Besides them, there were a few others I didn't quite recognize—
A young girl who looked only sixteen or seventeen, with short chestnut hair, sat nervously at the very edge.
She kept her head down, fingers twisting the hem of her faded clothes, the few scattered freckles on her face standing out sharply against her pale skin.
Sensing a gaze, she flinched, like a startled rabbit.
Hmm... Kuchiha might really like her...
The white-haired old man who had been on duty at the radio earlier, with dark skin that made him look like a local native, was now sitting near the head of the table.
His back was straight, his wrinkled face bearing the solemnity of a soldier.
His sharp eyes were fixed tightly on Serie, burning with undisguised reverence and welcome.
A middle-aged woman, as robust as Tarak, stood with her arms crossed; she was the one who had been boiling soup in the plaza earlier.
And two complete strangers: a muscular, red-haired young man, sitting casually with roped muscles on his arms, scanning Chloe and Serie up and down with undisguised covetousness in his eyes.
And a man wrapped tightly in a heavily worn trench coat, wearing dark goggles on his face.
The skin exposed on his neck and wrists was abnormally rough, like cracked tree bark.
He sat in the dimmest part of the light, like a lifeless rock; only when his goggles shifted slightly did it prove he wasn't a statue.
The moment the door opened, everyone's gaze focused squarely on Chloe and Serie.
Curiosity, scrutiny, awe, and even a hint of imperceptible doubt...
Various emotions intertwined under this cold light.
Chloe sat at the head of the table, her expression grave.
She gestured for Serie to take the seat beside her.
Before Chloe could speak, the old soldier stood up and reached out to Serie: "Are you Lady Goluthos? I never expected that I, with my old bones, would be able to see you in person. We all grew up listening to the legendary stories about you."
Serie shook his hand, though she couldn't utter anything substantial.
The old soldier didn't seem surprised; this situation actually matched the myths that had been passed down.
Frost, at the side, let out a scoff.
He either didn't believe those so-called myths at all, or simply didn't care about them.
Upon learning that this "Black King" couldn't speak, his eyes were full of mockery.
"This is the so-called Black King? A mute, of all things."
The true king in his mind should be a powerful, wise, farsighted, and steady-as-a-mountain existence—just like himself—not this little girl before him who couldn't even speak, like an ignorant little animal.
Frost's scoff reached Chloe's ears clearly, causing her brow to furrow imperceptibly.
She admitted that Frost had skill and capability, and that the group of students and young people respected and admired him greatly.
During the days she spent abroad searching for Goluthos, it was thanks to him that the situation remained stable.
Now, his feelings towards Goluthos... she wasn't unable to understand them.
But if she let this emotion spread unchecked...
Chloe lowered her eyelids, her fingertips tapping unconsciously on the edge of the table.
Perhaps it was time to re-evaluate the weight of this capable subordinate.
But that wasn't the most pressing matter.
"Everyone," Chloe's voice broke the oppressive silence, "I gathered everyone because Hanie told me something happened in the north."
The chestnut-haired girl, who was a scout, immediately chimed in, her voice hoarse and trembling: "Our sugar factory on the outskirts of Iron Rust Town... was exposed. Saint Martan's Scavenger unit launched a surprise attack early yesterday morning."
She paused, her eyes filled with fear, "In the factory... the seven brothers and sisters we left behind... were all... executed on the spot, and their bodies were hung on the gallows at the town entrance as a warning."
The air in the conference room froze instantly, and even the sound of breathing became barely audible.
Frost clenched his fist tightly, his knuckles turning white.
Hanie also let out a suppressed sob.
The others' expressions were becoming increasingly grim.
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