Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
212 – The Emperor’s Mad Dog

It was a dense forest—ancient, and humming with the quiet chorus of nocturnal life—but in the middle of it lay a clearing, an anomaly in the otherwise uninterrupted wilderness. It was a vast, open space, ringed by trees so gnarled and weathered that they looked like the audience to whatever clandestine act was about to unfold.

The sky above, speckled with stars, was blissfully unaware of the small group of figures standing at the clearing’s edge, their silhouettes blending into the darkness like ghosts with a purpose.

A tall man, exuding a Casanova-like authority that made people listen before they even realized it, turned slightly and asked, “The jammer barrier all set?”

One of his subordinates, a wiry figure who looked as though he hadn’t slept in a week (which, to be fair, he hadn’t), gave a curt nod. “Set and stable, sir.”

Good. That meant no sudden Alliance scans, no accidental bursts of radio chatter exposing their very illegal, very unapproved operation. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

And waiting.

And—

A flicker in the air, like someone had cracked the universe open just a sliver, sent a ripple through the fabric of reality. It was small at first, just a hairline fracture in the vast emptiness of space, but then it widened, stretching into something large enough to vomit out its cargo.

One by one, the ships began to slip through, their hulls cutting through the dimensional breach with the sluggish grace of someone trying to squeeze a grand piano through a doggy door. They moved deliberately, carefully, aware that one wrong move could send the entire operation crashing down—literally.

For weeks, they had schemed and plotted, whispering across encrypted channels, skimming just under the radar of the ever-watchful Alliance.

Weeks of secrecy, of calculations, of making sure that this very moment would happen without a single alarm blaring in some far-off control center. And now, finally, they were here.

Unnoticed.

And with just a little bit of smug satisfaction.

Dirk, the quintessential Casanova, turned with a grin at the man sitting silently on a dead tree trunk, his wife snugly asleep in his arms. The man, with his regal presence, was clearly the leader of this motley crew. His Majesty Caliburn Pendragon—or rather, the man playing him, as per orders—Gawain.

"Yer Majestee, I’ve brought ye a road to breach the sky and take on your intergalactic enemies," Dirk Marshall said with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for a salesman pitching a used car.

The so-called regal man, Gawain, gave a nod, watching as the ships—those otherworldly, clunky contraptions—slowly hovered above the treeline, emitting humans from a galaxy far, far away.

Galahad, always the one to follow the script, gestured at Dirk. "Go welcome your families, men. And then, bring them to greet His and Her Majesty."

Dirk’s eyes actually misted for a second. He nodded, turning to gather his men and their people. A family reunion unfolded slowly in the clearing, complete with tearful hugs and ‘long time no see’ exchanges.

After the sentimental scene, they gathered around the imperial couple. Galahad led the charge as the knights knelt and then the guards followed. The procession went on, and just as the last man knelt, Dirk and his mercenary crew also kneeled.

The guests from afar glanced at them, and after a second of hesitation, promptly did the same.

"Your Majesty, Emperor Caliburn of Soulnaught," Dirk announced, "let me introduce you to our family, the Sylusian, from Silas 277."

Gawain gave a casual nod. “At ease.”

After exchanging some pragmatic pleasantries, the Emperor—who was, let’s be honest, probably more interested in avoiding the hassle of all this because he wasn’t the real Emperor—gathered his wife and turned away, giving Galahad the universal signal for "You’re in charge now."

Galahad knew that Percival had arranged accommodations for the guests and was all ready to usher them to safety, preferably without much fanfare.

Just then, Dirk, who had apparently forgotten that everyone was supposed to be pretending to be serious, nudged Galahad’s elbow and flashed a grin. He whispered, “Enough acting, yeah?”

Galahad raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed.

“I know that wasn’t His and Her Majesty,” Dirk said with a soft chuckle, as if they were in on a private joke only the enlightened could understand. “But thanks for the welcome anyway. You sure made me and my family feel important, accepted by your world’s strongest man himself... even if it was all fake.”

Galahad let out a dramatic sigh, the kind reserved for long days filled with ridiculous questions. “The Majesties are busy.”

“I know,” Dirk grinned, unabashed. “Still, it’s precious, y’know?”

Galahad rolled his eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You can wait for the next order, but for now, let’s get all of you warm and hidden.”

Dirk clapped his hands together, clearly energized. “Bet!” he said, rallying his men and families. “Ah, where can we meet the real Majesties?”

“Soon enough. They’re handling the great abyss right now,” Galahad replied, his tone casual but with a subtle edge, as though this wasn’t just another Tuesday for them. He briefly recalled what Gawain had mentioned about his mission with Marissa and the problem at hand.

“Abyss? Oh, this world’s original problem?” Dirk asked, thinking back at the charred black continents on the horizon, a reminder of a world’s ancient scars.

Galahad nodded. “Don’t worry. His Majesty will take care of everything else.”

“Eh,” Dirk shrugged, as if the fate of the world was a minor inconvenience. “Of course he will.”

Meanwhile, in the closed carriage, Marissa blinked awake, her mind struggling to grasp what she had just witnessed. Half-dazed, she tried to convince herself it was just a strange dream, but no, the evidence was all around her.

She had been napping peacefully in the carriage just moments ago, and then—she was in Gawain’s arms, staring at dozens of spaceships emerging from a rift in the sky. Seriously?

Three years ago, she thought the sky was torn open and the end of the world had arrived, but now Soulnaught was... smuggling people from another world here? What even?

“Go back to sleep,” Gawain said nonchalantly from the seat opposite her, as if the sky splitting open and alien spaceships were the most casual thing in the world. “We’re going on our real mission now.”

Huh? That whole rift in the sky thing wasn’t even the mission? She couldn’t even fathom what could top that.

Marissa blinked, shock and horror flashing across her face. Gawain, with that patient smile of his, reached over and patted her head like she was a child. “Be good, and I’ll get you whatever you want later. Jewels, pearls, dresses…”

Marissa tilted her head, genuinely confused. Did she look like someone who cared for luxurious gifts right now? Well... maybe, but still. Really?

“You’re not curious about what our mission is?” Gawain asked, apparently oblivious to the chaos swirling in her mind.

Marissa’s eyes widened, and a flicker of fear shot through her. Whatever this mission was, she was increasingly doubtful about going along with it. But then again, she felt reluctant to let Gawain go with someone else. The idea of him dragging some other poor soul into this madness was even worse. Or… she was just a bit jealous.

“Do I need to know?” she asked timidly.

“No,” Gawain replied with a shake of his head. “You can just act like my wife, and that’s all.”

Oh, great, she thought. He didn’t need her help. Not that she had anything to offer anyway, but it still made her feel strangely… unnecessary. It was almost as if he was saying she was just along for the ride, a pretty little accessory for the real action. That thought made her unreasonably sad.

Maybe it was because she was, in fact, completely untrustworthy. Maybe it was because he had been right there at the victory banquet, watching her blunder through every kind of petty stupidity from the front row. Either way, the situation didn’t seem to be going in her favor.

“It’s not dangerous per se, but you might get scared,” Gawain mused.

Scarier than knowing Soulnaught smuggled intergalactic immigrants?

“It’s okay if you can’t tell me,” Marissa muttered.

“Not that I can’t,” Gawain smiled. “Like I said, it’s scary. Not even half of the Round Table knows about it. I don’t want to make my wife cry in the first three days of our marriage.”

Gawain lost half of his full Force Mastery potential after everything that had happened to him and his brothers, they said. It wasn’t like it had crippled him entirely, thanks to Burn’s collections of miraculous medicines, but the damage was done. He was seen as half a defect.

To everyone else, he was no longer the rising star—once a knight almost as strong as Galahad, now relegated to the fifth slot on the Round Table. Perhaps not just from strength, but also from respect.

Today, he was feared as the Emperor’s mad dog, to the point of fanaticism, with absolute loyalty to the Absolute Tyrant. No one was likely to question his authority, especially after everything that had happened.

He knew well enough that the rise of the second Demon Lord wasn’t just some bedtime story, and the thought of her in danger made him uncharacteristically uneasy.

But Marissa—innocent, unaware, and all-too-human—might not be so easily fooled. This time, this thing he had to face, wasn’t just some political intrigue.

After all, his brothers’ deaths were still a shadow hanging over him. Maybe the second Demon Lord had something to do with it. Or maybe it was just another one of those delightful surprises the universe liked throwing at him. Who knew?