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.

had the most

the boy that guarded her

Scylla's voice echoed within the bright room, causing

rulers of the Criminal Underworld. They

in the room

of the Underworld were members of the

and wealth to do

was the fear that their children would also rise up

Hence, the culling.

three Councilors were

was

you, Fenrir. Your Mercenary Gang took

radiating so much goodwill,

bushy black hair was reminiscent of a beast, and while he had a bald chin, traces of his hair were already closely encroaching on

physique, and he wore pretty baggy trousers, with

be a ruffian who seemed barely interested in

Still, he reluctantly remained.

"Whatever…" He murmured.

Don't be so modest, Sir

Bleue joined

them could not be the furthest thing from each

balding blond hair, Bleue appeared to be lanky; with ebony skin and

knew he was using Magic to appear younger,

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

"Of course! We understand."

"Yes! We understand!"

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

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

who spoke was Lord Noir—an old man with gray

the room, he was dressed

black cape, and jewels that had dark tints

and composed attitude was reminiscent of a classical

began the Obsidian Council, Lord Noir was met with the respect of

made it

the other two members of the Obsidian Council

And… perhaps they were.

"You're right, Lord Noir!"

"Right indeed, Lord Noir!"

sighed, also finding their bickering to be

and nodded slightly—his pure black irises telling her to go ahead

forces to cripple the Blanc House while completely