Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
227 – Landevale

One day, without warning, His Majesty woke up and demanded painting supplies. Just like that.

His men, ever loyal, fetched what he asked for without question. And then, stroke by stroke, before their very eyes, a woman took shape on the canvas. Not just any woman—no, that would be too ordinary for him.

This was a woman so staggeringly beautiful that reality itself should have been ashamed. A face that shouldn’t exist outside of dreams, a presence that seemed to breathe through oil and pigment.

When it was done, the masterpiece was displayed in the most prominent hallway of the palace, where it would haunt every visitor with its impossible perfection. Then, the decree came—Find her. At any cost.

Landevale waited for the pain to hit. Braced herself for the old, familiar ache.

But nothing.

She felt nothing.

Then she saw her.

Yes, His Majesty had found her. The woman in the painting lived, and somehow, she was even more breathtaking in reality.

Still, no heartbreak.

No jealousy? No resentment?

No.

Relief.

Ah. So, this was the end of it? Finally?

She watched. She waited.

Oh? It seemed to be going well?

Great.

The moment should have stung. Perhaps once upon a time, it would have. She had been waiting for jealousy, that familiar crushing weight—but it never came. Instead, the weight on her shoulders lightened. Just a little. Then a little more.

The realization was almost funny. Almost cruel.

She had spent so long carrying something she wasn’t even sure was hers to hold. A role she forced herself to play. The years of obligation, of grief, of standing at his side because she was supposed to, not because she was chosen.

She had once thought love was pain, that devotion meant sacrifice. And yet, here she stood, watching as someone else took her place, and all she felt was relief.

How could relief cut the deepest?

Morgan Le Fay was strong, wise, devastatingly beautiful. A queen in all but name. She wasn’t just his equal—she was his pillar, his strategist, his sword. She bore his burdens without flinching, moved entire worlds for him. The Mythical Communities, Luminus, the war to conquer Inkia—she was at the center of it all, turning the wheels of fate in his favor.

Perfect. Flawless.

And just like that, Landevale felt something lift from her shoulders.

The guilt. The pressure. The unbearable weight she had put on herself as his woman—now gone. She was no longer his dead best friend’s sister, no longer his ex-fiancée, no longer the special woman he didn’t want to harm by keeping too close.

No longer… no longer… his burden.

“Brother, His Majesty is happy now. I don’t have to be his woman anymore.”

“I loved him, Brother. And I know… you wanted me to stay by his side in your place. But… I’m just not strong enough.”

“…Can I be happy now?”

At last—they arrived somewhere private.

Never mind that it was just their usual resting place after training all day, tucked away near the back palace. It was the same clearing, the same worn-down bench, the same scent of sweat and metal lingering in the air. But for once, Landevale didn’t care.

She lifted her gaze to Galahad.

Moist eyes. Cheeks burning. Lips pressed together in hesitation.

No.

She couldn’t let him take the first step again.

So the moment Galahad loosened his grip on her wrist—before hesitation could sink its claws into her—she rose on her toes and caught his bottom lip in a kiss.

Fireworks.

Blasting missiles.

Nuclear blasts.

Galahad forgot what he was about to say.

Galahad forgot how to breathe. Forgot, for one singular moment, everything that wasn’t her.

But instead of pulling away, he pressed down—leaning deeper, sinking into her like a man with no intention of coming up for air. His eyes fluttered shut, his hand cradling the back of her head, trapping her in place.

And when Landevale’s arm slithered over his neck, it was over. He was finished. Six Star Force Mastery be damned, he was done.

He was gone.

Whether it was the way his hands instinctively skimmed for the nearest wall to pin her against, or the rustling wind, or the squirrels scrambling across the worn-down bench—he swore today would never come.

So he tested the waters. Lifted one of her knees to his hip. Then the other.

And when she fiddled with his buttons and yanked his tunic up—he passed away.

“Landevale… Landevale…”

“Sshhh… don’t say my name like that. I’ll hit you.”

“I’m dying. I’m dying…”

“Me too… Galahad… I think I love you…”

Critical hit.

Galahad would’ve spat blood if he had any sense left. Instead, he swallowed it down.

His lifelong crush. The only love of his life. The woman he had resigned himself to admire from afar. The woman he thought would always belong to his master. The noblest lady of the highest honor.

Burn’s woman, no more.

She was his.

“I love you. From the first sight. From the moment I saw you stand beside His Majesty. I thought I had lost my mind. Maybe I had. Maybe I still have. So you better not deceive me, woman, or I’ll fucking kill you and then myself,” Galahad warned, voice low and unshaking.

He would not be another Lancelot. No stolen woman, no festering jealousy, no disloyalty to his master. Caliburn had saved his life, and in return, his life belonged to him—without question, without doubt. If even a sliver of hesitation lurked in the air, he would cut it down. All of it.

“I don’t love His Majesty anymore…” Landevale’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I… I’ve never been worthy of him. No. I’ve always forced myself to be worthy of him, but I…”

She broke. It was ugly. It was raw. “I’m scared… of him… Galahad. I’m so… scared of him…”

It wasn’t weakness. It was truth. And that truth shattered something inside him.

“What if I become his weakness…? What if my brother hates me for not being strong enough to stand beside him? What if… what if His Majesty sees me as a burden?” Her fists clenched, her breath hitched. “I’m so—sick of that!”

Burn’s world was too high, too vast, too untouchable. His ambition, his power—he was terrifying. The way he existed alone was enough to shift the tides of fate, to decide the rise and fall of kingdoms. A man who could destroy the world just by being.

“I want to be his strength.” Landevale looked at him then, and her begging eyes crushed Galahad’s soul. “Like you, Galahad.”

Just as she had once poured her Force Essence into the cup, just as Galahad had, letting Burn drink every drop in the Holy Grail Ceremony—her loyalty had been absolute. And yet, by the divine, she was terrified.

You can’t love a god unless you’re insane. And that kind of madness? That was Morgan Le Fay’s cross to bear.

“I can’t carry his burden. I don’t think I ever truly wanted to. But yours… Galahad, I want to carry yours.”

Here she was, clawing her way out of the shadow of a man so vast he swallowed the world whole. A man who moved like a force of nature, too far to touch yet never far enough to escape. He had never truly stood between them, but his presence was there all the same—unshakable, unrelenting.

“I love you, Galahad… I’m… sorry.”

Their love unfolded beneath the weight of a legend. And yet, for this fleeting moment, they existed for no one but each other.

When Galahad kissed her again, it was not gently, not carefully, not sweetly. He kissed her like a man who had waited an entire lifetime and knew he would never be satisfied even with another. He kissed her with all the years he had swallowed down, all the nights he had spent holding his breath, all the devotion that was never meant to be spoken aloud.

Landevale shattered into him, her fingers twisting into his tunic, her knees weak, her breath stolen. If this was ruin, then so be it. If this was madness, she would let it take her whole.

But the world was cruel.

“…Ahem, Sir, Dame.” A voice, clear and sharp as a blade, cut through the moment like a guillotine. A blushing young steward delivered a message. “Their Majesties request your presence immediately.”

Galahad pulled back, just enough for his forehead to press against hers, his breath still tangled with hers. Landevale opened her eyes, her lips red, her world spinning.

He exhaled. “Wait. I forgot—there’s something I had to tell you.”

Landevale blinked in confusion as Galahad waved away the young steward.

“It’s about Gawain’s mission… and why he had to disguise himself as His Majesty. It was all to investigate the former king’s regalia—and it has something to do with the Leodegrance family, your house.”

And just like that, reality crashed down on her like a collapsing tower.

Oh.

Oh no.

Galahad hadn’t dragged her here for a confession. He hadn’t whispered her name like a man at the edge of devotion. He hadn’t even planned for any of this to happen.

Landevale’s face burned so hot she half-expected steam to rise from her ears.

So, to summarize—she had just kissed him, thrown herself at him, tangled her arms around his neck like some love-starved fool… all over a complete misunderstanding.

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

If the ground could kindly open up and swallow her whole, that would be just perfect.

“Galahad—hic…YOU IDIOT!”

SLAP!

“Ow.”

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I told you there's no romantic drama. Just straightforward romance!