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Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
150 - Galahad’s Burden

150 - Galahad’s Burden

Galahad had never been this burdened in his life.

Yes, he had agreed to substitute for Burn; it was a decision he now questioned with every fiber of his being. He had acted the best he could, yet it felt like he was carrying a mountain on his shoulders.

“Your Majesty, the Junior Fleet Admiral has requested your audience for today. You must attend the meeting as scheduled,” an aide said, delivering the news with all the urgency of a pebble rolling down a hill.

Galahad sighed, stroking the hair of the deeply asleep woman on his lap. From his perspective, she was his comrade and partner, the fiery red-haired Landevale Leodegrance. For others, however, she was the angel in the flesh, Morgan Le Fay.

“Can’t you see my wife is asleep and unwell? Get out,” Galahad commanded coldly.

The aide flinched in fear before bowing and exiting the room. After a bit, Landevale opened her eyes, her cheeks ablaze with a bright crimson hue as she glared at him in indignation.

Ah, yes. This was indeed the greatest burden.

“They haven’t returned. You have to pretend to be sick and keep me here,” he insisted, desperate. They needed to buy time.

“I know!” Landevale retorted through gritted teeth.

Galahad pinched the bridge of his nose. If only this partner of his possessed a modicum of patience and understanding—rather than being a tightly wound coil of awkwardness and rigidity.

Who could truly substitute for the infinite witch, anyway? Even he, after everything, found it increasingly difficult to maintain the charade of being Burn. The weight of the man’s responsibilities sat heavily upon him, sapping his strength and will.

“Now that His Majesty has Her Majesty with him, he’s taken to retreating to his chamber more for sleep. Before, he rarely indulged in sleep—his body being in peak performance. How ironic that this newfound habit is our sole saving grace in this masquerade…”

Landevale’s face flared an even deeper shade of red. “S-shut up!” Her embarrassment was almost endearing.

For weeks now, Landevale had been forced to endure the peculiar intimacy of sharing Burn’s chamber with Galahad each night—she just couldn’t wait for this to end.

“Come on, let’s go to the bedroom and make some excuses,” Galahad declared, hoisting her into his arms like some medieval prince sweeping off his damsel.

Landevale yelped. Honestly, no matter how many times this happened, she would never get comfortable being treated like a prize turkey ready for a feast.

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Galahad trudged through the bustling corridor, passing staff and courtiers. “If you’re feeling shy, just close your eyes and hide your face like an ostrich burying its head in the sand,” Galahad said tiredly.

The woman in his arms glanced down, her expression morphing into a complicated one for a fleeting moment, then promptly squeezed her eyes shut and nestled against his neck.

Galahad nudged Landevale to open the room door and stepped inside, only to be greeted by—

“Right on cue,” Burn stepped out of something that seemed to bend the fabric of existence itself, resembling a transparent, thin surface of water rippling vertically in the air.

It appeared both fluid and solid, and the transparent ripples danced gracefully, creating a strange visual display. With each step forward, the ripples continued to cascade and shift. For a moment, reality seemed malleable.

Beside him, Morgan stood there, her eyes looking so dim and tired they could probably be considered a black hole. A floating hourglass hovered over her right hand like a little loyal pet.

“My calculations are almost off… dimension magic is such a pain…” she grumbled.

Landevale jumped down from Galahad’s arms in a flurry. Galahad, meanwhile, calmly closed the door—clearly, the last thing he wanted was an audience.

“Are they here?” Burn asked.

Galahad nodded, "Yes, Sir. The meeting’s ready."

“Take off your clothes. We will switch now,” Burn declared.

At that moment, Landevale and Galahad collectively sighed, an outpouring of relief that silently echoed through the room like a once-in-a-lifetime symphony.

After they exchanged clothes, Burn told Galahad and Landevale to leave through the balcony and return to their quarters to rest. Galahad didn’t even hesitate. He left the room without a backward glance, as if there was a fire in the hallway.

Landevale was a bit surprised to see Galahad’s eagerness to leave the completed mission behind. For weeks, they had been living together almost like husband and wife—sharing everything except, apparently, the ability to say goodbye. And now, just like that, he was off?

Nothing at all? Not even a casual “It’s been real” or a heartfelt “See you around?” No lingering glances? No heartfelt speeches about the significance of their “bond”? Just a swift exit as if he had just remembered he left the oven on?

“Galahad!” Landevale called as they arrived at the knights’ quarter.

Galahad turned to her, frowning as if she were a particularly pesky mosquito. “Why are you following me? Your quarter is the opposite direction.”

“You actually… hate doing all those things with me, huh?” Landevale pondered aloud, her gaze drifting to his tired visage. The days had not been kind, and now he couldn’t even be bothered to meet her eyes, opting instead to retreat.

“You were the one who kept being reluctant. Why chase me now?” Galahad shot back, fatigue dripping from his words like rain from an overcast sky.

Landevale looked upset, but she didn’t say anything.

“I didn’t even get a single kiss,” Galahad grumbled, his retreating figure leaving Landevale alone in the hallway, cheeks blooming like an awkward rose caught in the wrong season.

Silence.

Landevale buried her face in her hands and let out a squeal that was equal parts embarrassment, sheer panic, and the bizarre cocktail of emotions she did not yet admit. But slowly, her eyes morphed into a mixture of sadness and complexity.

The past… had long passed. She really shouldn’t dwell on it again.

Landevale shut her eyes tight, willing the unwelcome memory to retreat. For a moment, her expression bore the weight of sorrow. But then, a steely determination rose within her.

The image of Burn’s back, that steadfast silhouette, paired with the ever-loyal Galahad beside him in her mind, nagged at her. Landevale sneered, fixing her gaze on the vast blue sky and the giant rift outside the window, as if it held the answers to her turmoil.

"It's not time for something like this.”