Man Le Fay—

  Emperor Burn just called her Man Le Fay, the legendary Infich!

  "The locket..." Burn's eyebrows creased. He poi Marissa, who was still kneeling like everyone present. "It fell on the ground. This girl picked it up for me."

  As soon as the words left his mouth, a chill ran down Marissa's spihat would put the Arctic to shame. She had stolen that locket from him earlier, before Man showed up and before Burn had awoken—or was it?

  Burn might’ve been awake after all.

  Raising her face, she met a pair of gres so intehey could have melted steel beams. Burn's stare was bad enough, but it was his merciful narrative—that she had simply picked the locket up for him—that made her feel like a balloon at the mercy of a pin.

  Man wasn't about to be fooled by such a charmingly ale, though. She stared down at Marissa with an iy that made Burn's gre look like a friendly invitation.

  "Didn't I tell you, you have to wear it always, so I protect your soul, Caliburn?” She was half-angry, half-frustrated, a tear esg the custody of her bottom eyesh. “You wouldn't feel as much pain if you wore it..."

  “I’m fine now,” Burn grasped her head to his chest, but the force of her gre could have outshohe sun. It was hotter, scarier, dht apocalyptibsp;

  Without uttering a word, Marissa pulled the locket from her sleeve and offered it to Burn, who snatched it up faster than a seagull would a hot chip. Immediately, she prostrated herself, her entire body shaking untrolbly.

  “Let’s go,” Burn whispered tan, cheg her pale, exhausted face.

  "Your Majesty," Gahad said, raising his face. "What should we do with this man?"

  Burn turo the man who had fainted on the ground, knocked out by Gahad himself. He decided, "Prison. Render him uo move or speak."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Yvain," Burn called to the boy who was also kneeling, "e and help your master heal."

  "Yes!" Yvai to his feet when Burn started to lift the woman off the ground. The boy uood what Bur ached the box of high-grade mana potion from the table.

  "Lots to mull over. I will retreat for today, but tomorrow, gather everyone for the war strategy meeting," Burn said to Gahad and his other men.

  He turned, walking calmly toward the door, and before leaving, he said, "No one is to bother me tonight."

  Before the party, Burn, of course, had decided to give his usual metal-heeled shoes the day off, but his footfalls still reverberated with an ominous rhythm that bounced off the marble floors. It was a heavy, steady and deep sound.

  The others dared not so much as twitch a nostril until the macabre metronome of his steps disappeared into the echoey abyss of the corridor.

  Gahad was the first to stir, fshing the guards a look that could've stripped paint. The message was crystal clear: 'Get rid of the human paperweight and the floor's morbid decoration, if you please.’

  The woman’s decapitated body and the unsan were hastily whisked away. Yet the room's atmosphere g to its grim temperament still.

  "Gather the Round Table," Gahad ordered, his voice eg in the high-ceilinged room. "The rest hit the road."

  "And what about the party attendees, sir?" inquired a squire. "Rumors will..."

  "Rumors will bloom like weeds, naturally," Gahad retorted in a scious threatening tone. "But, we're all in the loop about their fate, are we not? Be dare. It's nothing but a mild workout for Soulnaught to pruhe chatterboxes."

  The people paled.

  The party-goers, as if on cue, vanished faster than a cake at a kids' party. You could have heard a pin drop, they were so hushed not a whisper was uttered.

  This included Marissa, who was shaking like a leaf in a hurrie she ropped up by the three other noblewomen.

  Ohe room was cleared of the riff-raff, the six members of the Round Table, who happeo be present, drew in like moths to a fme. They were a sight for sore eyes, rumpled and nursing hahat could sy dragons.

  Yet, their faces were a study in uniformity - grim as tombstones on a moonless night. Their expressions were as solemn as a tax collector at an audit, being the exclusive oisseurs of the severity of the state of affairs.

  And even if one of them was batting below average in the uandiment, his face was still etched with a solemnity to rival the others, if not more so.

  "Percival, Bedivere, Morien, Gawain,” Gahad annouurning to the st, freshest-faced fellow, “Tristan."

  The five heir heads, eg, "Gahad."

  "Don’t kick things off just yet. I’ve dispatched my men to round up the others. They're around the pace... somewhere," Bedivere, the biggest and tallest said. His crew had slipped out with the party-goers earlier, and he had the fidehat they'd be back soon.

  "I feel like I don’t know something," Tristan muttered.

  "t your lucky stars, d. ’t believe I’d see it again," Gawain sighed.

  "Again?" Tristan's eyes widened. "You’ve seen His Majesty in such a... state? He looked so…”

  "Weak?" Morien interjected. “Truth be told, never. Not even during his childhood. That's why this is as screwed up as a soup sandwich.”

  Tristan turo the oldest of the group, Percival. But words escaped him, not even a peep tahad.

  "Let's cool our heels for the others," Gahad suggested, sinking into a chair and knog bae leftover hoo the hall table. His heavy drinking se looked as out of pce as a vegan at a barbeobody had ever seen him hit the bottle so hard before.

  In no time at all, four other knights strolled in.

  SLAM!

  Gahad treated his y booze bottle to a table dance. “Park your behinds,” he ordered, “Take a seat.”

  One of them piped up, “Gahad, Landevale's not here yet.”

  “It’s fine, she was with me otlefield, so she’s as clued in as I am. I’ll catch her up ter,” Gahad said, waiting for them to sit fag the same table.

  Ten knights, three vat seats.

  “What happened?” one of the te arrivals, Yvolt, a young woman wielding a rapier, inquired.

  Gahad took a pause before revealing, “Most of you are in the loop on His Majesty's predit.”

  Their eyes went as wide as saucers.

  "I think he’s having a repse.”