led in the heart of the western part of the ti, 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 O, a body of water as enting as it was treacherous, where the lulbies of the deep beed the hearts of even the most seasoned sailors.

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

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

  Upon their arrival at the borders of Edensor, Burn's army dispyed a fidence 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 querors, setting up camp with the casual efficy of seasoravelers who khe y of the er than their own backyards.

  There was no hurried fortification, no scouts dispatched in hasty reaissance—just a calm, almost i spreading out of the Soulnaught forces, as though they were ying out a piic rather than preparing for a siege.

  This nonce spoke volumes of their assuran their military might and their leader's strategic a.

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

  Demonstrating his siy 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 ae apanied by four cavalry generals, apanying a nuclear-powered royal carriage.

  The procession was illuminated by a floating ntern, 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 bck hair was ly brushed, and his eyes, a deep bck, were sharp and shrouded in mystery.

  He bore a striking resembo the protagonists in tales of old, his dark features eg the mythical visage of the a bck dragon.

  It was the por opposite of him, Buryrant, 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 nont demeanor.

  “Your Majesty, King Caliburn Pendragon—”

  “Emperor,” Burn interjected. “I decred 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 decration that also included your annou of war…”

  “Correct,” Burn responded, his smile lingering as he he boy’s bravery and wit. This piqued his i.

  “And the reason you’re here today… is it to make me beg for your prote?” the boy asked.

  Burn hummed, pting the answer, since, “Yes, that’s part of it,” he paused, “But more so, about your master, the Infich.”

  Yvain widened his eyes.

  “Man Le Fay.”

  ***

  In the inal timeline, Burn took a hands-on approach to dealing with Yvain—quite literally. He killed the young king with the personal touly a pair of his mighty hands offer.

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

  Ehe assassins, the shadowy figures who could make a person disappear quicker than a in a street magi's absp;

  Then there were the betrayals Burn orchestrated like a ductor leading a symphony, eaote a dagger in the dark, pyed by Yvain's very own subordinates.

  And if all else failed, there was always the reliable Gahad or one of the enerals, ever so eager to please their emperor by dispatg 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 bat, proving that while he might delegate the task icide, 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 entered the boy again. That is, until today.

  “My master… What happeo her? Where is she?” the boy asked, his voice stiff and tense, in the fines of Burn’s mai—a structure erected ht for strategic deliberations.

  “I’d wager you know more about her than I do,” Bured. “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 s?” Burn sighed, his tone ced with sarcasm. “Actually, the reality is quite the opposite.”

  “What?”

  The boy’s disfort was evident; he didn’t appreciate Burn steering the versatio he found himself at a loss for trol. Burn’s revetion only deepened his fusion.

  “She bouh her spell—no, curse. I currently have an unpaid debt to settle with her,” Burn stated ftly, 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 fusion was clear on the boy’s face, his questions nearly spilling out.

  But Yvain, showg the self-trol and intelligence Burn had correctly surmised he possessed, remained silent. Instead, after Burn for a few tense seds, his fusion morphed into suspi. “Could it be… you’re actually one of my master’s stalkers?”

  Burn’s brow furrowed in response.

  Yvain tinued, a hint of mischief in his tone, “You know, my master is very pretty. She is als. People who want to learn from her, or challenge her fnition… or even date her… they all end up as her stalkers.”

  The frown on Burn’s face deepened signifitly.

  Blinking ily 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—”

  “I uand,” Yvain suddenly interjected, cutting off Burn's train of thought. “You wao surrender my kingdht? But as you see, I am just a young boy. The decision ’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 strohan him today.

  “So, you’re sidering 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—no, I’m sure you want to be on her good side, no matter what the reason.”

  “You want something from her, that’s why—”

  “Huhuhu…”

  Yvain widened his eyes.

  “Hahaha, I see. As expected of that witch’s disciple, huh? Your audacity knows no bounds,” Burn grinned, and Yvai 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 sve is still well within my power. Boy, who do you think you are?”

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

  But his personality… was actually shit.

  Grasp!

  Yvain almost yelped when the man suddenly grapsed his head. With his palm, Yvaihat 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—!”

  “You don’t have to surrehat, though?” Burn tilted his head. “Keep your . I don’t need such tris.”

  Yvain blinked, perplexed. He didn’t want that…?