Under the dim light, a candlestick was placed on a low wooden table, the flame flickering slightly, dispelling the shadows of this secret chamber.
The center of the long table was piled with maps, weapons, and several handwritten papers.
In the corner, a few wooden boxes were stacked, filled with armor and crossbow arrows.
Beside the wooden table, a scrawny old man dressed in black monk robes hung his head low, while an artisan with rolled-up sleeves revealing hairy arms nervously rubbed his hands.
A few labor representatives stood in one corner of the chamber, whispering among themselves, standing by the winding staircase; the young men serving as guards were both tense and excited.
Sitting in front of the wooden table was Mitney, dressed in sturdy leather armor, with a longsword hanging by his waist.
His previously soft and gentle face appeared particularly stern under the firelight, his gaze sharp and unlike that of a gentle diplomatic envoy.
