From behind Haoran, a woman began to walk forward, her movements so light and deliberate that not even the faintest sound of her heels could be heard against the polished floor. The elders watched, transfixed, as she stepped into the light, her presence commanding every gaze in the room.
A collective gasp rippled through the table as the woman's striking features came into view. She was stunning—an ethereal beauty that seemed both disarming and menacing. She smiled as she slowly scanned the room, her mismatched eyes—one blue, the other purple—lingering on each elder as if reading their thoughts. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her back, adding an air of elegance to her already imposing figure.
Her demeanor was calm, almost leisurely, as though she were strolling through a park rather than walking through a room littered with blood and bodies. The contrast between her serene smile and the carnage around her was unsettling.
Haoran's eyes followed her intently, his expression unchanging. He noted her age—young, perhaps twenty or twenty-two, only a couple of years younger than his wife, Eula. But her age did nothing to diminish the palpable danger she exuded.
Her gaze and presence were hauntingly familiar. Haoran had only encountered Nakago Toheyama a handful of times, but he vividly remembered the way Nakago's piercing eyes seemed to see straight into a person's soul. This young woman carried that same intensity, a silent yet undeniable assertion of power.
Unlike the wives of many elders, who flaunted their husbands' influence for the world to see, this woman needed no such display. She was power incarnate, content to remain in the shadows until she chose to step into the light.
"How do I address the Mistress of the Toheyama?" Haoran asked, his voice casual, as though the room wasn't littered with the bodies of fallen men. His tone was light, his words deliberate, yet they sent a ripple of shock through the elders seated at the table.
Several elders gasped audibly, their eyes widening at Haoran's words. None of them had ever seen the face of the current Mistress of the Toheyama clan. For her to reveal herself now was nothing short of monumental.
The woman didn't flinch at the question. Instead, she took her seat at the opposite end of the table, directly across from Haoran, her movements graceful yet deliberate. Behind her stood Soi, the woman who had executed Viktor's concierge with unnerving ease.
"Katarina," she answered, her voice smooth and melodic, as if this were a mere social gathering.
"Is it all right to address you formally?" Haoran pressed, his tone polite but probing.
Katarina merely shrugged with a faint smile, a gesture that seemed to say titles were inconsequential to her.
"You do live up to your name," Haoran continued, his words tinged with dark amusement. "Clean, clear, and pure."
It was a subtle reference, not just to her name but to the precision of the attack on the château. It was calculated, methodical, and flawless—attributes Haoran could respect, even if they came at his expense.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Katarina replied, her smile unfaltering.
Haoran's calm demeanor shifted slightly as he cut to the chase. "Do you have my wife and son with you?"
"No," Katarina said simply, her directness catching even the more composed elders off guard.
Haoran's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, though his smile remained in place. He couldn't hide the flicker of tension that passed through him. Katarina noticed, of course.
"Your wife and I had a heart-to-heart talk," she said, her tone conversational, almost teasing.
"And what did you talk about?" Haoran's voice was steady, but there was a subtle edge to it now.
"About being a wife, a mother. Her choices… my choices," Katarina replied. Her eyes danced over the room, her smile now laced with mockery as she took in the elders who had moments ago been in a state of panic. "I gave her an option, in case you were wondering."
Haoran's gaze sharpened.
"What kind of option?"Haoran asked, his tone sharp despite the calm façade he maintained. A sliver of anxiety crept into his mind. If the Toheyama offered Eula protection, it could complicate everything. After the display of their capabilities tonight, even the elders who were ready to rally behind him might reconsider their loyalties.
Katarina's smile grew sharper, almost mocking. "I asked her if she wanted to come with me willingly or if she preferred I have my people drag her," she said casually.
"And?" Haoran prompted.
"At least she's thinking straight even in fear," Katarina replied, her gaze sweeping over the elders. Her eyes lingered on Viktor for a moment, her smile turning knowing before she shifted her focus back to Haoran.
"So where are they right now?" Haoran demanded.
"They're safe," Katarina answered simply.
"Then why come here if you don't have them with you?" Haoran asked, his voice low and edged with suspicion.
"I didn't come here to return them to you," Katarina said, her tone turning colder. "I came here to send a message."
Soi, standing behind her, made a subtle hand signal. One of the black-clad men stepped forward, carrying a medium-sized box crafted from high-quality material and tied with a red ribbon.
With deliberate precision, the man placed the box at the center of the table.
The room fell silent as all eyes fixed on the box, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Zandro, who had remained silent but alert throughout the tense encounter, subtly signaled one of his men to approach the box. Every eye in the room was fixed on the package, the crimson ribbon glinting faintly in the flickering light.
Katarina's unwavering gaze stayed locked on Haoran, her lips curling into an enigmatic smile. Haoran mirrored her expression, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and calculated amusement. Their silent exchange was a battle of wills, both unyielding despite the mounting tension.
The room seemed to hold its collective breath as Zandro's man untied the ribbon. With a soft rustle, the box's panels fell away, revealing its grisly contents.
Gasps filled the dining hall. Some elders' eyes widened in horror, while others instinctively recoiled. A few even clasped their hands over their mouths as they struggled to contain their shock.
"No!" Viktor's voice rang out, raw with disbelief and anguish. He surged forward in his chair, his face contorted in a mixture of rage and devastation. "My son! My heir!"
Inside the box was the severed head of his only child, Alvise. Blood had dried along the edges of the wound, and the lifeless eyes stared blankly at nothing.
Viktor's trembling hands reached toward the box, his voice breaking as he asked the unanswerable. "Who did this to you?" His gaze darted wildly, as though his son's head might somehow respond. Alvise had been his only child, the sole heir to the Manzoni name and legacy.
Viktor's grief transformed into fury as his bloodshot eyes turned toward Katarina. "You…" he snarled, his voice trembling with rage. "You did this!"
Katarina didn't so much as glance at him. Her indifference was a deliberate insult, and it only fueled Viktor's rage further. In a blind frenzy, Viktor snatched the gun from a guard standing nearby, aiming it at Katarina with shaking hands.
But before he could pull the trigger, Soi moved like a shadow. No one in the room had even seen her approach. In a single, precise motion, her short sword pierced through Viktor's skull, entering one temple and exiting the other. His body froze for a moment, his eyes bulging in shock, before he collapsed lifelessly onto the table. Blood pooled around his head, mingling with the remnants of his son.
The room was silent, save for the soft, final thud of Viktor's body hitting the table. The elders nearest him recoiled, their faces pale with fear. No one dared to move or speak.
Katarina, still seated, didn't flinch or acknowledge the scene. Her calm was unnerving, as though the violent death mere feet away was nothing more than a trivial inconvenience.
Without looking at the body, Katarina spoke, her tone light and laced with mockery. "My husband has no intention of meddling in your domestic dispute with your wife. Unless, of course, you're willing to pay for his relationship counseling services," she quipped, her lips twitching into a smirk. "The message wasn't for you, Haoran. It was for your clan. I trust it was delivered clearly?"
Haoran leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable. "Duly noted," he said simply, his voice calm despite the chaos around him.
Katarina stood, her movements as unhurried as ever. As if on cue, another woman stepped forward, placing a sleek folder embossed with the Toheyama clan emblem—a golden compass entwined with a tail—on the table in front of Haoran.
"My husband wants you to have that," Katarina said, her tone almost playful. "If you want your family returned to you, along with the three individuals who helped your wife, all you need to do is sign it." Her mismatched eyes flicked briefly to Viktor's lifeless body before returning to Haoran. "Ah, and I do hope you have someone to fill his position. It seems you're in need of a new heir for the Manzoni."
Without waiting for a response, Katarina turned on her heel and began walking toward the exit. Soi and the other black-clad operatives followed their movements silent and coordinated. One by one, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving the dining hall as quickly and efficiently as they had entered.
For a long moment, the room remained silent. The elders sat frozen, too stunned to speak or move. The gruesome reminder of the Toheyama clan's power lay before them, staining the table in blood.