Nestled in the heart of the western part of the continent, 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 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.

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

Upon their arrival at the borders of Edensor, Burn's army displayed a confidence 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 conquerors, setting up camp with the casual efficiency of seasoned travelers who knew the lay of the land better than their own backyards.

There was no hurried fortification, no scouts dispatched in hasty reconnaissance—just a calm, almost indolent spreading out of the Soulnaught forces, as though they were laying out a picnic rather than preparing for a siege.

This nonchalance spoke volumes of their assurance in their military might and their leader's strategic acumen. 

"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, the shadowy figures who could make a person disappear quicker than a coin in a street magician's act. 

Then there were the betrayals Burn orchestrated like a conductor leading a symphony, each note a dagger in the dark, 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. 

Here, he would always be the star at the frontline, basking in the glory of combat, proving that while he might delegate the task of regicide, 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 encountered the boy again. That is, 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—a structure erected overnight for strategic deliberations.

“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, his tone laced with sarcasm. “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 revelation 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, 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 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?”

Burn’s brow furrowed in response.

Yvain continued, a hint of mischief in his tone, “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.”

The frown on Burn’s face deepened significantly.

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—”

“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…”

Yvain widened his eyes.

“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.

“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.”

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