Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
234 – Evan di Sator

“We’re maintaining the disguise?” Yvain asked, his voice laced with reluctant acceptance.

Burn barely glanced up from the stack of paperwork he was approving, his quill gliding smoothly over the parchment. “It’s wise to keep certain things hidden,” he said evenly. “Or do you prefer being recognized for the titles and bloodline you didn’t earn rather than for yourself?”

Yvain huffed, crossing his arms. “That’s fair, but my friends aren’t blind. They already know something’s off. I should be able to tell them the truth, right?” He tried to sound casual, but there was a note of hopefulness in his voice.

Burn finally set his quill down and fixed Yvain with a level stare. “That depends. Do you trust them enough to gamble with your own security?”

Yvain hesitated, then nodded, slower this time.

“Then it’s on you,” Burn said without an ounce of sympathy. “If they betray you, don’t come crying to me. You chose them, you pay the price.”

“Yes, Papa—I mean, Master, Your Majesty,” Yvain blurted out, immediately wincing.

Burn sighed, rubbing his temple. “Just stick with ‘Papa.’ It’s fine.”

Yvain ducked his head, but the slight curve of his lips betrayed his happiness. “Thanks, Papa.”

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Finn entered, balancing yet another stack of paperwork in his arms. “Sirs, Queen Tashr and most of the Mythical Communities’ representatives have arrived. Would you like to meet them now?”

“Let them rest for today,” Burn replied, not bothering to look up. “I assume you’ve already arranged accommodations?”

“Yes,” Finn exhaled. Once, he commanded armies at the borders. Now, he managed guest lists and sleeping arrangements. But he merely shook his head and offered a small smile. “My family arrived as well. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Enough,” Burn said, plucking the paperwork from Finn’s grasp and immediately resuming his work. “Get out, both of you.”

“Alright, Papa. I’ll go play host for you,” Yvain chuckled, turning to leave. “But what about you? What will you be doing later?”

Burn paused mid-signature, finally lifting his gaze. His expression was unreadable—serious, almost thoughtful.

Then, with absolute conviction, he said, “Yo Mama.”

Yvain’s jaw twitched.

Right. Of course. If there was anyone in this world who had the authority to hit him with yo mama joke, it was this man.

***

Few were aware that the Emperor had taken up residence in Wilderwood Capital Mansion. Even fewer knew that he was, in fact, Morgante di Sator. But should anyone dare to suggest it, the world would nod in immediate, unquestioning agreement.

For now, no one speculated on his whereabouts or his activities—mostly because no one was foolish enough to try. After all, attempting to predict the mind of a ruler like him was an exercise in futility.

Likewise, not many realized that he had personally felled the Demon Lord. The world had only been informed of the Demon Lord’s existence, not his abrupt and rather humiliating demise. Who would believe, after all, that the Emperor had taken down such a being with a single strike?

Instead, the general assumption was that Burn had merely conquered one of the Demon Lord’s strongholds. That misunderstanding was convenient, so it remained uncorrected.

It wasn’t out of modesty—Burn had little interest in unnecessary bullshit—but rather a tactical decision. Let the world assume the Demon Lord was still lurking in the shadows; it made rooting out the remnants of his forces much easier.

And so the hunt continued, striking in places where the Demon Lord’s influence had been most deeply embedded—factories that produced more than just goods, gentlemen’s clubs that offered far more than entertainment, the ever-so-respectable Loneborn Merchant Group, the insufferably idealistic Democratic Teachers, and every other front that had, at some point, been tethered to Lance Inkor.

Let them wonder. Let them scramble. By the time the truth became widely known, it would no longer matter.

What the world witnessed that day was, in the grand scheme of things, simple. And from the perspective of three teenagers, it was even simpler.

Matthew and Alan saw Blair’s curse—twisted and tainted by the Demon King’s influence—unravel before their eyes. They saw Bunny Fay and Evan’s grandfather intervene to save her, and then they watched as Bunny Fay disappeared, leaving them behind under the care of Evan and the Wilderwood Mansion. 

From there, they were left to wait until their parents came to collect them.

Except their parents never came. They were too busy throwing their lot in with the Original Saint’s coup. The political storm gathered over Inkia, the pressure for war mounted, and within three days, it was over.

Life, however, had to go on.

A week after the coup began, school reopened. Headmaster Bianca, in her infinite wisdom, declared that the first day back would be a "self-study" day—a thinly veiled excuse for students, teachers, and even staff to feel out the shifting alliances. 

Naturally, the majority gravitated toward Alan and Matthew, looking to them for guidance in this new political landscape. But, of course, there were still those who clung stubbornly to the past, unwilling to acknowledge the tides had changed.

On that very first day, they also noticed something else—Evan, withdrawn and silent, watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression. Unlike Alan and Matthew, who were practically swarmed, Evan remained at the sidelines, unbothered by the frantic faction-picking.

Then, as the school day ended, the news broke—Rafaye Inkor had been captured, and with his downfall came the official revelation of the Demon Lord’s existence. Whatever doubts or whispers had lingered before were now indisputable fact.

The next day, the school’s hierarchy descended into something bordering on desperation. Students, teachers—everyone who once hesitated—now pleaded to join Alan and Matthew’s side. The chaos was loud, messy, and exhausting.

But Evan? Evan had only one thing on his mind.

Every time Matthew and Alan followed him home, he went straight to see Blair. Checking on her condition, waiting for any sign of improvement.

She still hadn’t woken up.

Matthew and Alan arrived at Wilderwood Mansion, bracing themselves for the worst. Evan hadn’t come to school today, and they’d been told he was “busy.” Busy with what? The last time they checked, his only priority had been keeping an eye on Blair.

And yet, as they approached the grand estate, the sight that greeted them made them freeze in their tracks.

There, standing at the entrance, was their twelve-year-old classmate, Evan.

But this wasn’t the Evan they were used to—the boy who, despite his quiet confidence and natural presence, still carried the warmth and energy of someone their age. No, the Evan before them stood with an air of quiet authority, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t just standing there. He was receiving guests.

Not just any guests, either.

The representatives of the Mythical Communities.

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