"But why?! I want to find my Master too! Why 't I e along?!" King Yvain scurried after Emperor Burn with his short legs.

  The corridor echoed with the ctter of his small boots, a stark trast to the thudding strides of the Emperor’s metal heels, who were all set for a quest to locate the Infich, Man Le Fay.

  The se was straight out of a strategy meeting from the night before. Yvain had blurted out that Man often traveled to the Wintersin Empire to mih her mysterious pals, and Burn’s memears ground into a.

  He recalled that his first enter with Man was supposed to happen after the quest of Wintersin—three years iure.

  No time like the present, thought Bur’s head there right away.

  "You're just a nuisao 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 s shut, a silent cession to the brutal hoy.

  "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 dang in his words.

  Burn clicked his tongue, an annoying habit that punctuated his annoyance, and gave Yvain’s head a paternal push—minus the affe.

  "No. If she dies, I die. That cursed witch..." His words trailed off into a grumble, revealing a plex web of emotions that could give any daytime drama a run for its money.

  Yvain’s eyebrows arched, mirr the arches of the grand corridor, as he parsed the tyrant’s plicated expression.

  "Just go and help Gahad quer the Elysian Kingdom," Burn anded, dismissing the young king to what he likely sidered child’s py.

  As Burn walked away, Yvain stood in the eg hall, the weight of kingdom ma on his young shoulders, and a new mission to babysit another quest. 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 fnition; he reoccupied with the urgent task of reversing a curse.

  “Wait… did he just ask me to… help his men quer the Elysian Kingdom?”

  Yvain short-circuited.

  Burn hadn't permitted him to join the quest to find his master… but to help him quer another kingdom? He, a 12 year old king?

  What kind of priority was that?

  ***

  For Burn from the first loop, quering the Elysian Kingdom turned out to be a walk in the park—a 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 thio a trickle. No new princess was born, while the st 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 ckluster resume, he mao be a det king. He wasn’t violent, cruel, or particurly bad at ruling; he was just overwhelmingly... okay.

  Perhaps the geions of women rulers had finally broken the cyonstrous male successors—or maybe they had simply lowered the bar so signifitly that merely not being a tyrant seemed like a moal achievement.

  Either way, the kingdom, which had withstood fierce queens and dire straits, now meandered uhe rule of a man who was as threatening as a librarian in a pillow fight.

  It was somewhat f to know that the king had a young son, around the same age as Yvain, eared bright and kind—though, admittedly, equally mediocre.

  Well, at the end of the day, they were still the king and prince. Mediocre or not, they were good enough—until Burn decred war, that is.

  It was holy embarrassing.

  Burn hadn't even bothered to make a personal appearance during the quest 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 fg at the ready, just in case someoly anized showed up.

  Well, at this point, Burn had only one real , and it wasn't about the Elysian Kingdom or Man Le Fay.

  Now that he ersonally focused on trag down Man Le Fay, Burn was vihat his mission would be a sm dunk—because when Burs out to find someohe universe tends to align just so.

  However, the real wrinkle in his pn wasn't about finding Man; it was the premature demise of Duke Veryon 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—predictable, 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 nd so far north that even the sun seemed to think twice before visiting.

  Here, winter didn't just e; it practically took up perma residency, bing the empire in snow and iearly 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 wastend. Beh the icy exterior, the nd was a veritable treasure chest, brimming with mining resources.

  If digging through frozen dirt for shials was your idea of a good time, then Wintersin was your kind of paradise.

  The people of Wintersin were as tough as the nd was cold. Known for their mastery of Force art—an galnt way of saying they’re good at maniputing energy to not freeze to death—they were as strong as they were skilled.

  This wasn't a pce where you'd find folks knitting by the firepo, these were the kind of people who could wrestle a por bear before breakfast.

  Wintersin's military was the kind that made other nations politely dee to visit.

  Described as mighty, big in number, and great, their military prowess was the stuff of legends—essentially, if their soldiers were a band, they'd be headlining every military parade around.

  In sum, the Wintersin Empire owerhouse ed in a snow globe—remote, frosty, and formidable.

  But Burn wasn’t here to quer it….

  …yet.

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