***
In a high-tier VIP box, the air was cold enough to frost.
Genus, the Head Lord of House Plant, didn't move a finger.
He, of course, didn't join the standing ovation, nor did he rush down to the arena floor to check on his daughter's punctured stomach.
He just stood there, staring down at the white-haired boy.
A father stared at his son for a long time.
A very, very long time.
Around him, other nobles were whispering, casting sideways glances at the man who had effectively thrown away the strongest weapon in his arsenal. But Genus wasn't listening to them. He wasn't even thinking about the "Demon Tide" Ignotus had just screamed about.
To a man like Genus, the end of the world was a secondary concern compared to the end of a legacy. His mind was a whirlwind of damage control, and the math was looking disastrous.
'Two of them...'
His jaw tightened so hard it looked like it might snap.
