Restart Everything, They Said, It Will Be Fun, They Said
Alright, we’ve established that this was three years ago. It was the start of the war.
Ha.
Imagine all the blood, sweat, and, let's not forget, the monologues that went into conquering the realm. Remember he was monologuing about his sword? It was wasted! For what? Only to have it all be for nothing? Bruh.
Before he had even begun the war that would turn him into a legend, here he was, right back where he had started. What a joke. Alright, let’s take a moment to give the sky the finger.
All his hard work… His empire, painstakingly built, reaching the far ends of the continent, seizing the last nation—gone.
But alas, there he sat, silently seething.
All was to make sure everything didn't fall to the hands of the outsiders… So why, heavens?!
“Show me my sword.”
Burn demanded. Like, it could just be a prank for the victory celebration, right? His men were creative. Of course, his formidable men, staging an elaborate prank involving time travel was entirely within the realm of possibility for them, right? Let’s see if they can keep their heads after this.
The entire room hustled as his aides scrambled to fetch the sword. And there it was, presented to him reverently.
“This… little shit…!”
Burn was flabbergasted.
His sword.
Mm, fucking hell.
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.
Come on, where was the respect to ‘My Trusty Blade’ monologue?!
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 rare, impossible to find and even more impossible to replicate!
But, weighing it in his hand… it wasn’t a replica!
So, this was it, the undeniable proof. He wasn't losing his mind, he had actually been hurled back in time. Apparently the only prank that was imposed on him was by the universe itself.
"Great, just great," he thought. "Out of everything, the world chose to pull off a time fucking travel…!"
There he was, the fearsome Emperor, looking at his undamaged sword with horror.
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—everything was too real to be called a mere dream.
Dream?
A flash of blonde immediately bothered his mind.
Blue eyes…
Deranged smile!
Right. 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?
Was she… a goddess?
Well, she damn looked like one.
But now, what to do?
He thought, 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 turning the palm of his hand.
Rising from his throne, he seized his sword, the one that was supposed to be as dead as his enemies' chances but was now inexplicably alive and kicking.
He’d got a future to rewrite, so must start 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. This was the complete sneak peek at the exam papers before the test.
Orders flew left and right, even before the war drums had started beating. Let’s start a party that hasn't been announced yet. Set up the decorations, chill the drinks, and lay 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 in the shibal saekkiya…?”
He was back… once again.
Alright, this was no longer time travel. This was an actual time loop.
Burn's eyes snapped open, and he was back—back 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 back. Not a battlefield in sight.
Confusion was an understatement. Anger followed in the pit of his stomach. What kind o—
KNOCK-KNOCK!
The door to his room was opened, and Galahad 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?
His heart raced, pounding against his chest like a war drum. But where? Where was the war? It rang in his ears, calling him to a battle he could no longer find.
He stood there on the edge of his bed, a conqueror displaced from his conquests, a warrior stripped of his war.
Bomboclat.
The memory of the woman lingered in his mind. Had she been the key?
In this quiet room, far removed from the clamor of war, Burn wanted to spit blood. His past and future were blurred, leaving him in a limbo.
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 as himself, 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 is liquid sunshine, flowing with the secrets of the dawn.”
Galahad, Soulnaught’s strongest knight and Burn’s closest aide, read the description of the woman Burn wrote out loud.
“Tall and statuesque. She’s able to move with a grace that makes gravity seem clingy rather than being an immutable law. Storm-lit eyes, deep enough to rival the stories of old mariners, sparkles like the bluest of blue.”
“Ahem, ahem.”
Now, even Galahad's face was red.
“Her smile is melancholic. In her presence, the line between reality and the stuff of dreams blurs, not only because she is ethereal, which, yes, she is, but also because she carries with her an air of someone who could laugh at death and survives.”
“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 spat.
Coldly dismissing their imagination, he realized their face was unconvinced. What was it in their irritating faces? Happiness that finally their emperor had a crush? Bitch ass scrotu—
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—
***
“Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!”
SLASH!
“Eh?”
***
BLINK!
Chirp…! Chirp chirp…
Rustle…
“AH—KONTOL!”
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.
He sat there, contemplating, his hands joined in a pose that screamed "Eureka!" if only he actually had an idea. His golden eyes were bloodshot from the shock of déjà vu on repeat.
What in the peehole dandruff was this shit?
Fuck it. We ball.
Burn bellowed, "Bring me papers! Something to draw!"
What was his option?
The image of the woman was burned 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 determination to capture her likeness, Burn set out to do the impossible.
To be an artist.
How hard could it be?
Yeah, no.
After several attempts that ranged from earnest sketches to desperate doodles, Burn had to face the reality.
He was shit.
Each stroke brought him no closer to her likeness at all. It did prove his spirit, but not his grasp of anatomy or proportion. How could he draw a woman that beautiful with his hidden-and-should-be-kept-hidden talent?!
What lay before him was… abstract interpretations.
Yes, they looked slightly better than what a particularly ambitious five-year-old might produce in a fervor of scribbling, but it was still shit.
He intended his depiction of her to be a homage to her ethereal beauty… but alas, it was just a vague, humanoid shape. Ahh… her features drifted on the face like lost ships at sea… how… pathet—
“Narrator, that’s enough slander.”
Oop, my bad.
“Fuck this.”
Burn sighed, and threw away his instruments.
“Galahad! Call those outsiders merchants! I want to buy their AI painting generator!”
