The King's words echoed faintly, like the mountain wind before a storm, sweeping through the lakes of everyone's hearts, stirring up roaring waves. The vast night wind poured in from the ceiling, carrying the warmth of midsummer, yet inexplicably sending chills through the body.
In the ancient great hall, a moment of silence fell, even the music paused. The previous clamor and cheers suddenly vanished, leaving only the quietly flickering bonfire and the deep dark corners.
Gillim stood in the shadowy corner. His expression was solemn, observing the expressions and movements of the four Legion Commanders, like a snake waiting for the right moment. In his hand, he held tightly a specially made bone whistle. At this moment, as long as he gently blew the whistle, dozens of Secret Guards clad in copper armor would rush in from the concealed side hall...
