An Extra’s POV

In a vast and beautiful room, furnished finely with the best kinds of items anyone could find, there was a long table.

This table had five chairs lined before it.

Two were placed in the left, two in the right to the final chair—which also looked the most prestigious—was at the very front.

The head of the table.

Seated on each of these seats were people who were dressed rather uniquely—though most of them had fancy wears.

The chandelier up above, the fine murals all over the pristine space, the regal carpets, and the exquisite curtains; all of these things sanctified this entire room as purely bourgeois.

As such, the people presently seated had to reflect such dignity.

Other than a rough-looking man that sat with his arms folded, fleshing his bulging muscles and his barely covered chest, everyone else was dressed appropriately for the meeting.

They also had entourages who stood behind them.

Each of the regular four seats had two people standing behind them.

However, the majestic seat in front of them all had only one person standing.

The young man who stood there wore a pure black suit, with pure black hair and blue eyes shimmering from his blank eyes.

He looked stoic as he placed both hands behind him and stood behind his mistress.

Indeed…

The one who sat in the most prestigious position was none other than Lady Scylla, the only Slave Trader who currently operated within the United Human Alliance's borders.

Her long, blond hair was coiled, and it fell on her purely red dress.

Her beautiful and delicate face would be more than enough to fool anyone. It hid the truly savage and ruthless persona she had within.

With her lips giving off the hue of red, and her violet eyes echoing nothing but danger, she smiled at the people who had gathered before her.

There was Noir, Rouge, and Bleue of the Obsidian Council.

And then, Fenrir, the Chief of the Mercenary Gang.

These were the members of her New Order; heralds of the Undertaking.

Behind them were their subordinates. For the Mercenary Gang Chief, two of the Deadly Three stood behind him.

the most qualified of

boy that guarded her

echoed within

rulers of the Criminal Underworld. They won't be a threat to

room knew

all the activities of the

power and wealth to do

that their children would also rise up to

Hence, the culling.

to the three Councilors

one was

you, Fenrir. Your Mercenary Gang took care of everything

this, her charming smile radiating so much goodwill, Fenrir grunted

black hair was reminiscent of a beast, and while he had a

black armless jacket on, exposing his muscular physique, and he wore pretty baggy trousers,

a ruffian

Still, he reluctantly remained.

"Whatever…" He murmured.

so modest, Sir Fenrir." Lord Rouge

Bleue

could not be the furthest thing from

had balding blond hair, Bleue appeared to be lanky;

using

me from charging you full price for our services." Fenrir growled and

"Of course! We understand."

"Yes! We understand!"

the two echoed their words clearly pissed off the

believe we all gathered here for a purpose. Why

spoke was Lord Noir—an old man with gray hair and a snake-like expression on his

room, he was dressed

jewels that had dark

composed attitude was reminiscent of a classical depiction of the Vampire

that began the Obsidian Council, Lord Noir was

made it impossible not

him, the other two members of

And… perhaps they were.

"You're right, Lord Noir!"

"Right indeed, Lord Noir!"

old man sighed, also finding their bickering

Scylla and nodded slightly—his pure black irises telling her

the Mercenary Gang has sent their forces to cripple the Blanc House while completely eradicating the Jaune and Verte