Your Middle School Syndrome Wants to be Him
Around them, the room erupted. Everyone was outraged and confused. Nobles stood, their faces blanched with shock. Voices raised, protesting and disbelieving.
Well, it was what you’d expect from something like this.
"Benjamin, this is madness! You’re committing treason!" Marquis Reune shouted.
"Duke Velaryon, have you no honor?!" Duke Merweather spat.
Even Duke Eldric Olfield 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, classic villain.
"Rebellion? Honor? Oh, please. Save your breath. And while you’re at it, shove your feigned loyalty up your ass,” 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 my puny little nephew!”
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?
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. It was all replaced by a calm, cold, steady gaze.
It was as if… he had never been surprised—as if everything 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 the vassals of the empire. Under Soulnaught, he'll become one of our swords,” 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, caught in a tempest of his own making.
His scepter 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 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—"
Before he could finish, Duke Velaryon's command cut through the tension, "Capture him!" His voice boomed 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.
Yvain, suspended in mid-air, gestured with his scepter. The first mech that reached him was met with a surge of electric fury.
Lightning leapt 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.
“The right voltage… this amount…” Yvain muttered. “This part…”
Undeterred, another mech charged, its arms equipped with energy blades aiming to disarm the young king. Yvain spun in the air. With a flick of his wrist, he used magnetic induction, 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 wrath fully contained by his spell, illuminating the hall bright.
“YOUR MAJESTY!”
“AAAAAAAAH!”
“NO!”
“Yvain…”
Faintly, Yvain heard the soft voice of his master in a faraway memory.
“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 a new spell, and from the ground, chains of light shot up, binding the mechs' legs.
The mechanical behemoths struggled against these restraints, their efforts futile as the magic sapped their systems of power.
“You’re not leaving me, Master!”
Desperate, 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.
“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 glow of his powers, bore a look no boy of his age can replicate.
Below him, the incapacitated mechs lay scattered. Just like fallen giants against the mighty hero, their threat was nullified.
“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—I’ve grown much stronger.”
The dust settled.
For once and for all.
See? Our literal boi wasn’t playing. The guard mechs and battle mech armors, those proud heralds of Velaryon's coup, lay scattered and smoldering. They were all defeated, but you must know that magic alone wouldn’t be enough. This still needed some level of tactical foresight.
Yvain Edensworn hovered above the wreckage. His gaze swept over the room.
Benjamin Velaryon, ambition thwarted, watched with a growing sense of unease. He looked around, waiting for more. 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.
There should’ve been more of them!
Was this a tactical blunder?
Seeing Velaryon's reaction, whispers began to circulate among the nobles, their shock giving way to… well, perhaps, a begrudging admiration. Yvain had successfully repelled a formidable assault, yes, but he also had orchestrated a demonstration of power so precisely, it was almost… prescient.
The absence of further reinforcements for the rebellion spoke volumes, okay? The young king had anticipated the treachery and had neutralized it with minimal fanfare and maximal efficiency. Glorious.
"Could it be that he planned this all along?" Marquis Reune muttered under his breath.
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.
“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..."
But was it him… or the man above?
Burn Pendragon?
As for Velaryon… 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. The external forces hadn’t even begun their move, but because he underestimated Yvain’s cunning and capability, it was already over.
Ahhh, they understood. They were seeing a king who had turned an assault into a declaration of his sovereignty.
Yvain’s calm demeanor, looking down upon them all… delicious!
Yes! 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 disdain.
“But even if they came... 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, finally, a tangible wave of shock and fear washed over the assembly of nobles.
Murmurs swirled in disbelief that the boy they had so vastly underestimated was truly a formidable mage in his own right.
So… his title and achievements… it wasn’t all just political propaganda?
