzle click into place, one by one, until the mention of "regalia" made his expression darken.


    ¡°Your Majesty, I understand why you called me now.¡±


    The former monarch¡¯s regalia.


    His brow furrowed deeper. ¡°Of course. Because it was the Agravaine family who had the honor¡ªif we can call it that¡ªof crafting the last monarch¡¯s regalia. But Sir¡ª¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Burn interrupted, his tone sharp. ¡°After that, they were vetted, locked up in the House of Leodegrance, and ceremoniously handed over to become the monarch¡¯s regalia.¡±


    ¡°But the House of Leodegrance had absolutely no reason to harm the king,¡± Burn¡¯s tone darkened with each word. ¡°Not my brother, not his doting mother¡¯s loyalists, not Aroche.¡±


    ¡°Sir, I wasn¡¯t implying¡ª¡± Gawain stumbled, catching himself before he could dig the hole deeper. ¡°My apologies, Your Majesty. I¡¯ve overstepped. I am ashamed for letting my nerves get the better of me. Please, forgive me.¡±


    He bowed stiffly, his face a study in guilt¡ªnot of wrongdoing, but of fear. Not fear of reprisal or punishment, but of losing the trust of his king.


    Burn let the silence linger like a blade just above the neck before finally offering a thin, knowing smile. ¡°I do not doubt you.¡±


    Gawain exhaled sharply, his eyes briefly closing in relief¡ªthough dread soon followed as the question still loomed: if not the House of Leodegrance, and not the House of Agravaine¡­ then who?


    ¡°If that stepmother of mine had been alive when Father¡¯s regalia was changed,¡± Burn said, his sigh sharp enough to cut through the room, ¡°she¡¯d already be at the top of my list of suspects.¡±


    But no, the logic unraveled itself plainly. His brother¡¯s faction and their supporters relied too heavily on the king¡¯s protection; even the combined might of the kingdom couldn¡¯t neutralize Burn¡¯s influence on their own. They had no reason to make such a risky move.


    And Aroche¡­ no. Impossible.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Burn said, voice dropping into something bitter and raw. ¡°Even if it was my brother¡­¡± He rubbed his temples with one hand, resting his face in the other as though physically trying to keep himself from falling apart.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the king¡¯s son! I, Clarent, am his only son!¡±


    His mind echoed with a voice that wasn¡¯t there.


    ¡°No. It couldn¡¯t be,¡± Burn¡¯s lips twisted into a grimace at the memory.


    ¡°Caliburn,¡± Morgan¡¯s voice cut through, soft but firm. She rose from her seat beside Yvain and knelt before him, her fingers brushing his cheek to ground him. ¡°Let it rest. We¡¯ve uncovered the Demon Lord¡¯s identity. That¡¯s enough for one day.¡±


    Burn slowly closed his eyes, leaning into Morgan¡¯s touch.


    ¡°Gawain, get me a full list of my brother¡¯s supporters, my stepmother¡¯s backers, and anyone tied to Aroche. Track down any connection they might have to Lance Inkor. That¡¯s all.¡± Burn rose from his seat, gently pulling Morgan to stand beside him.


    ¡°Yes, Sir. Thank you for trusting me again,¡± Gawain said, a flicker of relief in his voice.


    Burn let out a tired sigh. ¡°Didn¡¯t you already pour your Force into a cup for me?¡±


    Gawain smiled faintly, inclining his head. ¡°Even so, I am far from worthy.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Burn¡¯s gaze shifted toward Yvain, who sat silently, the weight of Burn¡¯s unspoken burdens written across his face. Whatever betrayals Yvain had endured paled compared to the labyrinth of treachery Burn navigated daily.


    ¡°Go to sleep,¡± Burn ordered simply. ¡°Tomorrow, you¡¯ll watch and learn from your master how to create an organic vessel for your new sister. Help her while you¡¯re at it.¡±


    ¡°Wait. What?!¡± Yvain shot up from his seat, his expression somewhere between disbelief and existential dread. ¡°Your Majesty, those words in that order don''t make sense!¡±


    ¡°You can help after school,¡± Morgan added sweetly, as if that made it better.


    ¡°After school? Help?! You¡¯re making my sister?!¡±


    Finn and Gawain exchanged a glance, both equally lost.


    Though, to his credit, Finn had started to adapt to the chaos these three casually conjured. With a shrug, he muttered, ¡°This reminds me of that tabletop game with the most ridiculous campaigns my men and I sometimes play¡­ utter nonsense.¡±


    That caught Burn¡¯s attention. He turned to Finn, his sharp golden eyes lighting up with what could only be described as excitement.


    ¡°Finn, prepare a campaign,¡± Burn declared, his tone as decisive as if he¡¯d just ordered a siege.


    ¡°I want in too!¡± Morgan chimed, clapping her hands together like a delighted child.


    ¡°Why me?!¡± Finn shouted, his composure crumbling under the sheer absurdity of the situation. Wasn''t he already burdened enough with Inkia¡¯s invasion? And now he had to prepare his boss¡¯ entertainment?


    ¡°Speaking of roleplay,¡± Burn turned his sharp gaze back to Gawain, his tone dripping with irony. ¡°Don¡¯t you need the highest authority to dig up all that information?¡±


    Morgan, ever prepared, handed Gawain a pair of rings.


    ¡°Find yourself a woman to pose as my wife and head to the imperial winter retreat villa in the South,¡± Burn instructed, as if this were the most logical next step. ¡°Show up there, dig around, and investigate closer to the source.¡±


    After all, the House of Leodegrance had once been the mightiest of the Soulnaught Southern nobility.


    Gawain stared blankly at the rings¡ªGalahad and Landevale¡¯s disguises when they once impersonated Burn and Morgan. Yes, the fact he just learned from their short explanation.


    But well¡­


    ¡°Sir¡­ I have¡­ no such woman,¡± he said, his voice heavy with resignation.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± Morgan interjected, her tone light as air. ¡°That Marissa Lombardi girl does look somewhat like me.¡±


    Burn¡¯s brow arched skeptically. ¡°Who?¡±


    Morgan¡¯s sly smile only widened as Burn¡¯s memory sluggishly turned its gears. And then it hit him¡ªthe blonde, blue-eyed thief who¡¯d once stolen his locket. His expression twisted with irritation.


    ¡°What similar? Donkey-and-alicorn similar?¡± he snapped, clearly unimpressed. The only reason Marissa Lombardi had any claim to Morgan-like resemblance was thanks to a painting he¡¯d painstakingly made while searching the world for her. And this thief had the audacity to subtly suggest to the world that she was his future empress?


    Morgan gave him a playful nudge, her grin bordering on wicked. ¡°Make her pose as me. She¡¯ll behave if she¡¯s even remotely intelligent.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re teasing me,¡± Burn deadpanned as the realization finally dawned, while Morgan promptly threw her head back and laughed without mercy.


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Burn relented, letting her amusement run its course. Turning back to Gawain, he said, ¡°Take Marissa Lombardi with you to the South and make her pose as my wife. Your job is to ensure no one finds out that I¡¯m not where I said I would be¡ªand certainly not here with my actual wife.¡±


    Morgan tried her best to hold her laughs but failed miserably.


    Gawain blinked as the memory of Marissa Lombardi resurfaced, particularly the chaos at the victory banquet after Burn had been stabbed. Still, orders were orders.


    ¡°As you command, Your Majesty,¡± he said, though his tone betrayed just how much he dreaded this assignment.


    As Burn silently retreated for the night with Morgan by his side, Gawain¡¯s gaze lingered on his back, growing darker with each passing second.


    Betrayal.


    There was nothing Gawain loathed more¡ªexcept perhaps the memory of that particular traitor. The one who had shattered everything, leaving destruction in their wake and forging half of Burn¡¯s infamous reputation as a villain.


    His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides.


    With a voice barely louder than a breath, Gawain murmured, ¡°Long live Caliburn Pendragon.¡±


    And with that, he turned on his heel, heading toward the mission that awaited him.

 194 - Fated Freedom

    Walking down the dimly lit corridor, Morgan couldn¡¯t help but sense Burn¡¯s earlier unease. This man¡ªwho had once stormed the heavens and swept the earth clean¡ªnow seemed completely unmoored.


    Earlier that day, he¡¯d boldly declared, ¡°God loves me too,¡± as he ¡®manifested¡¯ his Vision. His excitement had been palpable, almost childlike¡ªright up until reality smacked him in the face with the grim reminder that the past wasn¡¯t just complicated; it was a labyrinth of unresolved chaos.


    ¡°In a few days, Yvain¡¯s classmates will be over,¡± Morgan said, steering him away from his spiraling thoughts. ¡°Ready to dust off your role as the ¡®cool dad¡¯ again?¡±


    ¡°Hm,¡± he murmured, managing a faint smile. ¡°Yvain can handle the political chatter. I¡¯ll back him up. Meanwhile, you¡¯ll be scoping out that girl he¡¯s interested in?¡±


    Morgan chuckled, ¡°Interested in? You mean Princess Blair?¡±


    ¡°He mentioned something about her showing signs of an emerging specialty,¡± Burn replied, almost casually.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Like you,¡± Morgan quipped as she leaned on his arm.


    Silence.


    ¡°What did you just say?¡± Burn stopped in his tracks, blinking like he¡¯d been hit by lightning.


    Morgan giggled. ¡°I said, like you, silly.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and budding curiosity. Gripping her shoulders, and shaking it, he asked, ¡°Are you saying I have a sign of an emerging specialty? Me? But I just¡ªmanifested whatever this... thing is!¡±


    ¡°You do,¡± Morgan said, her laughter bubbling up again. ¡°Your eyes even changed a little. Didn¡¯t you notice? Dark, silvery... like stars.¡±


    Burn stared at her, utterly floored. For a moment, he looked like a kid who¡¯d just been told he was a wizard.


    ¡°Wait. Your eyes change when you find your specialty?¡± His tone suggested he was half-joking, though his wide-eyed expression said otherwise.


    Morgan snorted.


    Seeing his dumbfounded face, Morgan softened. She leaned into him, letting the weight of her affection melt his tension. ¡°Happy?¡±


    ¡°Damn right I¡¯m happy,¡± Burn muttered, still stunned. ¡°Am I really that loved?¡±


    ¡°You are,¡± Morgan assured him, amused as ever.


    After a moment of mutual silence¡ªand some spontaneous squeezing, spinning, and what could only be described as her barely-contained squeal¡ªBurn exhaled deeply, his disbelief still lingering.


    ¡°You¡¯re not just trying to cheer me up, right?¡± he asked, squinting suspiciously.


    Morgan rolled her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t joke about Vision, Burn. For instance, during that brief moment at the entrance ceremony buffet, I noticed Princess Blair has a serious problem controlling hers.¡±


    Burn raised an eyebrow. ¡°Let me guess¡ªlike me?¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She shook her head. ¡°The opposite. You know no fear, while all she knows is fear.¡±


    ***


    The grotesque, oversized hands hovered in the air, bound by a crown of light. Yvain shifted into a defensive stance, every muscle primed to fight whatever twisted monstrosity had turned Blair into a puppet on red strings.


    At first, it had only been eyes¡ªeerie and unblinking facing Yvolt and Tristan. Now, as if things weren¡¯t horrific enough, a pair of monstrous hands, brimming with even more eyes, had emerged.


    It wasn¡¯t entirely shocking. Of course, an Inkian royal would have some revolting, parasitic link to the demon lord. The sickening part? She had no clue that a curse had burrowed into her soul.


    When Yvain severed the strings controlling her, things went from bad to catastrophic. The red threads, once neatly managed by those vile, eye-infested hands, now took on a will of their own. They spread, multiplied, and constricted her body with terrifying precision.


    No longer bound only by her neck, wrists, and ankles, Blair was now ensnared entirely. Every inch of her frame suffocated under those impossibly sharp, crimson threads.


    Then came the laugh¡ªa wet, rumbling, and nauseating sound¡ªemanating from the direction of the grotesque hands.


    ¡°It¡¯s too late, Original Saint,¡± the voice sneered, thick with malice. ¡°You think you can save her? That you can undo my greatest invention? Pathetic.¡±


    Blair¡¯s scream tore through the air, raw and primal. Her pain was almost unbearable to witness.


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± she cried, her voice breaking with desperation. ¡°I can¡¯t expel them! These strings¡ªthey¡¯re binding my¡ªmy heart¡ªCOUGH!¡±


    Blood poured from her mouth, staining her lips as she gasped for air. She clawed at the threads, her movements frenzied but futile. The red strings tore her apart, strand by strand. They bit into her skin, her flesh, and burrowed deeper, wrapping around her heart.


    Yvain¡¯s grip on his sword tightened as he glared at the abomination before him. Time was slipping away, but giving up wasn¡¯t an option. Not for him. Not for her.


    The Original Saint herself stepped forward, calm and unyielding, as though the storm of chaos around her was no more than an evening breeze. Her hand extended, weaving effortlessly through the suffocating red strings binding Blair. Without hesitation, she touched Blair¡¯s cheeks, grounding her with the simplest of gestures.


    ¡°Be not afraid.¡±


    Her voice steady, like the toll of a bell. And just like that, the corruption¡ªthe curse¡ªwas gone.


    Now, all that remained was the real battle: Blair taking control of her Vision. She had to face her fear, wrestle it down, and reclaim herself from its grip.


    Blair could feel it¡ªher heart constricted, sliced, tied up in countless red threads. Thin, sharp, invasive. That grotesque creature, whatever it was, had granted her this power. The same power she had clung to in desperation. The power she thought could make her worthy.


    This was her ticket out of that gilded cage¡ªthe palace. But what had it actually earned her? Her brother, Locan¡¯s favor? Queen Celia¡¯s cold toleration? Her father, the king¡¯s half-hearted, fleeting interest?


    Was it possible that all of it¡ªall of it¡ªwas just this creature¡¯s doing? That she wasn¡¯t some extraordinary anomaly, but a hand-crafted puppet? His so-called masterpiece?


    ¡°Blair.¡± Morgan¡¯s voice sliced cleanly through the turmoil of mana, calm and unwavering. Even as reality fractured around them, her words landed like stones in a pond. ¡°Be not afraid. All of this power is yours.¡±


    Fight!


    Fight it!


    Pull yourself together¡ª!


    Blair¡¯s once-purple eyes flared an unsettling crimson.


    .


    .


    .


    White.


    The world shifted. The ground beneath her feet was cool, soothing. Water, crystal clear, lapped at her ankles.


    The red threads, once a strangling, suffocating prison, now hung loose, draped over her body like a fragile dress. They stretched on forever, miles upon miles of crimson silk. But when she moved¡ªwhen she tugged a finger, an arm, her neck¡ªthey didn¡¯t fight her. They didn¡¯t tighten.


    She spun once, tentatively. The threads followed her like obedient ribbons. She ran, and they flew behind her, fluttering like tendrils of some spectral gown. When she collapsed into the shallow water, they simply settled around her, no longer binding¡ªno longer cutting.


    This was hers. All of it. Her power.


    .


    .


    .


    ¡°HAAAAAAAAA!!!¡±


    Blair screamed as she wrenched herself free. The red strands clawed at her, resisting with ferocious determination. Her delicate frame bent over the force, her body dragged mercilessly back toward their grasp.


    But she rose.


    Trembling, gasping, half-torn over their weight¡ªshe rose.


    ¡°You are mine!¡± Blair roared. ¡°You are my soul!¡±


    Blair Inkor found her specialty. ¡°My own¡ªfate!¡±


    Red thread of fate.