Deep within the bustling district of Black Wind Castle, an inconspicuous warehouse was brightly lit. The wooden door was tightly locked, and heavy curtains blocked all prying eyes from outside. The air was filled with the scent of incense, masking the trace of decayed wood. Ledger books and notes lay scattered on the long table, along with untouched wine glasses. Around the table sat representatives of the Trade Union, each wearing differing degrees of anxiety on their faces.
Grock stood at the end of the long table, his hands resting on the tabletop. The shadow behind him, cast by the flickering candlelight, made his short stature appear especially tall and unusual.
"Gentlemen, we are in more danger than ever before."
His voice was deep and oppressive, resonating heavily in the dim room. His gaze slowly scanned the faces of the businessmen present, capturing the unease and hesitation in their eyes.
