Kriz's eyes widened as the realization finally struck him.
If the higher-ups of the Aztorus Kingdom learned that the alliance had collapsed because of him—at the exact moment when the forces of the Ocean of the Blood Sun grew powerful enough to contend with Late Alpha–Omega Overgods—he would be in grave trouble. This was not a minor diplomatic misstep; it was a strategic disaster.
The consequences could be severe.
At best, he would be stripped of authority and sidelined. At worst… the Kingdom might deny him the resources needed to regenerate his severed arm. In Paradise, where power dictated worth, such a punishment was tantamount to exile.
Rage surged through Kriz's chest.
He turned sharply toward Mirena, his gaze burning with condemnation and betrayal. Yet the woman stood firm beneath his glare, her posture calm, her expression serene—almost satisfied.
