The face hidden beneath the hood radiated an indescribably eerie and sinister aura.
Beside him, several high-ranking members of The Severian Syndicate Council—men who were usually arrogant and untouchable—were hunched over, wearing intensely sycophantic smiles as they poured premium red wine for the cloaked man.
"Mr. Envoy." A balding, middle-aged executive smiled obsequiously, his eyes darting to the surveillance feed of the waiting room below. "As you can see, the captain of the Elyndor delegation won't be showing up. Elyndor is completely leaderless today. They are doomed!"
Another executive nodded eagerly. "Exactly. Without Serena, Elyndor is nothing. So what if they advanced seventeen people? Once they step into the arena, we'll crush them like bugs."
"Numbers alone can't win the grand finale."
The man known as Special Envoy Mordecai picked up his wine glass, swirling it slowly.
The crimson liquid danced against the crystal.
From the shadows of his hood, his viper-like eyes stared coldly at the Elyndor team on the monitor, watching them fiercely defend Serena.
"Heh heh heh..."
His voice was a gravelly, sinister rasp. "Of course she won't show up."
"C, The Abyss's Top-Ranked Hunter, never misses his mark."
"Serena Lancaster is already a corpse."
He took a sip of his wine, a flash of sadistic pleasure crossing his eyes.
The Severian executives felt a chill race down their spines, but they kept their fawning smiles plastered on, nodding repeatedly in agreement.
They showered him with endless flattery.
Mordecai narrowed his predatory eyes, his gaze locking back onto the seventeen Elyndorian competitors.
Watching them look so young, vibrant, angry, yet utterly helpless, the twisted smile on his lips grew darker.
He tilted his head back, taking another sip of wine, his crimson-stained lips curving cruelly.
"Once the finals conclude, arrange something."
"I want all seventeen of these prime Elyndorian specimens sent down to the underground base. Not a single one escapes."


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