I half of a decade, the Kingdom of Edensor had always stood as the unfortunate pawn fag down a queen’s gambit.

  At the heart of this kingdom was a boy king, Yvain Edensworn, whose 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 iude.

  Yet, uhe tutege of the illustrious Man Le Fay, Yvain was brewing up a storm, promising a reign not just of power but of magic. They whispered his h a mix of reverend disbelief, dubbing him Little Merlin.

  Ihree years post-apocalypse—because calling it a mere great invasion by the intergaxian seemed to undersell the dramatic overhaul of their world—Yvain wasn't just pying king.

  He was on a quest, a mission that had him sc the nds, delving into mysteries best left unspoken, all in search of his master, Man Le Fay, who had pulled a vanishing act rivaling that of any court jester fag 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 happehen, even though the invaders almost destroyed their realm, King Burn stopped it in such a glorious ma almost seemed unreal.

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

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

  The narrative of King Burn, the singur 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… decred war.

  The timing was too impeccable, the strategy too ve.

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

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

  The narrative painted him as the valiant hero, a bulwark against the tide of invaders, yet beh the veneer of valor, a more sinister plot seemed to unfold—a colborative effort towards plete ial dominance, disguised as a battle for salvation.

  He didn’t save hermere, no. It was all an act to quer the nd, depig the invaders as the bad guy who turned good and Burn as the hero who tried to establish trol.

  In the end, they were w together to achieve plete ialism with this eborate pn.

  Except… Burn was actually that strong, and he was truly fed up with the invaders—while still buying their stuff and being the most stable kingdom and loyal courtiers pared to the others in the ti?

  Yeah, right. Who could destroy that many spaceships and apocalyptic mass killing ons that strong with only his bare hand? Yvain had spent time researg about those mass killing mae that it should be impossible—

  Yvain was too wary. Without his master, he couldn’t think straight.

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

  Yes. Burn’s emissary came knog with an olive bran one hand and a leash iher. Burn’s "generous" offer of prote in exge 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 fme, each whisper stoking the fires of suspi further.

  “Your Majesty, Master Le Fay is strong. But they’re als. They might be the only ones who could… possibly…”

  “My Master is still alive!” Yvain s his own court. “Don’t you dare imply any other sario. She is just… uo go home. I’m sure.”

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

  They wao get rid of him.

  Therefore, by the time Burn's forces advaowards Edensor, Yvain had already beerayed 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 Infich, Man Le Fay.

  This mass defe was catalyzed by Burn's aggressive strategy. Had he not frohe invaders and the shifting global dynami such a mahe betrayal might never have occurred.

  After all, he was the undisputed sn of Edensor, a fact his court vely overlooked in the shadow of impending quest.

  And here he was, in front of the mighty and powerful King—no, 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 fotten the reason the boy told him.

  But now, he remembered—

  “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 m, 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 yrudge, Man Le Fay…”

  Burn sighed.

  “What do you want from me?”

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

  This time, eschewing the formality of emissaries—a decision likely inspired by Yvain's previous cold shoulder—he led his army personally.

  It was an impressive sight: the Soulnaught Empire’s forces, a veritable tide of steel aermination, rolling across the nd like a well-oiled mae 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 permaly 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 destru 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 dispy, Burn's purpose was not solely to intimidate.

  Because of Man Le Fay, the woman who had cursed him with her death—

  This was not just a march of quest but a mission of persuasion, an attempt te the chasm of distrust with words rather than ons.

  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.