Burn was never a gentle man.

His approach to ruling was simple: practical, pragmatic, and cold. You could call him a tyrant, or if you're feeling particularly poetic, the Absolute Emperor.

Yes, a title dripping with enough dread to make even the most hardened villain pause and nod appreciatively.

Burn was a villain through and through, a man whose heart might have been auctioned off at a yard sale for villains, assuming he ever had one to begin with.

And his soul? Well, if you believe his middle name, ‘No Soul’, he probably burned it at the stake a long time ago for a bit of extra warmth. After all, why bother with pesky things like emotions when you can rule with an iron fist and a frozen smirk?

More than once, Burn volunteered to roll up his sleeves and dive into the dirty work himself.

Burn seemed like a man who simply couldn't stand the thought of missing out on a good bloodbath. Why delegate the fun of chaos when you can be the life and soul of the party? After all, no one throws a coup quite like the emperor himself.

But, the people who knew him personally would know that it was all about accountability, not wanting his loyal minions to shoulder the grim consequences of his commands.

Before leaving with Yvain, Morgan Le Fay asked him with a singular request: "Consider the future. We've been through more than enough to realize—not to notice the obvious."

Then, she wrapped Yvain beside her in an embrace, as if to tell Burn her intentions.

"Do the right thing," her hug seemed to whisper, as if she expected Burn to play the role of a benevolent guardian, rather than a self-serving protagonist.

Do something good, not something effective—beneficial only for himself. She wanted him to do good for the future.

Morgan had a knack for manipulating time to craft the best outcome for herself and her dear companion. Now that she entrusted Burn with the responsibility of saving the world, Burn could only see it as it was her own gamble.

He didn’t want to have anything to do with that.

But she was right about one thing, pointing out the pesky butterfly effect. One wrong step, one misstep in the dance of destiny, and—apocalypse.

The White Dwarf, for example, crashed the party earlier than expected. It was meant to make its grand entrance before the Battle of Wintersin, not now.

And the reason for that was, mainly, the early death of Benjamin Velaryon.

Wait, okay. Maybe not directly that.

In his previous loops, the White Dwarf made its debut after Burn proved to be a threat to the Alliance. The outsiders, fearing that Burn would gain more power over the years of his march, agreed upon the use of the cataclysmic weapon.

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Well, who wouldn't be concerned about a power-hungry tyrant gaining more influence over time?

Coincidentally, at the same time, Burn had just killed two of the outsider's VIP customers; one of them was Velaryon, who had volunteered himself as the ruler of Edensor under Soulnaught.

However, Velaryon was doing sloppy work and siding himself more with the outsiders, providing them with intel.

In this loop, Burn might have proven himself a problem sooner than expected, branding him a great threat.

It was still unexpected.

He didn't know the price of Velaryon's head was this expensive. Or maybe there were other considerations behind the scenes that he was oblivious to.

For that matter, Momo could be right about 'doing the right thing.' Or she could be entirely wrong, and everything would be downhill from now on, no matter what he did. Worse, 'doing the right thing' might be bad for them.

Yet...

Morgan Le Fay's face, as she pushed him away from danger that day, saving him from death's trajectory, still haunted his mind.

Whether she was right or wrong, Burn had confirmed that it was in his best interest. She wasn't merely using him for her own benefit—to change her own destiny.

"I don't want you to die, it's different if it's me. I... Caliburn... I..."

Or those watercolor eyes had started to get to him.

The air in the tent was thick with tension and anticipation as the strategic meeting led by Burn neared its end. Maps were scattered across the table, dotted with little figurines representing their troops and enemy strongholds.

The flickering candlelight danced upon the faces of the commanders, highlighting their furrowed brows and clenched jaws.

Burn stood at the head of the table, his voice, commanding and laced with cold, echoed through the room.

The commanders nodded solemnly, their minds swimming with thoughts of the impending clash. Some scribbled furiously on parchment, trying to capture every detail of the plan.

Others exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a grim apprehension.

"Something like that... exists?" Galahad pondered, contemplating the meaning of life and questioning his life choices.

The mention of the White Dwarf by the man he had pledged to follow to the ends of the earth had thrown him into a whirlwind of introspection. Oh, the joys of existential crises.

Burn took a seat and nonchalantly explained his grand plan. "That's why we opt for this strategy. Defeat, Gather, Evacuate, Run, and then, Defeat again."

"Just follow the predetermined route, march in a delightful circle, and keep a safe distance. Easy, right?"

Galahad couldn't hide his concern. "And Your Majesty, you intend to face this formidable weapon yourself?"

Burn shrugged. "I'll be fine."

But the generals weren't buying it. They crossed the line.

"Your Majesty, our empress isn't here to be placated. You can drop the act and tell us the truth."

"Please, think about our empress. You're not even married yet... Think of all the fun you'll be missing out on!"

"I can just imagine her now, begging you to reconsider this madness if she were here."

"Your Majesty... Her Majesty awaits your return at home. Remember that cozy castle and warm bed?"

Oh, the subtle sarcasm and not-so-subtle hints. The generals were laying it on thick, desperately trying to convince their leader to change his mind.

But Burn—"Why does everyone keep shipping me with that cursed bi—witch?!"

"Well, isn't it just glaringly obvious that she's the only one who can match your illustrious imperial blood?" Galahad muttered with a hint of exasperation. "Once we're done here, Sir, please do consider making her our empress."

Burn scoffed, unable to fathom the idea. "Do you realize how ancient that witch is? She's practically immortal—"

"Which means she's perpetually ageless, Sir, if I may respectfully interject," Galahad countered.

‘That is actually a good argument,’ the unexpected logic gave Burn pause. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the moments when Vlad had treated him like a baby. "She doesn’t see me as a child, does she?"

‘Sir, you kissed her multiple times in front of us…’ was what crossed the minds of the generals, including Galahad, but they failed to voice it, fearing Burn's wrath.

“Forget that. Do what I say and you’ll be good. No more gossip.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The early debut of the White Dwarf, huh? Well, bring it on.