After finishing his declaration, Gerald walked away, leaving the nobles to deal with the ensuing conflicts themselves.
The lively banquet hall transformed into a scene of dispersal, yet some groups moved deeper into the hall's intricate corridors.
Victor could not take his eyes off the moment and left Selith alone for a while.
A large double door marked the destination of one group.
He pressed his ear against it carefully, listening with quiet curiosity. He hoped the group inside included individuals connected to the Republic of Venn's leadership.
'I can barely hear anything.'
Victor scanned the area. Most palace staff were preoccupied with cleaning up after the banquet.
He stepped into the kitchen, removed his outer jacket, and slipped into a server's vest.
Carrying a large tray prepared for serving drinks, with tall, slender glasses already arranged, he wasted no time.
He approached the door and knocked gently.
A stout elderly man opened it and greeted Victor warmly. He quickly served drinks to ten older men, including the stout man, who sat at the head of the table after Gerald's approval.
As Victor was about to leave, a middle-aged, bald man with thick glasses and a heavy beard stopped him.
"Bring me a hot coffee as well. I don't handle intoxicants well."
Victor nodded and stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar to eavesdrop.
Listening from outside carried risks—palace staff might notice—but the large shadow concealed the corridor, making it safe.
'Well done, Selith.'
He silently praised her. Her quick response demonstrated how dependable a colleague she had become.
Gerald began a grand address, holding a newspaper aloft.
"Today, the Blood Empire intervened, controlling news offices to report on negotiations. But who initiated talks with them?"
Several middle-aged men shook their heads. One man raised his hand to interject. Slim and neatly dressed, with a thin beard and tied brown hair, he spoke.
"Please, allow me, Vincent. Suspecting each other achieves nothing. Could the negotiations have been initiated by the Revolution? The Blood Empire's envoy was captured before returning."
The stout man interrupted.
"Apologies, but according to my internal information, no district conducted such negotiations."
Vincent glared, arrogance in his eyes.
"Are you not one of them, Bradwin Vemhel? Do you intend to die prematurely? Tell the truth!"
"I have explained before. Now New Fanren has collapsed completely! I have shared everything I know—remember that."
Vincent's pride lessened, slumping into his chair, leaving Bradwin under watchful, distrustful eyes.
Victor smiled slightly at the news of the Blood Empire's arrival. But after eliminating Bradwin, uncertainty arose—what would happen next?
He had to observe Oliver's plans carefully; otherwise, his own freedom would be taken.
To ensure the mission into the Blood Empire succeeded, calculating escape routes and anticipating Oliver's benefits was essential.
Gerald stood confidently, surveying the room, his face thoughtful.
Many present felt fear, including Vincent, who widened his eyes as Gerald spoke, applauding himself.
"Excellent! Whoever here is a traitor or a loyal servant, you may continue enjoying life as usual. After the upcoming war in the East, demand for warship production will surge, and the Dungeon Organization will not let the Republic of Ven be easily attacked by the Blood Empire."
The bald, thick-bearded man raised his hand.
"Have you reached an agreement with them, Gerald? Our production is still in competition with the five kingdoms."
Gerald grinned.
"Simply halting metal exports will suffice. Remember, we are not a weak small state; we are a mighty power without swords."
Vincent clapped loudly.
"Then I will execute the orders immediately."
Applause and laughter followed, just as a cart carrying aromatic coffee entered.
Suddenly, gunfire echoed, briefly deafening the hall. All lights went out after someone deliberately shot at the bulbs.
The sporadic flashes revealed the stout elderly man collapsed to the ground, followed by all middle-aged men—except Gerald.
Victor analyzed the scene multiple times before acting. Killing only Bradwin benefited Oliver; eliminating all but Gerald maximized Victor's advantage.
In a governance system where leaders yielded ultimate authority to the military, tyranny and hidden power prevailed. Victor recognized Gerald's decision-making, knowing it could allow him to become the true supreme leader, beyond the opposition of the council.
'Let's see just how much this place will decay.'
The single light from the door went out.
A man emerged, fearless in his actions. Ethics were overridden by long-term strategy.
Victor began to understand Oliver completely.
'Great reform requires a long-term game.'
Humanity was abandoned—hundreds of thousands sacrificed for a greater future. This man was a demon, incapable of human thought.
Yet Victor could not fully judge him; he had chosen to dismantle the Republic of Ven's grandeur for himself. If he could later reconcile with the Blood Empire, bringing power under his control while understanding the Republic's foundations would be achievable.
His actions also directly impacted Oliver's plan. If killing Bradwin was the start of a long war, Victor's deeds accelerated the collapse.
The path to greatness had begun.
'I've been in the center all along, and I will remain so until my last day.'
He smiled, affirming his resolve.
The young man, short black hair parted in the middle, disheveled, wearing a white shirt under a black vest, gloves covering the palms, walked confidently along a corridor adorned with red and gold patterned carpets.
The military attacked Victor as they saw him exit the direction of gunfire.
A radiant shadow appeared, dragging him into a darkness beyond even a sliver of light. The sound of air slicing like flames filled the space.
At an old, dilapidated clock tower, they stopped. Selith, panting, moved away slightly.
'What's happening!?'
She tried to steady her breathing.
"I'm sorry… Victor, I feel like someone is chasing us."
In an instant, the clock tower roof split. A figure appeared above, landing with deadly intent.
Nearly two meters tall, hair swept to the left, eyes darker than any laborer's, clad in a suit and wielding a long metal sword.
His breath quieted, eyes haughty, poised to strike.
Gale-force wind cut through the air with a metallic hiss. Victor fired his gun, but the golden bullet split in half midair.
The sword swung.
The resulting shockwave collapsed the tower floor by floor, creating extreme danger.
As Victor floated, Selith transformed into a shadow and embraced him. Her tears and screams steeled his resolve.
He clutched Selith and dragged his hand across the collapsing tower; flames ignited, burning his palms to ash.
Victor fell, legs twisted and broken beyond human form. Blood covered him, yet his mind remained clear.
The shadow manifested as Selith again—unconscious and fainted.
'Someone… anyone, help!'
His mind screamed, but his vocal cords failed. In despair, crow feathers fell around them.
The sword-wielding man stood before him.
"You have no right to die."