There was a reason why Yvain had let all of his doubts about Burn fall by the wayside.

  It wasn't just that Burn had achieved the impossible by bringing his master back, a moal feat no one else had ever aplished. It was more than that—he had never seen his master, the Infich, dispy such genuine warmth and rapport with anyone else.

  The Infich wasn't cold by any means, but her was she proo open dispys of affe, particurly to those unfamiliar to her.

  She was a figure shrouded iy so absolute it was almost a curse. No matter how subtly she attempted to blend into the crowd, her luminous presence was impossible to miss.

  She was a visionary of unparalleled genius, a figure whose insight and wisdom parable to even the legendary Merlin.

  Holding an equal versation with her was a daunting task, for few could truly prehend the depths of her mind or the essence of who she was. Her intellect created an invisible barrier that separated her from the rest of the world—even from the rest of the Vision users.

  But Burn was different.

  He didn't o boriously climb up to reach the flower perched on the high cliff. He was already standing atop his own t cliff, matg her in stature and grandeur.

  And the flower, instead of staying distant and aloof, seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, reag out in an unspoken bond of mutual uanding and respect.

  Burn was one of the few who could meet her gaze on an equal footing, an exception to the norm, a bea that called out to her in the vast sea of faces.

  This shared high ground they occupied was a testament to their unique e, a e that Yvain could not help but aowledge and respect as her disciple.

  So, when Yvain withem chatting in the mundane, a sense of relief washed over him.

  He had feared that Man would spend her infinite lifespan in solitude, a goddess forever fio her own world. But perhaps Man wouldn't have to bear her eterence alo least, not for a while.

  Yvain blinked, a subtle smile tugging at the ers of his lips. He slowly rose from his chair, his gaze sweeping across the room in search of Gahad. But his search was in vain; Gahad was o be found.

  It seemed that, for the moment, he would have to tent himself with the reassuring sight of Man and Burn until—

  CLACK! SLAM!!

  The hall door decided to put on a dramatic performa smmed open with a flourish, disrupting the tranquility like an overzealous actor entering stage right.

  In charged Gahad, a grim expressioched onto his face, fnked by a group of guards. They were dragging behind them two unfortunate souls, a man and a woman, who, by the look of their attire, were servants.

  The guards, in a dispy of chivalry that would make aiquette coach weep, saw fit to force these two to kneel by giving their legs a swift, oo-gentle kick.

  The hall erupted into a symphony of gasps and stunned silehe shock value of this spectacle effectively jolting the still half-drunk party goers into sobriety.

  Eyes, previously gzed over with the after-effects of the night's indulgence, widened in surprise. The hangover remedy of the tury, dies alemen. No need for strong coffee reasy breakfast. A dash of ued drama in the m does the trick just fine.

  "As you ordered, Your Majesty," Gahad announced with as much flourish as a man could muster while leading a pair of terrified servants into a room full of hungover nobility.

  Man, in her infinite wisdom, decided to step aside ahe show unfold. Burn, however, seemed to be in no hurry. He rose from his seat with the nguid grace of a man who had all the time in the world, causing the noblewomen ging to him to hastily follow suit.

  As Burn sauntered down to the ter of the hall, a hush fell over the crowd. The spectacle was too entig to ignore, and every pair of eyes followed his progress. The whispers died down and the room was swallowed by an expet silence.

  "Speak," Burn anded, his voice breaking the tension like a sharp bde.

  The two servants looked as if they had seen a ghost. Their faces were pallid, their eyes wide with fear. They fumbled for words, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water.

  Finally, the woman mao squeak out, "T-this is a mistake, Your Majesty! I'm wrongly accused!"

  Burn turned his gaze to Gahad, who seemed to have been waiting for just such a cue. He uhed his sword—

  SLASH! ...THUD!

  The woman's head rolled on the ground, painting a grotesque picture in scarlet. The croed, a ripple of shock sweeping through the room.

  Blood spattered across the polished floor and only a select few, those aced to such brutal executions, remained uheir faces impassive amidst the gasps and cries.

  The other servant, a man, had his eyes stretched wide open at the grisly sight before him. It was the kind of se that would induightmares for weeks.

  Yet, quite uedly, a sense of calm seemed to wash over him. His trembling ceased and his fa?ade, like a poorly worn mask, dropped.

  Burn noticed this ge. The man's newfound serenity intrigued him, a stark trast to the terror he'd exhibited moments earlier. Perhaps this one had a bit more spine.

  So, iillhat followed the horrifying spectacle, Burn issued the same and, "Speak."

  The man tilted his face upwards, his gaze meeting Burn's. He seemed to pletely disregard the fact that he was standing in a room full of nobility, dressed in a servant's attire, ankle-deep in a pool of his rade's blood.

  The rules of de? Ha! They might as well have been written in invisible ink for all he cared. He addressed Burn with a direess that would have made a diplomat faint.

  "You're still alive despite drinking all of that poison," he stated matter-of-factly, as if enting on the weather. The room fell into a stunned silence, shock hanging thi the air like a dense fog.

  He tinued, an air of disappoi in his tone, "I guess our effort is never destio bear fruit." As if he were menting a botched batch of apple pie, not an attempted regicide.

  It was the kind of uatement that could only be pulled off with a certain fir, a certain... panache.

  Burn knew about the poison and had drunk it anyway. He'd even directed Gahad to round up the culprits—the very pair who'd smuggled the poisoned wio the pace. He was alive even after that, but more so, he kneanted him dead.

  The servant tried to rally, a desperate cry esg his lips, "Long live Inkia—!"

  SLAP!

  Gahad silenced him with a swift hand. He turo Burn, a sly smile on his face, "With this, even Wintersin wouldn’t be able to refute our decision to invade Inkia, Your Majesty."

  Burn simply shrugged nontly. "It's not like I need Wintersin’s opinion about what I am going to do, but how ve. Inkia , ready our arms and we’ll marext week."

  Here he was, brushing off an assassination attempt as if it were a pesky fly at a piic. Survive poison, check. Expose traitors, check. Pn invasion, in progress. Just another day in the life of an emperor, folks.

  But just when everyohought the show had fizzled out, the servant decided to pull a st trick. He tapped into his hidden Forergy and with a surprising agility, he swiped a sword from one of the guards and spriowards Burn, all the while bellowing, "Long live Inkia!"

  Risking it all.

  The cry echoed around the room, his voifused with an adrenaline-fueled desperation.

  Burn watched the se unfold as if it were a slow-motion. The man's charge, the terrified faces of the spectators, the gleaming sword aimed at his heart. It was all so... slow.

  Everyone, including Burn, knew he could easily dodge the attack. After all, he was far stronger and had the advantage of not being a servant trying to stage a one-man rebellion.

  “Ugh—”

  But then, as if the universe had a perverse sense of humor, a sharp pain exploded in Burn's chest. It was as if someone had set off a firework inside him. The pain was so intense, so ued, it stole his focus just as the servant lunged.

  STAB!

  And then, just like that, the sword found its mark. It pierced Burn's heart, the irony of the situation as sharp as the bde itself. A servant had mao do oison couldn't.

  To make Emperor Burn stagger.