Before Viktor could respond, the chaotic sounds of commotion erupted outside the dining hall.
"We're under attack!" one of the guards shouted, peering out from a window. Gunfire cracked sharply in the distance, echoing through the estate.
Haoran's sharp gaze swept across the room, noting the shift in demeanor among the elders. Moments ago, these men, so eager for war with the Toheyama, now bore the unmistakable look of fear. Their earlier bravado vanished, replaced by an almost comical panic. Like dogs with tails tucked between their legs, some looked ready to hide under the table.
Haoran, however, remained still, his expression unreadable. He didn't flinch.
This chaos… he had expected it.
"Stay in your seat," Zandro said firmly, his voice cutting through the rising panic. His tone carried an authority that left no room for argument.
Some of the elders, who had begun to rise, hesitated before reluctantly sitting back down. Zandro raised his hand in a commanding gesture, signaling his men to hold their positions and not make a move. Across the table, Harvey Valdemor mirrored the gesture, subtly instructing his guards to protect the heads of the Freehely and Lorenzo families.
Harvey's priorities were clear. These two families, though not warriors by nature, were indispensable to the clan. They were the architects and strategists, men who shared Haoran's vision for a progressive future. Unlike the other elders, who were driven by greed and ambition, the Freehely and Lorenzo families were allies worth preserving.
The gunfire outside abruptly ceased, plunging the hall into an eerie silence.
The elders, who had been on the verge of full-blown panic, began to relax. Some even smiled, assuming the worst was over. Viktor was among them, his smug expression returning as he leaned back in his chair.
"Check the surroundings," Viktor ordered his bodyguard, speaking with the arrogance of someone who believed himself untouchable. "You don't need to worry, elders. I had my men surround the estate before we even arrived. No one can enter or leave the château without my knowledge." He smirked, basking in his presumed superiority.
But Haoran didn't respond. His expression remained calm, almost bored. Zandro's sharp eyes, however, scanned the room with a tension that wasn't visible moments before. Beside him, Harvey shifted ever so slightly, his hand brushing against the hilt of his concealed weapon.
Unlike Viktor and most of the elders, Haoran, Zandro, and Harvey had already sensed it.
There was a presence inside the dining hall.
A chill seemed to seep into the air, subtle yet undeniable. It wasn't loud, but to those attuned to danger, it was unmistakable.
Haoran's eyes flickered toward the shadows in the corner of the room, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Viktor," he said softly, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. "Perhaps you should check your surroundings yourself. Your confidence might not be as warranted as you think."
Before Viktor could respond, the faint sound of a blade being unsheathed cut through the silence. The room tensed as the realization struck—the attackers weren't outside. They were already here.
The sound of a blade slicing through flesh was swift, almost too fast for the eye to follow. Viktor's concierge didn't even have time to react before the blade severed his neck, his lifeless body crumpling to the ground. Blood splattered onto Viktor's once-immaculate suit, the stark red staining the fabric as his eyes widened in shock.
The room erupted into chaos.
Several elders shot to their feet, barking orders at their guards to protect them. But their commands were futile. The moment the guards moved to attack, figures dressed in black seemed to materialize out of thin air. These intruders moved with lethal precision, taking down every guard who dared to draw a weapon. Their movements were swift, almost mechanical, as if each kill had been choreographed in advance.
In stark contrast to the panic around them, Zandro and Harvey remained still, their hands raised to signal their men to hold their positions. Their guards, loyal and disciplined, didn't budge an inch. Those who obeyed the silent command to stay still were spared.
Despite the chaos, Haoran sat at the head of the table, utterly calm. If anything, he seemed amused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he observed the unfolding scene. This was more than he had anticipated, but it served his purpose well. The foolish elders, so eager for war, were now witnessing firsthand the reason for his truce with the Toheyama.
Viktor, his usual arrogance stripped away, stumbled back into his chair. His knees trembled, his face pale as he stared at the blood pooling at his feet. The other panicked elders, seeing that those who hadn't moved were untouched, reluctantly followed suit. One by one, they returned to their seats, their earlier bravado replaced with fear.
When the last elder sat, the room's attention shifted to the figure who had started it all.
The woman who had killed Viktor's concierge stood at the end of the table, wiping blood from her short sword with an almost casual elegance before she slid it back into its sheath. Her movements were unhurried, as though the act of killing had been nothing more than a mundane chore. She looked up, her lips curling into a disarming smile as her gaze swept over the room.
The elders stared, a mix of fear and fascination in their eyes. She was young, impossibly so for someone who carried such a deadly aura. Her wavy brown hair framed a face that could only be described as alluring, her piercing green eyes scanning the room with quiet confidence.
But beneath her beauty was an unmistakable danger. It wasn't just her skill with the blade that unnerved the elders; it was the way she carried herself—calm, composed, as if she were in complete control of the situation.
Around her, the other intruders revealed themselves. Men and women alike, dressed in the same black ensembles, stood in a relaxed yet ready stance. They looked like soldiers—disciplined and unwavering, their presence radiating an unspoken threat. Though they stood at ease, it was clear to anyone paying attention that these people were no ordinary guards. They were predators, poised to strike at a moment's notice.
Haoran's eyes remained fixed on the woman as she walked with measured steps to the opposite end of the table, directly facing him. He studied her, noting the subtle strength in her movements, the unflinching confidence in her gaze. Around him, he noticed the older male elders glancing at her with a different kind of interest—one tinged with desire, even in the midst of their fear.
But Haoran wasn't fooled. This woman was dangerous, yes, but she wasn't the true threat.
No, the true leader wasn't standing before him.
Haoran felt it—a presence behind him, far more oppressive and deadly than the young woman. It wasn't something he could see, but it was there, pressing down on him like a shadow. This was the kind of aura that commanded respect through fear alone.
Without turning his head, Haoran's voice broke the heavy silence. "If you're going to make a point, don't hide in the shadows. Show yourself." His tone was calm, almost mocking, as if daring the unseen figure to step forward.
The room held its collective breath, waiting for what would happen next.