Chapter 32
Just as the Tharion Princess had suspected, the Executive Council was in session in the magnificent hall. Every Assembly executive was seated behind the large round table, including representatives from all three councils.
Baron Leoric was absent, but no one questioned it; all were absorbed in the topic at hand.
"...We found a trace of purple aura at the site, alongside shattered glass. Everything else… was destroyed—burnt to ashes."
Minister Ryoto, head of the Council of Defense and Peace, spoke with a presence that carried a strange contradiction: perpetual alertness, yet eyes holding hollow stillness.
The hall collectively swallowed. A heavy silence gripped the room. The Shadowy Hands were no ordinary organization; their roots ran deep beyond Rhazekar, and they even counted three late-stage Great Humans among them. To subdue them would have required the collaboration of two kingdoms—and such an act would have drawn the Assembly's attention long before any attack. But this… this was random.
Ryoto avoided Hendrick's gaze, perhaps afraid of the madness lurking there. This was no longer a king he faced; it was something monstrous, seated at the table.
On a large golden throne, Lord Devrane closed his eyes and exhaled. This was a delicate catastrophe. One wrong move, and chaos would spill over.
He felt the heated gazes of the other kingdoms as they arrived. Hendrick sat calmly, indifferent, as though untouched by the tension. It was this very power that had convinced Devrane to propose a marriage alliance—but now, Hendrick's carelessness had grown untamed. A small voice in Devrane's mind urged him to stay away from the monster beside him.
"Why… why did you do it?" Lord Devrane asked. His voice was calm, but his tone quivered.
Hendrick bowed his head and exhaled, letting his gaze sweep across the table. He could see the others avert their eyes in fear. A nostalgic smile tugged at his lips.
"They hurt my son, so I had to deal with them," he said calmly. He understood the consequences—not just for Eldoria, but for all of Rhazekar. Yet he didn't care. Perhaps it was the thrill of reliving his old days, or perhaps sheer exhaustion numbed him.
The hall was stunned. Everyone had expected him to argue, deny, or offer a plausible excuse. But his reason—simple, personal—was enough to silence them, even in the face of billions of lives.
Lord Devrane scowled. "Do you understand what you've done? You've practically damaged Rhazekar economically!"
He practically screamed. Nothing stung more than the thought of tens of billions in lost revenue over the coming years, all due to his Vice President's reckless actions.
"Your kingdom is already in turmoil. Do you think you can survive another confrontation with the Hands' headquarters?"
A woman in impeccably tailored red linen robes, embroidered with orange geometric patterns, spoke up. Her eyes gleamed dangerously. She was the Queen of Kaelthor and Deputy General Secretary of the Assembly.
Hendrick raised a brow at her.
"Are you threatening me, Secretary Nightflame?"
The room seemed to heat up. Nightflame's heartbeat quickened. She tried to convince herself he wouldn't kill her here, but his maddened expression made her tremble.
"All I'm saying," she softened her tone, "is that the Assembly had a pact with the Hands centuries ago. You've broken it, and there will be consequences."
Hendrick's gaze never left her. "Clear the place and call back the guards. We will—"
The door slammed open. A man, dressed similarly to Nightflame, stormed in. Furious red aura danced around him.
"Lord Nightflame, you cannot barge in here like that!" Ryoto shouted, chastising him.
Tension skyrocketed. The man's eyes blazed as he threw a punch at the Minister. Ryoto, a mere High Human, could not resist—but the air crackled like burning wood. The room itself seemed molten. Flames twisted and flickered around the King of Kaelthor, but left others unharmed.
Lord Nightflame recoiled, feeling his skin sear, and collapsed to his knees. The Kaelthor citizens rose, their expressions a mixture of shock, anger, and fear.
Lord Devrane sighed and gently held Hendrick's hand. The aura withdrew.
"Caelharrow, you are being a tyrant!" the head of the Minister's Council, a Velindre dressed in lavish purple, shouted. His outline flickered; his kind feared intense heat, which was why they dwelled in coastal regions.
Hendrick merely nodded.
Devrane shook his head, a headache forming. "Let's have the Summit. Call all the retinue to converge at the Hall."
Lady Nightflame bowed, guiding her husband out, and all others followed—except Hendrick.
Once the hall emptied, Devrane drew open the heavy curtains, letting fresh air sweep in.
"I hope you know what will happen today," he said coldly.
Hendrick bowed his head and massaged his neck. Silence lingered.
"Don't blame me," Devrane continued, "but I will try my best. I hope you know what you are doing."
Hendrick's eyes glowed with a bluish light. He already anticipated the outcome of today's meeting. A wind of change blew through the tower. One final task remained: to end his reign on his own terms.
In the room where the retinue waited, a servant entered. "The Hall requests your presence."
Sera frowned, holding Garran's hand as tension filled the air. Whispers passed by, and she caught the word "Hands."
Curiosity overcame her. "Has something serious happened in the city?"
Garran studied his sister's innocent expression. His lips moved before his mind could stop them.
"Father… killed the assassins," he said simply.
Sera's frown deepened. She did not understand why the execution of the criminals had left the air so tense.
He squeezed her hand. "He killed everyone. The entire organization."
Sera's heart dropped. Her eyes widened. The bruised hands, the blood-soaked clothing, the pale countenance—it all made sense now. Her father had returned from a massacre.
They entered the hall, but for Sera, everything was blurry. Garran guided her to her seat, and soon the Summit of Heads began.