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.

others, they also had the most

Scylla… the boy that

good news." Scylla's voice echoed within

every seed of the previous rulers of the Criminal Underworld.

the room knew what

True Triumvirate that governed all the activities of the

enough power and

there was the fear that their children would also rise up

Hence, the culling.

to the three

was

Fenrir. Your

smile radiating so much goodwill, Fenrir grunted and

he had a

armless jacket on, exposing his muscular physique, and he wore pretty baggy trousers, with boots serving as

ruffian who seemed barely

Still, he reluctantly remained.

"Whatever…" He murmured.

so modest, Sir

Indeed!" Bleue joined and

be the furthest thing

Bleue appeared to be lanky; with ebony skin

knew he was using Magic

patronizing. That won't stop me from charging you full price for our

"Of course! We understand."

"Yes! We understand!"

two echoed their words clearly pissed off the Mercenary Gang's Chief, but he maintained control

all gathered here for a purpose. Why don't we get to

one who spoke was Lord Noir—an old man with gray hair and a

everyone in the room, he was

black cape, and jewels

reminiscent of a classical depiction

the current patriarch of the original family that began the Obsidian Council, Lord Noir

shrewd gaze and immaculate presentation made it impossible not to

members of the Obsidian Council

And… perhaps they were.

"You're right, Lord Noir!"

"Right indeed, Lord Noir!"

man sighed, also finding

slightly—his pure black irises telling her

sent their forces to cripple the Blanc