Chapter 204: The High Table's Resolution
The High Table. Its secret council chamber.
At the center of the room stood a circular table in absolute silence.
Twelve chairs formed a closed ring of power.
The tabletop wasn't made of wood, but of cold black stone.
Embedded within its surface were twelve family crests, each one like a silent oath carved into the foundation of the organization.
A single beam of light descended from the domed ceiling, illuminating only the table itself.
Everyone seated around it remained deliberately concealed in shadow.
There were no candles.
No prayers.
Only power...
...and the rules.
Marquis Gramont stood at the center of the circle.
It was the first time he had stood before this table as a full member of the High Table.
His official debut.
He was young.
Far younger than the family heads surrounding him—men and women who had survived decades of assassinations, betrayals, and wars.
Youth meant sharpness.
It also meant ambition.
His black suit was impeccably tailored, without a single wrinkle.
Pinned to his chest was the Gramont family crest—the very emblem he had personally removed from his father's lapel only days earlier.
The funeral.
The mourning.
The transfer of power.
Everything had unfolded naturally, almost effortlessly.
His fingertips brushed the family crest unconsciously.
Not out of nostalgia...
But to reassure himself that it now belonged entirely to him.
"Ladies and gentlemen."
He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping across the eleven seated figures.
"My father devoted his entire life to the High Table."
"His was an era of preservation."
He slowly raised his eyes.
"Mine..."
"...will be an era of expansion."
No one answered.
Yet eleven pairs of eyes settled silently upon him.
From the center of the table, a metallic projector slowly descended.
The image flickered to life.
The New York Continental Hotel.
The underground morgue.
Two corpses were brought inside.
The footage zoomed in.
Ethan Rayne appeared.
The reception desk.
The bodies were carried in by two people, registered as guests, and assigned a room.
The scene shifted.
A hallway.
The group entered one of the hotel rooms.
Time accelerated.
The door opened once more.
The two people who had supposedly been dead...
...walked back out alive.
Finally, a woman checked out at the front desk.
The recording ended.
Darkness reclaimed the tabletop.
No one in the chamber spoke.
Marquis Gramont finally broke the silence.
"Anyone..."
"...can kill a person."
He paused.
"But only he..."
"...can bring one back."
Silence remained.
"We create death."
"He reverses it."
His gaze traveled from one seat to the next.
"And what have our investigations revealed?"
"The latest intelligence indicates..."
He let the words linger.
"...that who is resurrected depends entirely upon the doctor's personal decision."
"No rules."
"No oversight."
"No review."
"Only his own judgment."
His voice grew noticeably colder.
"That is chaos."
"Power completely divorced from order."
"The key to the world now rests in the hands of a man accountable to no one."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Order cannot allow such a situation to exist."
"We will bring him into the system."
"We will make him a part of the rules."
A parchment slowly unfurled at the center of the table.
Special Authorization Resolution
Its contents were brief.
[In the name of preserving order, Ethan Rayne is hereby designated a permanent asset of the High Table.
The authority over medicine and resurrection shall exist under the laws of the High Table—not under the will of any individual.]
Gramont looked around the chamber.
"The signatures of all twelve members..."
"...will grant me temporary supreme executive authority."
The Marquis spoke quietly.
He picked up a feather quill and was the first to sign his name.
The ink had barely dried...
...when the second member added their signature.
Then the third.
The fourth.
One after another.
Until the eleventh.
At last, the quill came to rest before the final seat.
A ring engraved with the crest of an Italian family caught the light.
Gianna D'Antonio slowly raised her head.
Dressed in a simple black gown, she looked calmly at the young Marquis.
Then she spoke.
"Your father was a man who respected the rules."
"You are not."
The Marquis smiled faintly.
"The rules exist to serve order."
Gianna gently shook her head.
"Ethan Rayne holds my Marker."
"He is my creditor."
She paused.
"But that's not the important part."
Her eyes met his.
"The important part..."
"...is that I don't agree."
The atmosphere tightened instantly.
Every resolution of the High Table required a unanimous vote.
One dissenting vote...
...was enough to invalidate the proposal.
For the first time, a trace of coldness appeared in the Marquis's eyes.
"Gianna."
"I thought our generation would see eye to eye."
"I never imagined you would be the one to object."
He paused before continuing.
"It seems..."
"I overestimated you."
"Perhaps your brother would have shown greater courage."
"Greater decisiveness."
"What a pity."
The Marquis sighed softly as he shook his head.
Whether he meant it was unfortunate that Santino had never inherited the seat...
...or that Santino's fate had ended in tragedy...
...was impossible to tell.
Gianna's expression never changed.
She wasn't the slightest bit shaken by his provocation.
"I simply know what self-destruction looks like."
The Marquis let out a cold snort.
"So..."
"Are you protecting an outsider?"
"Or challenging the High Table itself?"
Gianna answered calmly.
"I'm protecting the rules."
"The Marker takes precedence over everything."
"Your father signed that provision himself."
Silence.
The Marquis slowly rolled the parchment closed.
His knuckles whitened.
He knew he couldn't force the resolution through.
Not yet.
The rules hadn't decayed that far...
...at least not today.
"Very well."
His voice was calm.
"Then we'll do this another way."
His gaze swept across the chamber.
"Gianna D'Antonio is bound to the target through a Marker."
"She therefore possesses a direct conflict of interest."
"According to the High Table's recusal principles..."
"...this seat is disqualified from participating in the vote."
Slowly, he raised his hand.
"Those in favor of suspending Gianna D'Antonio's voting rights for this resolution..."
"...raise your hand."
Silence lingered.
Then, under his watchful gaze...
One hand rose.
Then another.
A third.
Eventually...
Eleven hands were raised.
Gianna...
...was excluded from the vote.
Eleven seats remained.
Eleven votes.
The resolution passed unanimously.
The proposal was adopted.
The Marquis's temporary supreme executive authority...
...was now officially established.
---
Gianna showed no sign of anger.
She simply rose to her feet.
"Throughout history..."
"...many people sentenced to the gallows were condemned by perfectly legal documents."
Her eyes slowly swept across everyone seated at the table.
"Some people sign another person's name."
"And some..."
"...sign their own."
She paused before continuing.
"You intend to claim ownership of a man the entire world is watching."
She looked at each of them in turn.
"Have you all gone mad..."
"...or do you simply believe the world has?"
The Marquis had already achieved what he wanted.
His mood was noticeably lighter.
"Ethan has already signed a cooperation agreement with the High Table."
"We're merely deepening that cooperation."
"What's wrong with that?"
"And if he refuses?"
Gianna asked evenly.
"Will you simply let him walk away?"
"Refuse?"
The Marquis laughed as though he'd just heard the world's greatest joke.
"Do you honestly believe..."
"...that anyone who joins the High Table..."
"...can ever leave?"
"Those who've supposedly 'retired'..."
"What are they now?"
"They're merely people still breathing..."
"...within the limits of our rules."
His smile disappeared.
His voice became quiet...
...and dangerous.
"Wealth."
"Resources."
"Protection."
"Power."
"Whatever he desires..."
"...the High Table can provide."
He paused.
"And if he desires nothing..."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"Then we'll apply pressure."
"We freeze Continental resources."
"We revoke every protection afforded to him."
"We close the entire underworld against him."
The Marquis leaned forward slightly.
His voice dropped into an icy whisper.
"And if it truly comes to that..."
"...I'll make him come to me."
"...Begging."
Want faster updates? Send those stones my way—the more, the merrier. Read early at [email protected]/A_divin5