"I assume you've accepted His Majesty's offer. How could you not? It's your only lifeline, the last shot you have," Yvain stated. "But do you know who will now hold your reins?”

Yvain had already experienced his share of betrayal, and no one would be as picky about it as the young king himself. Dealing with these outsiders was a task Burn graciously passed onto Yvain.

"Your Majesty, should we commence their interrogation now?" Galahad inquired, earning a nod from Yvain. Then the man announced, "His Majesty, Yvain Edensworn, King of Edensor, will personally interview each and every one of you. A bit of compliance would be appreciated."

So, they had a boy-king too—with magical prowess that could rival an old, seasoned wizard?

Talk about a classic high fantasy world.

"Ah, right. Before that, Galahad," Yvain raised his face towards the man, curiosity tinging his tone, "Those kids my master asked about earlier, can we purchase their freedom?”

"Anything for you and the Empre—I mean, the Miss. But His Majesty the Emperor seemed pretty adamant about not releasing them, so unless he gives them up for sale, they'll remain slaves, sir," Galahad explained.

Yvain looked disheartened. "Really? We can’t buy them out?”

"Oh, dear. Don’t wear that long face, Your Majesty. Under His Majesty the Emperor’s rule, even slaves have a fighting chance to buy their way out of slavery," Galahad assured him.

"Huh?" Yvain blinked in confusion.

"You see, I am the living proof, sir. I too was a slave until I was about your age. But well, at the time, the law wasn’t quite in place yet, so it was His Majesty who generously helped me buy my freedom," the man explained.

"You mean… His Majesty enacted a law in Soulnaught that allows slaves to free themselves?" the young king asked.

"Under special conditions, of course," Galahad clarified. "But everyone has an equal shot at it!"

The pair walked away, leaving Dirk and his men still struggling to lift their arms off the ground. The guards escorting them had begun to prod them, forcing them to follow.

Well, who could they blame, really? They had provoked a VIP. And they could do nothing but struggle.

But even Galahad and the boy king's conversation was intriguing to the prisoners. Slaves could buy their own freedom here? Talk about a fascinating world.

Or perhaps… it was just the monarch who was fascinating?

Caliburn Pendragon… Well, isn't that something? Perhaps it wasn't such an atrocious decision to take up his offer. And apparently, Dirk wasn't the only one having this epiphany—his men seemed to be riding the same thought train.

This world? Maybe it wouldn't be so dreadful to call it home.

***

The blue of the sky was a bit muted today.

"I said no, but I'm sure you'll find a way to help them, right? Did the boy promise something after you told him what happened?" Burn asked the woman on his lap, his voice bouncing off the opulent walls of the room.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"They are around his age. How do you expect Yvain would react?" she replied.

"Is this just how you are? Kind, saintly, righteous, and just?" Burn asked then, his words suffused with the muted light of an approaching noon.

"What do you mean by that?" the woman asked, her confusion intermingling with the faint rustle of the late morning breeze that slipped through the slightly ajar window.

A short silence after the question, as Burn tried to phrase his next question in his mind, the meat of the talk. But when he saw her turning her blue eyes at him, he decided to just provide his raw thoughts without cooking it.

"All of this, just to torture me?" Burn asked, his voice a rich blend of sarcasm and a peculiar solemnity. "This kind of selfless revenge doesn't make sense. At least, not to me."

Burn found himself in an unusual state of helplessness. The man had never strained his brain this hard trying to understand someone else's thought processes. Usually, a mere glance was enough to decipher the riddle of human desires.

Humans were simple, or so he thought. They were driven by desires, desires that could be manipulated and exploited as easily as a puppeteer controlling his marionettes.

But this woman, who could easily pass off as an angel—no, scratch that, who might actually be one—

And Burn loathed it. He loathed it with every fiber of his being, with an intensity that could outshine the sun.

He took everything away from her.

Her world as she knew it, her disciple, and countless little things he might've not noticed were things she deeply appreciated.

But she jumped to save him. She offered her soul to redo time. She waited for him—worried for him.

She kissed him.

"I think, after seven loops and one death, we're even now," she suddenly said. "I think, now that you've saved my Yvain and brought me back to life, compromising with my… terms, it is enough."

But it was he who created those misfortunes—

"You're saying that's enough after I've driven you to suicide each and every time?" Burn asked.

"If you ask the Morgan from the future, it may not be enough. But the Morgan today, who only knew the future from your perspective after reading your mind… no. Even the Morgan from the future would agree that this is enough," Morgan said.

It surely wasn’t—

"Why?" Burn stared at the bluest of blue, the eyes that had haunted him for years.

She didn’t kill him because she also needed him, true. She needed his power to change the course of time, correct. Now that he knew she was weak, even he had the advantage to force her to use her abilities—

Sigh.

Burn raised his eyebrows.

Siiiiiigh…

Morgan was sighing long and heavily. "Sure, let's go with your thoughts. I am using your power to change the course of time, whatever. And you will use my ability to have checkpoints for immortality…"

This again.

If she kept being this saintly, with nothing to demand—if she kept being the way she was, just wanting him to fix the timeline the way she wanted it while keeping his own selfish goal—

"Then, do you want me to demand more?" Morgan asked.

Burn blinked.

"Which is it, that you don't believe a person can be this kind and just, or that you feel bad you have the absolute advantage over the kind and just me?"

Aside from the memories tied to her, Morgan was left in the dark. Once again, it was his mental stronghold, his begrudging consent, and her limited mastery of the spell that kept her at bay.

Sure, she could erase her existence from Duchess Delone’s memory, leaving the woman completely senile. But comparing Duchess Delone to Burn was like comparing a housecat to a tiger—two entirely different existences.

Like Burn, Morgan also wondered what kind of life created this kind of man.

What was inside that void?

"My dear villain, are you ready for the kind of demand I will place on you?" Morgan placed both of her hands on his cheeks. "Or are you afraid the voice of righteousness will one day reach your soul through me?"

Usually, it was the devil who tempted the angel.

But when the angel was this seductive—when she, the right one, was so manipulative, the stone-cold devil felt the chill—