The moment Rudolf's head rolled to the ground, Mahkato lost all of her nonchalance about this matter.

For the first time since she ascended as one of the Overlords, she found herself genuinely affected by something. Her gaze snapped back to Burn, her eyes shimmering with a delightful cocktail of simmering anger and offended dignity.

Just how formidable was this man? What audacity fueled his decision to snuff out the life of the Alliance’s Fleet Admiral right before her disbelieving eyes? All while he strutted about as if he possessed the divine right to enact such barbarity—for two world-ending weapons, no less.

Burn locked eyes with Mahkato, unwavering.

Yes, she could have dismissed Rudolf’s demise as the unfortunate fate of a foolish man who allowed two cataclysmic devices to slip into the hands of a barbarian after botching a quiet execution, all while planning to obliterate the very world that housed the thing they coveted.

But witnessing him dead at the hands of the very instigator behind this disorder painted her anger in shades of irony; it was both deserved and fair, yet it felt like a slap in the face—an indignity wrapped in cruel justice.

Burn grinned, his expression nonchalant. “I could’ve sent him back to you, for you to punish him yourself, and kept the first white dwarf I picked up while returning the other one he foolishly brought here, but why not settle it here?”

“Yes, I am sure you would’ve humiliated him, stripping him of his title and duties. You would, perhaps, do it with your own hands,” the tyrant said. “But why would I want to borrow your hands to deliver my own punishments?”

Because of her pride, Mahkato would have preferred to punish her own subordinates, and now, with someone else’s blade buried in her subordinate, he was rubbing it in her face too.

Rudolf, poor wretched Rudolf, would find his life meticulously dismantled after this disgrace. No status within the revered Seven Heavens could shield him from the fallout of being captured by a barbarian, especially over two celestial weapons.

His humiliation would be etched into the annals of history.

Losing his title and duties would scarcely begin to compare to the wound inflicted upon the Alliance's honor, nor could it wash away the stain of his blunder against the Alliance.

The weight of shame might as well drive him to consider killing himself to avoid further tarnishing his family’s name and the Seven Heavens' prestige—unless his shamelessness was as boundless as the cosmic void he trespassed.

Burn, in his infinite wisdom—or perhaps wickedness—understood that letting Rudolf live would subject him to a fate far worse than death. Torment would seep into his bones even if he walked free. But he chose to kill him still.

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All to humiliate Mahkato instead.

Now, of course, Rudolf’s life couldn’t compare with the sheer value of those two world-ending weapons that had been seized. One fool's soul could go missing anytime; returning the two white dwarfs after killing one measly man sounded like charity, even.

But that just highlighted Burn's uncanny fearlessness—or perhaps his absolute disinterest—in the white dwarfs. He just held onto them because he could.

Two weapons in which one of their single sneezes could obliterate mountains.

Burn found satisfaction not in the weapons' might but in the delightful chaos their mere existence could unleash on the outsiders. The thought of them spiraling into panic at the mere mention of these beauties? Priceless.

He held onto them not out of necessity, but to revel in the sheer power of having their minds aflame with terror. Quite the showcase of cosmic trolling, wouldn’t you say?

“Send your men to pick them up,” Burn flicked his sword, cleaning it of traces of blood after decapitating a certain fool. He turned his back on the headless body and the screen, back to sit on his throne.

Mahkato’s face resembled someone who’d just tried a lemon for the first time—bitter, twisted, and utterly displeased. She waved her hand, relinquishing command for his men to scurry off and retrieve the two weapons, not uttering a single word.

“My wife is unwell,” Burn declared, as if announcing a holiday instead of a much-needed pause in an apocalyptic march, leaning back into his throne like a monarch of old. “Now that we’ve settled this little mess, I intend to put a hold on all worldly endeavors and focus on her recovery until she’s back to health.”

It was a warning.

It was a bit unique for someone like him, a subtle warning wrapped in the guise of tenderness, like a wolf cuddling a lamb before dinner.

Burn had announced to the world that he would pause his march to conquer the world due to his wife’s illness. But that also included his dealings with the outsiders.

The reason they had been trying to kill him all this time was because his meddling movements across the world caused them to be unable to investigate what had actually caused the burst of energy that was so strong it ruptured the dimensional walls.

Now, with him seemingly at rest, their ambitions could unfurl freely at last.

But it didn’t mean that Mahkato would forget about this, and it didn’t mean that Burn would stop meddling. It was unknown and unpredictable what was on his mind. Whatever had compelled him to pause his relentless advance hinted at far graver affairs lurking in his mind.

Still, Burn’s warning kept the outsiders at bay for now, and it conveniently suited them too, allowing a small, much-needed breather from his overwhelming penchant for chaos.

“Caliburn Pendragon,” Mahkato hissed, teeth gritted. “I will remember your name.”

The screen turned off. And Burn waved his sword away. He rose, and to everyone’s surprise, the headless man on the floor reverted to a tied-up fellow—mouth frothing, pants stained, sprawled out like a discarded puppet, eyes rolled back but unmistakably alive.

Morgan and Bella emerged from behind one of the towering pillars in the hall. Bella, brimming with enthusiasm in her nun’s garb, turned to Burn and Morgan, her joy palpable.

"Your Holiness, Your Majesty, I absolutely slayed with my spell, didn't I? Right?!” she chirped, a grin plastered across her face.

Burn and Morgan exchanged glances—their thumbs raised in a gesture of approval.

“Bring him to the dungeon,” Burn said to his men. “We will begin his interrogation soon.”