Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
226 – Galahad

That day did not end in silence. It ended in a chaos, all moving under a single command. Morgan gave the order, and the world obeyed.

The army of Wilderwood arrived first, their banners sweeping in like a storm, followed by the forces of Padparadscha and Mossflower. They surrounded the cliffs like the tightening grip of a hand, clearing the land above and flooding the tunnels below. 

The factory—the grotesque, wretched thing that had festered in the dark—was torn apart, its secrets laid bare. Whoever built it, which they all knew exactly who, must have assumed their sins would stay hidden underground. But they were not in the habit of letting filth remain buried.

Under the Original Saint’s command, they unearthed the horrors within, seized every scrap of information, and followed the trails of blood and rust to wherever they led.

Evacuations were conducted with brutal efficiency. The factory was stripped to its bones, its purpose dissected, its architects marked for reckoning.

And with that, the first domino fell.

The chaos that followed was not an accident. It was not the panicked, uncontrollable collapse of nations scrambling in disarray. It was movement. Purposeful. Deliberate. Coordinated. A force too vast to be natural, too precise to be coincidental. And at the center of it, a single force orchestrated it all.

Inkia was the first to break, but it did not break on its own. Its forces turned upon each other not out of confusion, but because Morgan willed it. The fragile unity within Inkia shattered, and then, as if carried by an unseen wind, the fractures spread.

Wilderwood, Padparadscha and Mossflower united within the realm, securing the capital city.

The Luminus Kingdom moved because it was time for them to move. The Storm Anvil dwarven warriors readied their weapons not out of impulse, but because the order had been given. The Great Forest and the Great Jungle did not join the conflict by chance—they joined because they, too, had heard the call. 

Borders became battlefields, alliances were tested, and Inkia—poor, unfortunate Inkia—found itself in the middle of a grand, bloody chessboard where only one player truly understood the game.

It all happened fast. Too fast. Because it was never chaos to begin with. It was design.

One day, they pulled a hidden factory from the earth. The next, the world moved to a certain mind’s will.

And when Soulnaught finally entered the game, when the final piece fell into place—Inkia was seized within three days.

Because there was only one order, and it had already been given.

***

"What just happened?"

Galahad, returning from the South with Landevale, Dirk, and the families his companions had helped immigrate, found himself facing an unexpected reality. Percival was missing. More than that—the world had somehow stumbled into war, and Inkia had fallen.

“We don’t know,” one of his men admitted, his voice uncertain. “His Majesty hasn’t given us any orders. In fact, it’s been a while since he’s ordered us to do anything at all. In his stead, King Yvain has taken charge of most affairs.”

Landevale blinked. “His Majesty’s been silent?”

“For several days now, Sir. Dame.”

Galahad frowned. The last directive he’d heard was for Gawain to investigate the Leodegrance—disguised, of all people, as Burn. That was the last move, and then—nothing.

He glanced at Landevale, noting the crease of concern on her face. “We know Their Majesties have been working with the Mythical Communities. Some of them were tasked with bringing the former king’s regalia to the holy grounds near the World Tree, weren’t they?”

“Ah,” Landevale muttered. “You think Her Majesty gave the order to take Inkia?”

“We weren’t briefed on it,” Galahad said, tone as dry as a sunbaked road. “So, I’m guessing Percival just went along with the tide and helped pressure Inkia alongside Luminus and the Mythical Communities.” He let out a slow breath. “Seems like we’re still not strong enough to keep up with them.”

He stole another glance at her. The fiery red of her hair gave her that sharp, youthful edge, but there was something else now—something different. Maturity. The kind that settled in when one had seen too much.

“It must be chaos up there. Should we go and help out?” Landevale asked, quickening her pace.

Then—her wrist was caught.

The unexpected tug made her halt. She turned, only to see Galahad’s large hand wrapped around her wrist. And when she looked up—his face was calm. Steady.

“There’s something… I must tell you,” he said, voice solemn.

Boom.

Landevale practically combusted.

“W-w-w-w-what? What is it? D-d-d-don’t waste time on s-something ridiculous! Everyone’s busy!” she stammered, her voice rising in pitch.

“It’s important,” Galahad said, unwavering, before gently but decisively pulling her along. “Let’s go somewhere private.”

Somewhere. Private.

Landevale’s face was now the exact shade of her hair. Wh-what could it be?!

Landevale’s brain promptly shut down.

What. What. What. What.

Because of Gawain’s marriage? Oh, Saints, was he so jealous he couldn’t hold back anymore?

Hold back? From what?!

She dared another glance at his face. He was serious. That exact kind of serious as when he had grumbled, “I didn’t even get a single kiss,” that day in the corridor.

As they passed through the hall, the staff—who had long since caught onto their excruciatingly slow-burning, will-they-won’t-they disaster of a relationship—watched with barely concealed intrigue. Surely, surely, after years of this ridiculous dance, something was finally happening.

And, honestly? Landevale would have to be blind at this point.

This man…

This man had been fighting for his worth his entire life.

Once a slave deemed worthless, now a knight standing at the right hand of the strongest warrior the world would ever know—Galahad still refused to take a family name, still rejected noble titles he was more than entitled to.

And Landevale… well, shyly, begrudgingly, finally admitted she had a pretty good idea why.

Perhaps Galahad wanted to marry into her family, to take her name.

Fine. Fine. Fine. She’d admit it. He liked her. Had been chasing her.

But this man. This man.

Landevale sighed.

He was her ex-fiancé’s most trusted knight.

Was this just another Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot waiting to happen? Perhaps that was why she had so carefully—subconsciously, of course—kept her distance.

But more than that…

She thought she still loved that man.

The man she had wanted to grow strong for. The man she had chased with everything she had. The man who—by his own, self-proclaimed failure—said he couldn’t even protect her brother.

It had been impossible the moment Aroche died.

When she first met Burn, she hadn’t known what it meant to be his woman. But slowly, she had come to understand—Burn was someone who carried more weight than any man should. And her answer to that was simple: she would become stronger.

Strong enough that she wouldn’t be his weakness. Strong enough that she could bear even a fraction of his burdens.

So, she told him, “I want to be a knight.”

She hadn’t expected him to sever their engagement that same night.

He sent her away with Galahad on a dangerous expedition—supposedly to "test her will"—and when she returned, she found out he had thrown a party, drowning himself in the company of noblewomen like some overcompensating libertine. A statement, loud and clear. He was no longer tied to her.

Landevale cried. Over and over, she cried. But she knew she couldn’t blame him. Burn had been looking out for her in the only way he knew how—by making the choice for her.

A knight. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Something unheard of for a woman of her status. A dream that, under normal circumstances, she would never be allowed to entertain.

Because Landevale was not just any noblewoman. She was a daughter of the main branch of House Leodegrance—the most influential family in the Southern Soulnaught.

Her life had been neatly planned out from the moment she was born. She was meant to support him from behind the scenes, to take care of his needs and those of his people, to be his anchor, not a sword-wielding warrior chasing after battles and glory.

And Burn, ever so pragmatic, had seen that contradiction long before she did.

So, he had played the villain. The notorious heir of Soulnaught, famous for switching noblewomen every few weeks. A crude, transparent performance, really, but an effective one.

None of those women could be his weakness. That was the point. They were temporary. Disposable. They were safe from him.

But Landevale?

She was special.

And so, even when they were no longer engaged, she thought—perhaps foolishly—that it was enough. That even if she wasn’t by his side, her heart would always be his to take.

Until, of course, Aroche died.

After that, it was over. Whatever they might have had, whatever impossible hope she had clung to—it had died alongside him.

But Galahad…

Perhaps he was the only constant in her life.

The one thing that never wavered. The one person she could always rely on—just as Burn had.

.

.

.

.

.

.

----------------------------------------------------------

:'DDD