Chapter 126
The castle, the representative explained further, was a place they had long known well.
A place that had long been one of the most important points on their battle map.
A place they had long regarded as one of the strongest fortresses still worthy of reliance.
The castle was the dwelling place of one of the officials among the satanist faction.
An official who had long been one of the main pillars in their resistance against the minions of the Accursed One.
An official who had long been considered one of the few people still worthy of trust amid the ever-growing chaos.
However, now, based on all observations conducted by members of Team Xirkushkartum who were not under Zhulumat's command, that official might have died.
Or perhaps fled, abandoning the castle that had long symbolized strength.
Abandoning all those who had depended on him.
Leaving behind a void that was swiftly filled by the presence of Angels and thousands of Holy Beings who continued to surround it.
Encircling it.
Turning it into the center of a new ritual of worship toward the Accursed One.
"We have listened carefully to your report. Those ten layouts will be studied further. Not a single line or point must escape interpretation. For now, remain where you are. Do not leave this room. I need you to stay here, so that if any detail is overlooked or needs clarification, you can explain it immediately without delay."
Hhhh!
"I and my subordinates will discuss this first. We must weigh every possibility before determining our next move. No decision will be made hastily, especially when it concerns the movements of Angels and thousands of Holy Beings in the heart of Thalyssra."
Those words still lingered in the air.
Still revolved within the minds of everyone present.
Still left an imprint that could never be erased from their memory.
When Zhulumat Katamtum finally moved his hand.
The movement was very small.
Almost imperceptible.
Only a slight lift of the palm that had been resting calmly on his thigh.
Yet everyone in the room caught it.
Everyone understood it.
Everyone knew exactly what such a small gesture meant.
Zhulumat allowed the representative from Team Xirkushkartum, who was not under his command, to remain in place.
To not move.
To not leave.
To do nothing but sit and wait.
The raised hand then slowly moved downward.
Descending at the same pace as it had risen.
And when it finally rested again upon his thigh, everyone in the room exhaled in relief.
Even though none of them realized they had been holding their breath.
The discussion, which initially began cautiously, with words weighed repeatedly before being spoken.
With glances exchanged in search of agreement or at least acknowledgment that an opinion was worth considering.
Gradually transformed into something entirely different.
The voices of the captains took turns filling the suffocating meeting room.
Each bringing their own version of theory.
Each attempting to piece together fragments of information with what was happening in the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse.
Some spoke of symbolism and psychological siege strategies.
Some discussed the possibility that the castle was already empty and that the Holy Beings were merely maintaining an illusion.
Some emphasized the orbiting formation, too precise to be a mere bluff and more akin to a cosmic seal.
Some raised the possibility of betrayal that had never once been considered by anyone.
Every word spoken.
Every theory proposed.
Every hypothesis built upon a foundation of uncertain information.
Only added to the tension in a room already overflowing with it.
Amid the clash of thoughts, Shaqar sat with his body slightly reclined.
His eyes occasionally closing longer than usual.
His breathing carefully controlled so as not to reveal the turmoil raging within his chest.
His sixty years as part of the satanist faction had taught him that in situations like this.
When too many theories are thrown around and too few facts can be held onto.
When everyone competes to prove they can think, analyze, and contribute.
The wisest course is to remain silent and listen.
So he listened.
With all the concentration he had left.
Listening not only to the words spoken by his comrades.
But also to the tone behind those words.
To the vibrations accompanying each theory.
To the doubt hidden behind forced conviction.
And the longer he listened, the clearer it became to him that what was happening in this room was no longer a discussion aimed at finding truth.
But rather a collective ritual where each person tried to convince themselves that they could still comprehend something already beyond their understanding.
Theory after theory continued without end.
Each built upon assumptions never truly verified.
Each attempting to explain phenomena they had never directly witnessed.
Each drifting further away from the core of the problem.
Some spoke of a new spiritual center of gravity.
Of a shift in the axis of the city's allegiance.
Of something that might be waiting to awaken from within the castle.
Some discussed the possibility of a newly planted relic.
A sacred seed being sown.
An anchor for the manifestation of the Accursed One that might soon take form.
Some tried to bring the discussion back to a more practical realm.
Speaking of tactics to lure them out.
Of bait deliberately set to provoke an attack.
And when someone mentioned slow infiltration.
The possibility that the grace of the Great Sanse had been corrupted from its core.
So that the entire defense could collapse without a single shot.
The voices once again clashed with those who demanded proof.
Who demanded certainty.
Who demanded something no one in the room could provide.
The longer the discussion went on, the more it felt that everything they spoke of was merely the surface of something far deeper.
Far more complex.
Far beyond the reach of their limited reason.
The captains' hypotheses grew increasingly erratic.
Further from any reality they could grasp.
Like blind men trying to describe colors to one another.
Each spoke with forced conviction.
With arguments built upon fragile foundations of information.
With conclusions they had already decided upon before the discussion even began.
Now merely seeking justification.
Not a single argument was accepted by all.
Not a single theory gained unanimous approval.
Not a single hypothesis withstood the barrage of rebuttals from every direction.
What remained was a vicious cycle.
Where every answer birthed new questions.
Every explanation unveiled new mysteries.
Every step forward only made them more aware that they knew nothing.
Nothing about what was truly happening in the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse.
To be continued…