Softie~
Aaaah, what a day to get slapped with the truth, right?
Who would’ve guessed that the reason you got trapped in this time loop in the first place is because you didn’t listen to a boy and go straight to cut his head?
“Shut up. The boy’s the one who doesn’t want to talk. He attacked me first. And what’s up with suddenly yelling ‘return my master’? What master? What the fuck?”
Sure. Who would’ve wanted to talk to a man who barged into his front door bearing the name of the scary tyrant? Kids these days know not to talk with strangers, you know?
Ha…
Now that Burn realized he also couldn’t die, everything became more complicated. After killing himself, decapitating his own head from his neck, he was awakened right on that morning, 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 your grudge, Morgan Le Fay…”
Burn sighed.
“What do you want from me?”
Bruh, just save the kid.
“But he doesn’t want to be saved.”
Don’t scoff at me! Did you never learn how to speak with a kid? Come on, man.
“Fine.”
Burn embarked on a march to Edensor.
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 rolled across the land like a well-oiled machine that had traded in oil for the blood of its enemies.
The soldiers, more numerous than the most hyperbolic of bardic tales, marched uniformly, suggesting they could do so blindfolded, backwards, and in high heels, should the situation call for it.
The mages, with their cloaks billowing as though permanently 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 promised destruction in their very creaks and groans, moved along with them.
And at the helm, Burn rode 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 display, Burn's purpose was not solely to intimidate.
Because of Morgan Le Fay, the woman who had cursed him with her death—
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.
***
Soulnaught Empire, the one dominion that was nestled in the heart of the western part of the continent, had begun its invasion.
Its neighbor, the Edensor Kingdom, shared more than just a border. Together, they kissed the shores of the Sirensong Ocean, a body of water as enchanting as it was treacherous, where the lullabies of the deep beckoned the hearts of even the most seasoned sailors.
For Burn and his formidable army, the journey to Edensor's doorstep was a mere three days' march. And upon their arrival at the borders of Edensor, Burn's army displayed a confidence so tall, it bordered on audacity. As usual.
Their occupation of the area was executed with such a leisurely ease it was enviable. It was as if they were tourists rather than conquerors, setting up camp casually in other people’s backyard.
There was no hurried fortification, no scouts dispatched in hasty reconnaissance… just a calm and indolent spreading out of the Soulnaught forces, seeming like they were laying out a picnic rather than preparing for a siege.
This nonchalance spoke volumes of their assurance in their military might and… well, Burn.
Burn was with them, after all.
"Send word that I wish to meet King Edensworn in person," Burn commanded Galahad, who promptly departed to carry out his orders.
Demonstrating his sincerity 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 an entourage accompanied by four cavalry generals, accompanying a nuclear-powered royal carriage.
The procession was illuminated by a floating lantern, 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 black hair was neatly brushed, and his eyes, a deep black, were sharp and shrouded in mystery.
He bore a striking resemblance to the protagonists in tales of old, his dark features echoing the mythical visage of the ancient black dragon.
It was the polar opposite of him, Burn the tyrant, 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 nonchalant demeanor.
“Your Majesty, King Caliburn Pendragon—”
“Emperor,” Burn interjected. “I declared 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 declaration that also included your announcement of war…”
“Correct,” Burn responded, his smile lingering as he noted the boy’s bravery and wit. This piqued his interest.
“And the reason you’re here today… is it to make me beg for your protection?” the boy asked.
Burn hummed, contemplating the answer, since, “Yes, that’s part of it,” he paused, “But more so, about your master, the Infinite Witch.”
Yvain widened his eyes.
“Morgan Le Fay.”
***
In the original timeline, Burn took a hands-on approach to dealing with Yvain. Quite literally. He killed the young king with the personal touch only a pair of his mighty hands can offer.
However, as time loops spiraled like a greatest hits album on repeat, Burn opted for more... sophisticated methods. Why get his own hands dirty when he could outsource the dirty work?
Enter the assassins.
Then there were the betrayals Burn orchestrated, played by Yvain's very own subordinates.
And if all else failed, there was always the reliable Galahad or one of the other generals, ever so eager to please their emperor by dispatching this troublesome young boy.
Meanwhile, Burn reserved himself for the apocalyptic battles, the kind where the stakes were as high as the casualty figures.
Yes. Those were what he wanted you all to believe. The truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill a boy over and over and over again, just because the boy didn’t want to yield no matter what he did.
Our boy is soft like th—
“Shut up. I still should’ve done it myself. That way, I can own the multiple loops that happened to me.”
Aww, look at him taking responsibility over his actions… look at him~
Well, it’s true that if you had to kill a child, you should do it yourself. Bear the sin with your own hands.
Burn, this narrator knows this is still the part where you sigh a lot. What a softie.
After all, Burn preferred to always be the star at the frontline, basking in the glory of combat. Rather than taking care of a regicide, he preferred grand wars more.
Well, he must be there to protect his people anyways. A softie!
So, after the initial timeline, Burn hadn't encountered the boy again. That was, until today.
“My master… What happened to her? Where is she?” the boy asked, his voice stiff and tense in the confines of Burn’s main tent.
“I’d wager you know more about her than I do,” Burn retorted. “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 chains?” Burn sighed. “Actually, the reality is quite the opposite.”
“What?”
The boy’s discomfort was evident. He didn’t appreciate Burn steering the conversation, yet he found himself at a loss for control. Burn’s words only deepened his confusion.
“She bound me with her spell—no, curse. I currently have an unpaid debt to settle with her,” Burn stated flatly. "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 confusion was clear on the boy’s face, his questions nearly spilling out.
But Yvain, showcasing the self-control and intelligence Burn had correctly surmised he possessed, remained silent. Instead, after observing Burn for a few tense seconds, his confusion morphed into suspicion.
“Could it be… you’re actually one of my master’s stalkers?”
PFFFFT—
Burn’s brow furrowed in response.
BRUH. Ooooh, don’t you regret killing such a clever child? Eyyyyyyy, he’s funny, man.
Yvain continued, a bit mischievous, “You know, my master is very pretty. She is also strong. People who want to learn from her, or challenge her for recognition… or even date her… they all end up as her stalkers.”
BWHAHWAHAH!
Awwwww, look at the frown on your face, you little shit! Burn the stalker~
Blinking innocently 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—”
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE—
“I understand,” Yvain suddenly interjected, cutting off Burn's train of thought. “You want me to surrender my kingdom, right? But as you can see, I am just a young boy. The decision can’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 stronger than him today.
“So, you’re considering 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…” Burn sneered.
Yvain widened his eyes. Yeah, boy. You're fucked.
“Hahaha, I see. As expected of that witch’s disciple, huh? Your audacity knows no bounds,” Burn grinned, and Yvain felt 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 slave is still well within my power. Boy, who do you think you are?”
Yvain recoiled slightly but stood his ground. As a mage, he recognized Burn's formidable strength. His achievements were no fabrication. Now that he faced him, he knew the truth.
But his personality… was actually shit.
Grasp!
Yvain almost yelped when the man suddenly grapsed his head. With his palm, Yvain felt that Burn could crush his head with a little squeeze, like making a lemonade.
You could read it in his little face. Oh. This is the man who stopped the apocalypse with his bare hands. And I just called him a stalker...
“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 surrender that, though?” Burn tilted his head. “Keep your crown. I don’t need such trinkets.”
…
“Huh?”
Yvain blinked, perplexed.
This tyrant… didn’t want that…?
