The armor, crafted from refined steel, had now become metal coffins that imprisoned them and hastened their death. Scalding blood wound its way down the grooves between the armor plates, converging into rapidly expanding, steaming pools of dark red.
A silence more terrifying than any clamor descended. Apart from the viscous sound of blood dripping and gathering, there was no other noise.
Phaethon's steps did not pause. He continued walking across that inverted "floor," his gaze calmly sweeping over the piles of metallic wreckage and spreading pools of blood below.
His voice sounded once more, carrying a tone of almost pitying mockery that pierced the silence of death:
"What a pity... The millennia-old heritage you're so proud of, those meticulously woven, airtight spiderwebs—all the troop deployment charts, all the sentry rotation schedules, all the coordinates of the 'safe houses' hiding conspiracies and sins..."
There was no anger in Phaethon's voice, only a weariness and clarity that had seen through the dust of ages.
"In the torrent of time, long enough for seas to turn to fields and mountains to be worn flat to plains... there hasn't even been... a single proper, effective adjustment? Not even a minor shift in position?"
He shook his head slightly, an elegant movement laced with the utmost contempt for a shoddy creation. His sigh seemed capable of freezing souls:
"Truly... sloth and foolishness that takes one's breath away." He enunciated the word "foolishness" with particular clarity, like a final epitaph carved onto the unchanging, rotten foundations of the Council of Elders.
He had even, with great "consideration," activated the authority of Law. An invisible force of rules enveloped the entire bloody Council complex, tightly locking in the thick, nauseating stench of blood, not allowing a single trace to escape.
He was afraid of disturbing the "splendid" revelry about the pinnacle of power in which the Elders in the banquet hall were currently immersed.
...
Only when the last faint trace of life within the Council had been utterly extinguished, leaving only the thick, wet sounds of slowly dripping blood, did Phaethon finally stand before a door and slowly raise his hand.
"Creeeak—"
The heavy banquet hall doors were pushed open by a steady, unhurried force.
Instantly, the suffocating, overwhelming tide of gore, suppressed for so long by the authority, rushed into the brilliantly lit, celebratory banquet hall like a bloodthirsty beast breaking free from its cage!
That cloying, nauseating, metallic scent instantly overwhelmed the fragrance of fine wine and the aroma of food, violently flooding into everyone's nostrils!
The clamor in the hall came to an abrupt halt. All smiles froze on faces.
Golden wine cups slipped from trembling hands, smashing on the polished floor with harsh, shattering sounds.
In the deathly silence, Phaethon's figure appeared in the doorway, backed by an impenetrable darkness and reek of blood.
On his face was a nearly innocent, harmless smile. His gaze precisely locked onto Caenis on the seat of honor, her face ghostly pale, her pupils contracted to pinpricks.
"Good evening, Elder Caenis..." he began, his voice clear and pleasant, as if greeting an old friend.
"You see, I'm a man of my word. You gave me three days to consider, and I've simply..."
Phaethon deliberately paused, his smile growing even more radiant, as if sharing an amusing anecdote.
"...come in person, well 'within three days,' to give you my answer."
As he spoke, he seemed amused by his own words, letting out a soft, low laugh, his shoulders giving a slight shrug.
"Oh, pardon me, look at my memory." He raised a hand, his fingertips still stained with fresh blood, and lightly tapped his own forehead. The gesture was as elegant as a performance at the opera.
"I'm just too well-mannered. I always can't help being polite to people."
Phaethon's eyes were like the ice of the far north, yet the corner of his mouth still held that radiant, blinding smile.
"Being polite to scum like you... must make you feel... very, very troubled, I imagine?"
...
Caenis's face, originally flushed with rapturous joy and alcohol, had now drained of all color, becoming as pale as her ash-gray hair. Her lips trembled uncontrollably.
"Phaethon! You... aren't you afraid...?" Her voice was shrill and broken, like a bird being strangled, filled with incredulous terror and a last shred of bluster.
"Afraid of what?" Phaethon chuckled, the laughter unusually clear and jarring in the dead-silent hall.
He took a step forward, walking unhurriedly toward the center of the banquet hall.
With each step he took, the still-damp pool of blood outside the door seemed to gain life, silently, viscously creeping inward along the cold, smooth marble floor.
It followed his footsteps, imprinting the mark of death upon the floor that symbolized the Council's supreme authority.
The Elders along the way shrank back one after another in panic, crowding, shoving, their eyes darting away. No one dared to look directly at the youth who still wore a 'polite and proper' smile.
"Afraid the Holy City will lose its stability? Afraid of your threats against Cyrene? Of course I'm afraid. Terrified..." Phaethon came to a stop before Caenis, looking down upon the once-overbearing Elder.
The sharp sword in his hand, which had just drunk its fill of Cleaners blood, was now flippantly tracing lines against Caenis's pale neck.
The icy touch of the metal made Caenis tremble violently.
Phaethon contemplated with great interest from which angle to make the cut, so that the trajectory of the falling head would be most elegant, most fitting for the finale of this grand performance.
"Ph, Phaethon... then you still don't..." Caenis's voice shook uncontrollably. Fear was almost suffocating her. Her final struggle seemed so feeble and powerless.
"But it's simple. I'll just become an Elder myself, won't I?" Phaethon interrupted her, his tone as casual as if discussing what he just ate.
The sword in his hand stopped its tracing, hovering steadily at the lethal spot.
"Caenis, speaking of which, I must 'sincerely' thank you. Thank you for that 'generous' agreement, which made it so very easy for me. Easy enough that all I need to do is sign a name to take this Elder's seat."
Phaethon tilted his head slightly, a nearly innocent, cruel smile appearing on his face. "You left in such a 'hurry' last time, I didn't have a chance to tell you—"
"This truly is the most 'thoughtful' birthday gift I've ever received. I like it very, very much... ♪~"
"No! This doesn't conform to..."
"Now, you should address me as... Elder Phaethon."
Phaethon couldn't even be bothered to hear what else Caenis had to say.
A flash of blade light!
"Thud."
A head wrapped in gray hair, its expression frozen in shock, rolled heavily onto the mirror-smooth marble floor, emitting a dull thump.
The headless torso stood rigid for a moment before collapsing with a crash like a puppet with all its strings cut.