The Wintersin Empire's army stood at the Northern border of Soulnaught like a menacing shadow, their armor glinting in the pale sunlight of the never-ending winter in the cold north.

Emperor Burn, a tall and imposing figure with a gaze as icy as the tundra itself, had just arrived, sending shivers down the spines of both friend and foe alike.

As he dismounted his metal griffin steed with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, Percival, one of his knights, stood waiting with a mixture of reverence and exasperation.

The weather, true to the twisted sense of humor of the gods, decided to add a touch of frost to the Northern’s midsummer, leaving everyone shivering and cursing their choice of wardrobe, which actually had enough layers already.

Emperor Burn surveyed his army with a critical eye, his lips curled in a sneer that could curdle milk at a hundred paces. The atmosphere crackled with tension and unspoken threats, as if the very air itself feared his wrath.

Percival, ever the loyal and long-suffering knight, cleared his throat and stepped forward, ready to deliver his report.

"Your Majesty, the troops are ready and eager to march at your command," he announced. "As predicted, Wintersin immediately moved the moment you initiated the war with Inkia’s army.”

Emperor Burn merely grunted in response, his eyes scanning the horizon with a predatory gleam.

“But, Sir, they seem to be waiting for you to make a grand entrance,” Percival added.

“They know I’m coming?” Burn asked, eyebrows raised. “Did they catch our spies or get wise to them lurking about?”

“No, sir. We told our spies to keep it subtle, with only a select few stirring the pot,” Percival replied. He paused before telling him what he was thinking, “It seems you're not the only star of the show they’re anticipating.”

Burn frowned.

He glanced at Percival and eyed his sword dubiously. "That sword," he quipped, and Percival promptly unhooked it from his belt and handed it over. "I suppose I'll make do with this for the time being, unless anyone objects?"

"By all means, Sir. It’s an honor," Percival responded earnestly.

As Burn observed, only he and Percival wielded the exact same weapon at the Round Table. Even Galahad used a standard sword, while he and Percival brandished their impressive longswords.

But different from him, Percival actually used a cherished family heirloom.

Burn suppressed a sigh, filing away a mental note to procure a more suitable sword for himself once this loop came to an end. Disengaging his greatsword, he handed it over to Percival with a wry smile.

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Percival looked surprised. "Sir?"

"Well, can't have you feeling left out," Burn remarked dryly as Percival took the greatsword from him.

Burn's patience was soon rewarded as the sun reached its zenith, casting a harsh light on a previously invisible spaceship that materialized in the enemy's formation.

In a stroke of cosmic irony, the ship had an ethereal, shimmering quality—as if it couldn't quite commit to being fully visible, much like an indecisive ghost flirting with the idea of haunting. Its sleek metallic exterior gleamed in the sunlight, adorned with strange, glowing runes that pulsed with an otherworldly energy.

As the spaceship hovered ominously in the air, Burn hummed. "Well, isn't that just lovely," he deadpanned. "Wintersin… nothing says 'subtle invasion' quite like an expensive half-invisible spaceship crashing the party."

Percival’s eyebrows creased.

"Well, let's not keep our uninvited guests waiting, shall we? After all, it's only polite to greet them properly," Burn said.

“Sir,” Percival couldn't help but interrupt Burn on his way, showing unusual concern for the typically unshakable man. "Your condition... improved, has it?"

Percival knew Burn didn’t like anyone treating him like a weak person. It was also almost impossible for anyone to get worried for him. But apparently, after he thoroughly observed the man’s relationship with the Miss, Galahad’s sentiment was true.

Burn might be the strongest man they had ever known and detached from mortal weakness, but he was still mortal.

Percival thought Galahad’s rise to power as Burn’s right-hand man was because they connected better through their shared childhood, but he was wrong. Galahad had better insight than him, a knight who had served the royal family even before Burn was born.

“Is it because I’m getting married? You lot thought I’m getting weak because I’m answering to a woman now?” Burn felt a bit irritated. Not Galahad, not Percival—why were they starting to get sappy for him?

“S-Sir…?”

“Your worry is pointless. Unless you can do something about it, my decision won’t change. Those bastards are aiming for what’s supposed to be mine,” Burn felt a vein pop in his temple.

“They finally show their noses,” Burn couldn’t hide his grin. “How can I not get excited?”

Percival smiled helplessly. Ah, how noble. Burn was still worried for the people while saying that everything was only for his own merit. As expected, he was good at acting as a villain to mask his actual goal to protect this realm… even though he was also battling an incurable illness…

He was even about to face the enemy head on!

Well…

No.

Percival and the others were imagining it.

Burn was actually a villain, and this was just a practice run. The plan was to face them head on to see what they got.

And it seemed that they got what they needed.

The semi-transparent spaceship descended, emitting a soft, ethereal glow as it touched down on the frosty plains below. Out walked a band of armed individuals, their weapons glinting in the sunlight as they formed a protective path around their leader.

And then came the man of singular importance, striding confidently out of the spacecraft. He exuded an air of authority, his every movement speaking of power and influence. The general of the Wintersin army, a stalwart man with a weather-beaten face and a steely gaze, stepped forward to greet him.

The outsider was a sight to behold, his attire elaborately decorated with symbols and insignias that spoke of a rank and status beyond anything seen in the realm of Nethermere—except, of course, for Burn.

Well, Burn came from the future, after all.

In that space, separated by snow and long distance, the outsider and Burn locked eyes. And so, as the armed individuals stood at attention and the wind whistled through the snow, the stage was set for a confrontation unlike any other.