"But why?! I want to find my Master too! Why can't I come along?!" King Yvain scurried after Emperor Burn with his short legs.

The corridor echoed with the clatter of his small boots, a stark contrast to the thudding strides of the Emperor’s metal heels, who were all set for a quest to locate the Infinite Witch, Morgan Le Fay.

The scene was straight out of a strategy meeting from the night before. Yvain had blurted out that Morgan often traveled to the Wintersin Empire to mingle with her mysterious pals, and Burn’s memory gears ground into action.

He recalled that his first encounter with Morgan was supposed to happen after the conquest of Wintersin—three years in the future.

No time like the present, thought Burn, let’s head there right away.

"You're just a nuisance to me. What if finding your master requires me to fend off some danger? You'll just be dead weight," Burn dismissed the boy king with a tact as subtle as a sledgehammer.

Yvain's face reddened, his mouth agape in indignation, ready to unleash a royal decree worth of tantrums, but he snapped it shut, a silent concession to the brutal honesty.

"But what will you do to my Master?! You're not going to... hurt her... right?" Yvain’s voice quivered, a mix of fear and accusation dancing in his words.

Burn clicked his tongue, an annoying habit that punctuated his annoyance, and gave Yvain’s head a paternal push—minus the affection.

"No. If she dies, I die. That cursed witch..." His words trailed off into a grumble, revealing a complex web of emotions that could give any daytime drama a run for its money.

Yvain’s eyebrows arched, mirroring the arches of the grand corridor, as he parsed the tyrant’s complicated expression.

"Just go and help Galahad conquer the Elysian Kingdom," Burn commanded, dismissing the young king to what he likely considered child’s play.

As Burn walked away, Yvain stood in the echoing hall, the weight of kingdom management on his young shoulders, and a new mission to babysit another conquest. Oh, the thrilling life of a child king: part monarch, part errand boy.

"I... also don't want to be a burden..." Yvain reflected somberly. "But... is it really true that my Master doesn't need my help at all? Am I truly... powerless to aid her?"

Burn didn't have the luxury to indulge a teenager's craving for recognition; he was preoccupied with the urgent task of reversing a curse.

“Wait… did he just ask me to… help his men conquer the Elysian Kingdom?”

Yvain short-circuited.

Burn hadn't permitted him to join the quest to find his master… but to help him conquer another kingdom? He, a 12 year old king?

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

What kind of priority was that?

***

For Burn from the first loop, conquering the Elysian Kingdom turned out to be a walk in the park—a stroll so casual it almost begged the question why it hadn't been done over a leisurely brunch.

After millennia of being helmed by a lineage of formidable and just queens, the royal bloodline had thinned to a trickle. No new princess was born, while the last reigning queen passed away decades ago in childbirth.

Now, the kingdom's throne was warmed by its only remaining heir, a middle-aged king whose most notable trait was his profound mediocrity.

Yet, despite his lackluster resume, he managed to be a decent king. He wasn’t violent, cruel, or particularly bad at ruling; he was just overwhelmingly... okay.

Perhaps the generations of women rulers had finally broken the cycle of monstrous male successors—or maybe they had simply lowered the bar so significantly that merely not being a tyrant seemed like a monumental achievement.

Either way, the kingdom, which had withstood fierce queens and dire straits, now meandered under the rule of a man who was as threatening as a librarian in a pillow fight.

It was somewhat comforting to know that the king had a young son, around the same age as Yvain, who appeared bright and kind—though, admittedly, equally mediocre.

Well, at the end of the day, they were still the king and crown prince. Mediocre or not, they were good enough—until Burn declared war, that is.

It was honestly embarrassing.

Burn hadn't even bothered to make a personal appearance during the conquest of the Elysian Kingdom.

He simply doled out some strategic advice, leaned back, and provided some pointers based on his knowledge of the future. Yet, as it turned out, even that minimal effort was overkill.

The kingdom folded so quickly it almost seemed they were waiting with a white flag at the ready, just in case someone decently organized showed up.

Well, at this point, Burn had only one real concern, and it wasn't about the Elysian Kingdom or Morgan Le Fay.

Now that he was personally focused on tracking down Morgan Le Fay, Burn was convinced that his mission would be a slam dunk—because when Burn sets out to find someone, the universe tends to align just so.

However, the real wrinkle in his plan wasn't about finding Morgan; it was the premature demise of Duke Velaryon in this current timeline.

In previous iterations, Burn was the one who did the honors, but not quite so early.

Every time he offed the Duke, it triggered an irritating series of events that felt like dealing with a recurring software bug—predictable, tedious, yet annoyingly disruptive.

Butterfly effect might be a bit ugly this time.

So, anyway, Burn rode his fusion-powered chariot towards the Wintersin Empire.

Ohh, stepping into the frosty embrace of the Wintersin Empire, a land so far north that even the sun seemed to think twice before visiting.

Here, winter didn't just come; it practically took up permanent residency, blanketing the empire in snow and ice nearly all year round.

The local weather forecast was a one-liner: "It's going to be cold, followed by more cold."

But chill aside, Wintersin was no barren wasteland. Beneath the icy exterior, the land was a veritable treasure chest, brimming with mining resources.

If digging through frozen dirt for shiny metals was your idea of a good time, then Wintersin was your kind of paradise.

The people of Wintersin were as tough as the land was cold. Known for their mastery of Force art—an gallant way of saying they’re good at manipulating energy to not freeze to death—they were as strong as they were skilled.

This wasn't a place where you'd find folks knitting by the fireplace. No, these were the kind of people who could wrestle a polar bear before breakfast.

Wintersin's military was the kind that made other nations politely decline to visit.

Described as mighty, big in number, and great, their military prowess was the stuff of legends—essentially, if their soldiers were a band, they'd be headlining every military parade around.

In sum, the Wintersin Empire was a powerhouse wrapped in a snow globe—remote, frosty, and formidable.

But Burn wasn’t here to conquer it….

…yet.