In retrospect, there was a banquet of details Burn had overlooked in the previous loops.

Yes, he had conquered Elysian quicker than this loop, and in the process, managed to save the lackluster crown prince from the rather unappetizing fate of the royal insemination operation, courtesy of Duchess Delone.

But, the prince's problems didn't vanish into thin air.

Sure, the king and the crown prince ended up in slavery, like today, but Duchess Delone's insemination plan had the resilience of a cockroach in a nuclear fallout. It simply continued in their slave days.

Duchess Delone, ever the persistent schemer, squeezed out the last drops of her power and influence, ensuring the plan went ahead.

Sometime later, Burn came across a report that the boy had chosen the permanent solution to his problem and committed suicide.

Well, not that Burn cared.

"I understand," Morgan said calmly, her voice as soothing as the breeze. "After what you've been through, your wariness of women is understandable."

She gently disentangled her hand from Burn's arm and walked slowly towards the boy who had arrived with the other male descendants of the royal family. Her pace was measured and careful; she didn't want to frighten the boy.

"Prince Ronald Elle, I apologize for my tardiness," Morgan said, bowing slowly and kneeling. "I regret that circumstances prevented me from saving you too."

The boy was indeed wary, but he had heard from his cousins and distant relatives about a secret Fairy Godmother who protected the male descendants of the royal family.

After the trauma he had endured, he was now unable to speak... but if he could, he would have said—

"It's okay. You don't have to force yourself to speak right now. I promise I'll take care of everything," Morgan said.

Oddly enough, it was exactly what he had wanted to tell her. He was grateful she had protected the persecuted males of the royal family. He was relieved that, even after all they had endured, someone was still secretly helping them.

"Your Majesty, give them a chance to free themselves from slavery," Morgan said, turning to Burn. "I heard that you have a law allowing slaves to buy themselves out of slavery."

Burn hummed in response, a small grin on his face. "As long as they prove more useful to my empire than the average slave, then yes."

“Surely, they are,” Morgan smiled back.

And just like that, the male descendants of the Elysian kingdom, in a stunning display of familial unity or perhaps well-rehearsed choreography, raised their hands in unison.

The air crackled with anticipation, a tangible electricity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up like attentive soldiers.

From the tips of their outstretched fingers, a spectacle of fire magic began to bloom. It was as if someone had tapped into the core of the sun and let its essence spill forth through their hands.

Flames flickered and danced, painting the air with strokes of brilliant orange and red, a living, breathing canvas of light and heat. It was a sight to behold, a mesmerizing display that would make any pyromaniac green with envy.

All of them, that is, except the crown prince. Poor chap, he stood there amidst this radiant spectacle, as bereft of magic as a fish out of water. Well, he would soon learn too.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Because the secret behind this incendiary spectacle was Morgan's clandestine lessons in the Vision art. Yes, she had teached these royal descendants how to harness the power within them and transform it into a spectacle that could rival the northern lights.

She was their ‘Fairy Godmother’ after all.

“Yvain will collect their proof of alliance later under a magical contract. Will this be sufficient, Your Majesty?”

Morgan Le Fay… to think that this was the outcome…

The people who were practically only reduced to slaves and hid away their powers before had stepped up and offered their service—

No matter how he looked at it, this timeline was more interesting than his previous loops.

***

Two kingdoms. Edensor and Elysian.

In a matter of mere months, Soulnaught had managed to bring them to their knees. It was a performance that would have left even the most accomplished conquerors feeling a tad bit inadequate.

By this time, the whispered rumors of Soulnaught's triumphs would have tickled the ears of the folks at Inkia, Luminus, and even the frosty denizens of Wintersin.

Their conversations, previously filled with mundane topics like the weather or the latest fashion, now revolved around this formidable player on the chessboard of kingdoms. A sense of unease had started to permeate the air, much like the faint smell of burnt toast insinuating an impending disaster.

Now, let's delve into the recesses of Burn's memory of the past loops. You see, Inkia was not the type to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble. Oh no, they were more the 'grit your teeth and hang on for dear life' kind.

They would pull every trick in the book, play dirty, scheme, plot, and pretty much sell their grandmother if they had to, just to avoid uttering the dreaded 'S' word.

Yes, surrender was a dish best served last in Inkia, always squeezed into the eleventh hour, much like the last guest who turns up just as the party is winding down.

And Burn respected that.

Inkia might not have had an army that scared anyone, but their King, His Shrewd Majesty Rafaye Inkor, was as sharp as a tack.

He may have been an old fossil, but he had more connections than a switchboard operator on speed dial. Backed by allies from every nook and cranny of the continent, His Majesty's network was as solid as a bouncer at a biker bar.

Now, militarily, he had Wintersin backing him up. Their economy was as robust as a weightlifter on steroids, thanks to their geographical gift of being a main trade route.

Education? Well, they were as brainy as a basket of owls. With the establishment of Saint Lucia Academy and several other institutions, the kingdom was practically brimming with knowledge, like a library after a book fair.

And let's not forget the political world in the kingdom. It was as stimulated as a caffeine addict in a coffee shop.

However, as is often the case with seemingly perfect societies, there was a dark underbelly. Beneath the shiny facade of prosperity and education, the shadows were teeming with things that would give morality itself a heart attack.

Human trafficking, both legal and illegal, was as common as daisies in a meadow. The gap between the rich and poor, the noble and common, the strong and weak was wider than the Grand Canyon.

If the second prince of Wintersin had been born as the prince of Inkia, he would have been like a kid in a candy store.

Inkia would have been the perfect playground for him. It’s like a well-oiled machine designed to keep the dirt under the rug, or in this case, the prince's 'extreme interests' well away from prying eyes.

You see, in Wintersin, his antics were as conspicuous as a peacock in a penguin colony. But in Inkia? His shenanigans would blend right in, tucked away neatly beneath the veneer of respectability. He could indulge his peculiar passions with the ease of a cat burglar in a dark alley.

But—

"Why did you paint me in that pose?!"

Just as they set foot back in Soulnaught, this certain cat burglar darted in, swiping away his train of thought like a seasoned pickpocket.

Burn swiveled around, his gaze landing on the astronomical beauty that was Morgan Le Fay. There she stood, a cosmic evening star in human form, posed in front of the painting he'd crafted during his desperate search for her a few months prior.

Yep, that painting. The one that now seemed as inadequate as a stick figure drawing next to the Mona Lisa. It couldn't capture the essence of her beauty. How could oil on canvas compete with the living, breathing, radiant entity that was Morgan?

Momo, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes at him, a hint of suspicion creeping into her gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"