Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
224 – How It Must Be

Burn tilted his head seeing the adults left the scene, eyes half-lidded with boredom as Aroche waved a hand in front of his face.

“No comment?” Aroche repeated, incredulous. “Hey, Burn! You realize you just scored a jackpot, right?”

Burn said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Aroche sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know what they’re trying to do, alright? But see the bright side. My sister’s not half bad. And now you’ll be my brother-in-law.”

Ah, yes. What a blessing. Being tied to the Leodegrance family so they could keep him leashed, bound by marriage, unable to threaten Clarent’s claim. A political move so painfully obvious it was almost insulting.

His gaze flickered to Clarent, who had been standing silent as ever. The moment their eyes met, the older boy turned sharply and walked away without a word.

Predictable.

Aroche sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Look, I know this is bullshit, but my sister’s—”

“I don’t wanna!”

The loud, childish voice cut through the room.

The red-haired girl stomped a foot, crossing her arms. “Who wants to marry a monster who bullies everyone? Hmph!”

Aroche stiffened. “H-Hey, baby sister, w-who told you that?” His voice cracked as he shot a nervous glance at Burn. “His Highness is not—”

“You’re right.”

Burn’s voice was calm, but the smirk on his lips was sharp enough to cut.

“You don’t want to marry me, right? Well, I don’t want to marry a weak and whiny girl either.”

Aroche’s stomach dropped.

“Oi!” His body moved before he could think, arm raised, ready to smack the little bastard upside the head. “Burn, you little shit! How dare you—”

Sniff.

Aroche froze.

He turned slowly.

Landevale’s grey eyes were glossy with unshed tears, her small frame trembling.

Shit.

“S-Sister…” Aroche stammered, helpless, as Burn, without so much as a backward glance, strolled out of the room.

Burn had barely crossed the threshold when his sharpened senses caught Aroche’s voice—calm, steady, and firm.

“Landevale, did you forget our family’s teaching?” The usual teasing lilt in his tone was absent, replaced by quiet authority. “Stop those tears and straighten your back. How could you say something like that to His Highness? He’s the Second Prince of Soulnaught. And how could you say something so hurtful?”

Burn stilled, lingering just beyond the doorway, his back to the room. He was out of sight, far beyond normal earshot. But a Five Star Force Master didn’t need to be close to hear.

A soft, hesitant voice followed, trembling but stubborn.

“But… Aunt Guinevere said he’s cruel… and that we must be wary of him…” Landevale sniffled. “She said my job is to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone… especially Cousin Clarent and you…”

Aroche exhaled, the weight of an older brother’s patience in his sigh. “Didn’t I tell you that some adults are stupid?”

A pause.

“Listen, Landevale. His Highness is just like us. He carries a far greater responsibility than you or I can imagine—more than anyone should, especially at his age. His strength isn’t just a gift; it’s a burden. And one day, you’ll understand that things aren’t as simple as they seem.”

Burn’s lips curled slightly. For once, Aroche sounded like an actual noble heir and not an idiot.

“But,” Aroche added after a beat, his voice turning light again, “do be wary of him. He’s a man, after all.”

Burn resisted the urge to groan. And there it is.

“And you, my sweet little sister, are way too adorable to resist. If he so much as touches you inappropriately before you both grow up or makes you cry, I’ll fucking kill him.”

Landevale hiccupped. “I don’t understand… hic…”

“Don’t cry anymore.” Aroche’s voice softened, coaxing. “Now come on, give your big brother a kiss on the cheek.”

Burn rolled his eyes.

This guy’s a complete brocon.

With a shake of his head, he kept walking.

Burn moved through the corridor, his steps steady but his body betraying him. The remnants of yesterday’s fever still clung to him, creeping back like a shadow. He swallowed hard, feeling the metallic taste of blood at the back of his throat, but forced it down.

Mana surged within him, stabilizing his body through sheer force of will. How convenient, he thought bitterly, having a rotten soul and a body forged in stubbornness alone.

Fuck Urien. That bastard had passed this wretched illness down to him.

Though, to be fair, it might not entirely be Urien’s fault. Soulnaught Syndrome was believed to occur in the offspring of exceptionally strong and talented individuals. His father, Arthur, was a monster in his own right, and his mother, Viviane, had been no ordinary woman either.

Whatever. If nothing else, he had inherited their power, even if it came with a curse attached.

As he passed an open corridor, the training grounds came into view. Across from him, Clarent was practicing his swordsmanship.

Burn paused.

Just as everyone said, Clarent wasn’t bad. His technique was disciplined, his form solid. He was talented—very much so. But the problem was, Burn existed.

If he didn’t… yes, yes, blah blah blah.

But so what?

Burn exhaled, feeling the familiar weight of inevitability pressing down on him. It wasn’t fair for him either, was it? A genius overshadowed by his own chronic, incurable illness—one so severe he might not live past fifteen.

Oh well.

“Burn!”

He turned at the call. Aroche was waving at him, striding over with his usual casual confidence.

As Aroche drew closer, Burn raised an eyebrow, waiting for whatever nonsense he had to say.

“You know what?” Aroche said, crossing his arms. “If he doesn’t want to look your way, let him be. Don’t force yourself into his periphery.”

Burn tilted his head slightly. “You should use that advice for yourself. I don’t want you in my periphery either.”

Aroche laughed, shaking his head. “Anyway—happy birthday.”

Burn blinked as Aroche extended a small box toward him. He looked down, frowning.

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Burn unlatched the box and peered inside. A brooch with an embedded magic crystal lay within, shimmering faintly.

“It’s an enchanted magic crystal,” Aroche explained. “It has a protection spell—won’t stop a direct attack, but it’ll reduce the damage. Mages are still working on making them better.”

Burn studied the brooch, fingers brushing over the smooth surface. Something tickled at the edge of his memory.

“Hm… So it’s my birthday.”

Aroche blinked. “What? You forgot your own birthday?”

Burn ignored him, instead recalling something else from earlier. “I saw a new sword in my room this morning. I wonder who gave it to me.”

Aroche tilted his head before grinning. “Should we investigate?”

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