CRAAAAAAASH!

Duke Velaryon's grin could have frozen hell over.

The guard mechs and battle mech armors made their grand, uninvited entrance into the throne hall.

These weren't your average party crashers but rather several tons of metal indifference, bulldozing through the walls as if they were mere suggestions rather than solid barriers.

The crumbling masonry accompanied their every step, a dramatic soundtrack to their destructive debut. As dust settled like the aftermath of a particularly aggressive confetti cannon, these behemoths of steel planted themselves amidst the aristocracy with the grace of elephants doing ballet.

CRASH! CRACKLE! CRACKLE!

“AAAH!”

“WHAT?! WHO?!”

“WHAT IS THIS?!”

Velaryon spread his arms.

“There you are!”

Beep! Crackle!

“Lord Velaryon! On your command!”

As the mechanical minions clanked and clattered into the hall, the nobles gasped, clutching their pearls and medals as the scene unfolded. They started to scramble for cover, faces white as sheets, as the walls crumbled around them.

Yvain, caught in the midst of weaving a magical pact spell to ensure their submission, now found himself ensnared in a more tangible form of coercion.

Shock reflected in his eyes, panic causing his hands to tremble.

Over the past three years, since Morgan Le Fay's mysterious vanishing, the Duke had been quietly weaving his web of influence throughout Edensor's palace and military.

The palace guards might as well have worn Velaryon crests on their uniforms, so thoroughly had he bought their loyalties. It seemed Edensor had been waltzing to his tune, especially after young King Yvain lost his support.

Now, with the mechanical might of guard mechs and battle armor from the kingdom’s military—operated by those whose pockets jingled with Velaryon gold—crashing through the throne room doors, Benjamin Velaryon decided the time was ripe for a bold move.

Treason? More like a strategic realignment of royal assets, as he would put it at the next high society dinner.

“Oh, oh dear.”

Velaryon’s voice cut through the chaos, his tone dripping with condescension as he addressed the young king.

"Oh, dear Yvain, playing a king was a charming endeavor, wasn’t it? But let’s not kid ourselves—absolute submission? To you? Don’t you realize that this kingdom was mine already?"

Around them, the room erupted in a tumult of outrage and confusion. Nobles stood, their faces blanched with shock, voices raised in a cacophony of protest and disbelief.

"Benjamin, this is madness! You’re committing treason!" Marquis Reune shouted, his voice hoarse with betrayal.

"Duke Velaryon, have you no honor?" Duke Merweather demanded, his stern visage now creased with worry.

Even Duke Eldric Olfield, often a pillar of composed strength, 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, rich with derision.

"Rebellion? Honor? Oh, please. Save your breath and your feigned loyalty,” 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 a boy!”

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?

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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, replaced by a calm, steady gaze.

It was as if… he had never been shocked—as if the entire display 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 our vassals in the empire. Under Soulnaught, he'll become one of our swords. Why? Because I decreed it—and frankly,” 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 as if caught in a tempest of his own making.

His scepter, an ancient artifact of regal authority, 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 the 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, urgent and commanding, 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 with mechanical precision.

Yvain, suspended in mid-air, gestured with his scepter. The first mech that reached him was met with a surge of electric fury.

Lightning leaped 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.

Undeterred, another mech charged, its arms equipped with energy blades aiming to disarm the young king. Yvain spun in the air, a dancer in a deadly ballet.

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a gust of wind that 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 fiery wrath contained by his spell, illuminating the hall with their short-lived fury.

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

“AAAAAAAAH!”

“NO!”

“Yvain…”

Faintly, Yvain heard the soft voice of his master.

“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 in a forgotten tongue, and from the ground, ethereal chains of light shot up, binding the mechs' legs.

The mechanical behemoths struggled against these arcane restraints, their efforts futile as the magic sapped their systems of power.

“You’re not leaving me, Master!”

In a desperate attempt to turn the tide, 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 that echoed like the ringing of a cathedral bell.

“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 ethereal glow of his powers, bore a look of resolute determination.

Below him, the incapacitated mechs lay scattered like fallen giants, their threat nullified by the display of royal magic.

“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.”