"Khuckh—thud."
With his hands clutching his neck, one of the men fell from his chair, stumbling as he landed.
The woman remained trembling with fear, flanked by two other men, their foreheads damp with sweat.
A man with silver hair and sapphire eyes coldly observed his phone screen, his finger moving across the touch screen.
"Vrandins must be disappointed in you," Avendial remarked, having ensured that these people understood the true nature of fear—that loyalty often stems from ignorance of a fear far greater than their loyalty.
"S-sir... p-please," the woman stammered, her hands clutching the glass so tightly that she trembled enough to spill its contents.
Moments earlier, she had been told to take a sip, just like the man now lying dead on the floor.
"Drink it, or I will make sure your children are the first to have a sip," he warned without hesitation.
