Burn was evil, and he would never deny it. In the previous loops, and even now, instead of opting for diplomatic solutions, he would choose to kill people instead.
It was more effective, even though sometimes it was harder. Well, harder for anyone else except him.
He could, for example, try and probe around for a solution without war ht. He could use his wealth, es, and strategies te a bloodless path. But simply, the disadvantages of using that path outweighed the bes.
In any loop, Finn didn’t o die. It was actually the exact same case as Yvain. And saving Finn in the loop wouldn’t ge Burn as a person.
He had killed Finime. It was an unalterable fao one could say otherwise.
Even with the loops reset and his crime nullified, it didn’t erase the sin he itted. It didn’t ge Burn, or y a finger on the core of who Burn was as a person.
A tyrant. A murderer. A vilin.
So, he killed Finn again today, as usual. Simply because he wao humor his st wishes in this loop, and well, let's face it, it was too te in this loop anyway.
This marks the final loop where he killed him.
Burn had one urgent matter at hand: to uncover what had killed him and triggered the loop. At least for the time being, by eliminating Finn, there would be fewer disruptions iimeline, and it might shed some light on the issue.
"ATTACK!"
Even before the rest of Finn’s body hit the ground from his steed—before the man’s horse eveered its master's death—Gahad had thrust his sword toward the sky to the east, bellowing his war cry.
Burn stared at his sword, the same sword he used to fight against the White Dwarf. In his previous loops, it crumbled a war after the fight.
He wondered if it would crumble after this war too.
His army surged forward behind him, advang toward Finn's bewildered and sturoops.
Burn, for his part, had no iion of letting them escape. Today, he po y them to rest alongside their ander right here otlefield. Su honor should be appreciated by them. Today, not one of them would e home.
Not when their leader couldn't.
Burn urged his horse forward, creating a ptform with his Force for the horse to climb into the air. He flicked his sword as he gained altitude, sending attacks towards the enemy's bae.
SLASH—BZZZZZT—HUMMMM—BOOOM!!!
Creating a vacuum through the air, his sshes prevented anyone from esg. The ground trembled beh the weight of his power, each strike a symphony of destru orchestrated with finesse.
BZZZZZZZZT—BOOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Mass destru occurred on the ground, while Gahad led his army to sandwich the enemy between battle aaih.
After a few minutes, Burn couldn't help but notice his once-mighty sword crumbling in the wind. Perched imperiously on his steed in the sky above the battlefield, he casually gowards the east, p what new form of peril awaited his illustrious presence.
Would it be a tea party of ruthless enemies or perhaps a delightful stroll through fields of chaos and mayhem? Somethiainly killed him.
Amidst the cacophony of heavy maery bought from those oh-so-trustworthy outsiders, with their shieologies aiming to outsmart both Ford Visioween both parties, Burn simply stood there, the picture of patience as he waited for the chaos to simmer down.
And lo and behold, as he predicted with the precision of a seer, not a single reinfort sauntered in even after the dust settled from a battle that saw the Inkia army wiped out a 100% and his own Soulnaught boasting a fwless record of zero casualties.
Finn’s troops were truly meant for sacrifice.
After this, Burn o head north to deal with Inkia’s retaliation through Wintersin’s army. The uping battle posed a signifit challenge, as they possessed resources parable to Soulnaught's and a military might unmatched by any adversary Burn’s army had faced thus far.
As the battle drew to its clusion, the dusk desded upotlefield like a tired actor after a long day's work. The sky pais usual crimson hue over the charred, blood-soaked earth, as if nature itself was in on the macabre spectacle.
On his loyal stallion, Burn leisurely made his way back to the encampment. The hills weled him with a nont grace, as if they had seeoo many war-weary warriors traipsing their worn paths.
The wind, desding from the lofty mountains down to the pin, whispered secrets of battles long fought and fallen heroes fotten. As he rode, the weight of war slowly lifted from Burn's shoulders, carried away on the gentle breeze like whispers of the fallen.
The sounds of up echoed in the distance, a morbid symphony of burning bodies and grim tasks uaken iermath of violence. His army, diligent as ever, toiled away to ehat nothing but bodies remained, a twisted humor iiculousness of their post-war rituals.
Overall was a mix of exhaustion and exhiration that only those familiar with the horrors of war could uand.
As he strolled into the encampment, a figure loomed, poised for his arrival.
"Your Majesty," a female knight stood in his path, bowing with due deference. "Miss Man has requested your prese her tent."
Burn dismounted his horse, arg an eyebrow. "What does she want now?"
"I ot say, Sir," Landevale replied hesitantly. She her knew nor cared to delve into Burn's affairs like her terparts at the Round Table. Or perhaps it was her unscious avoidance.
Burn was still wearing his armor. Although it otless with no drop of blood on it, he still felt rude wearing the garments he wore to massacre into the space of the woman he courted. So he went to his tent and ged clothes before heading tan's.
But when he swaggered into her tent, he was gobsmacked to y his eyes on not one, but two additional figures lounging about, besides the tent's rightful owner and Yvain, l behind her.
Elves.
.
.
.
.
.
.
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If you were to Groundhog Daying, would you kill someone because you know tomorrow will repeat the same day anyway? Me, personally? Maybe. I will spend some repeated days to research where they were exactly at that point in time, and then decide whether to kill them or not.
But the fact that if I did kill them would never ge. I will be a murderer even if the day repeated the day. Well, I don't know how it would feel like after you cross that li, but I'm curious.
