Chương 205: Chapter : 205

The chamber itself was enormous and cold. The ceiling was so high that it vanished into shadow, giving the impression that the room simply had no top, that it stretched upward into infinity. The walls were made of dark grey stone that absorbed light instead of reflecting it, making the space feel smaller and more oppressive than it actually was. The floor was flat and black, polished to a mirror shine that reflected everything above it like a dark, still pool of water.

The only furniture in the entire chamber was the table. The Round Table was carved from a single, massive block of obsidian. It was perfectly circular, with twelve evenly spaced chairs around its edge. The chairs were tall and throne-like, each one slightly different in design, reflecting the personality of its owner. Some had spikes. Some had angular, military lines. Some were sleek and elegant. The table itself was bare, with no decorations, no cloths, no candles.

Just cold, black stone that seemed to drink in the faint light that existed in the room. The light came from the chairs. Or rather, from the people sitting in them. Twelve figures, each one wearing a different style of mask, each one radiating a faint, distinct magical aura that cast strange, shifting shadows across the obsidian table. They were the shadow rulers of the Belmontia Empire, the secret council that made the real decisions behind the scenes. The public thought the Emperor ruled.

The public thought the Royal Council debated and voted. The public was wrong. These twelve masked figures controlled everything from the flow of military resources to the appointment of regional governors. They were the invisible hands that guided the Empire, and their authority was absolute. Tonight, the atmosphere around the table was heavier than usual. A thick, suffocating tension hung in the air like smoke that refused to clear.

Eleven of the twelve figures sat rigid in their chairs, their masked faces turned toward the single empty seat at the far end of the table. That seat belonged to the one member of the council whose power was so overwhelming, whose reputation was so terrifying, that even the other eleven rulers treated his word as law. That seat belonged to Lancelot. A ripple of dark mana passed through the chamber. The temperature dropped by several degrees.

The shadows in the corners of the room deepened, thickened, and then parted like curtains being pulled aside. And from the darkness, a figure emerged. He was tall and imposing, wrapped in a high-collared, dramatic black cloak with gold embroidery that seemed to glow with its own inner light. The cloak flowed behind him as if carried by a constant, invisible wind, giving him the appearance of a dark emperor stepping out of a legend.

His face was completely hidden behind a mask, a sleek, intimidating design with a single glowing purple eye that burned like a cold star in the dimness of the chamber. Every step he took echoed across the stone floor with a deep, resonant boom that seemed to shake the very air. This was Lancelot. The masked monster. The shadow king. The most feared and most respected member of the Round Table. And behind that terrifying, god-like exterior, Ken Eliot was having the worst evening of his life.

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"I really, really do not want to be here," Ken thought miserably as he sat down in his throne-like chair. The seat was hard and uncomfortable. The cloak was heavy and itchy. The mask made his face sweat. And the dramatic wind effect that made his cape look cool was actually a tiny, constant stream of mana that was giving him a mild headache. Why did the Sovereign persona have to be so extra? Why could it not just be a hoodie and a pair of comfortable sweatpants?

But no, Anime Logic demanded drama, and drama demanded a flowing cape and a scary mask. Ken settled into his chair, projecting an aura of absolute, terrifying calm. To the other eleven rulers, Lancelot looked like a dark god surveying his domain. He sat perfectly still, his gloved hands resting on the arms of his chair, his single glowing purple eye scanning the table with cold, calculating precision. Not a single movement was wasted. Not a single breath was too loud.

He radiated power, authority, and the quiet, unmistakable promise of absolute destruction for anyone who crossed him. Inside, Ken was thinking about how nice it would be to take a bath and go to bed.

Lancelot did not waste time with pleasantries. He never did. The moment he was seated, he began speaking, and his voice filled the chamber like cold thunder rolling across a dark sky. It was deep, commanding, and completely devoid of warmth, the voice of a being who had seen empires rise and fall and found the whole process rather tedious.

"I have intelligence to deliver," Lancelot said.

"It is grave, and it requires your attention." He paused for exactly one second, because Anime Logic dictated that dramatic pauses were essential for maximum impact.

"My servant Karna has successfully neutralized a Black Magician cell operating deep within the sovereign territory of ZulFarah. Before their elimination, he extracted critical information regarding a larger, far more dangerous conspiracy." The room was completely silent. Even the faint magical auras of the masked rulers seemed to dim, as if they were holding their breath. Lancelot continued, his voice growing colder and heavier with each word.

"ZulFarah is actively escalating its military preparations. Their border garrisons have been reinforced by thirty percent in the last three months. Their weapons production facilities are operating at maximum capacity. And most critically, they have deepened their ties with forbidden Black Magic factions. These factions are not merely seeking power for its own sake. They are working toward a specific, apocalyptic goal: the awakening of an ancient entity known as the Great Black Soul Sovereign."

A ripple of shock passed around the table. Several of the masked rulers shifted in their seats. The name meant something to them. It was not just a legend or a myth. It was a genuine, existential threat that had been documented in the oldest, most classified archives of the Empire.

"The Great Black Soul Sovereign," Lancelot continued, his glowing purple eye sweeping across the table, "is a world-ending weapon. It feeds on the suffering of nations. If ZulFarah succeeds in awakening it, the result will not be a war. It will be an annihilation. The entire continent, including the Belmontia Empire, will be consumed." For exactly two seconds after Lancelot finished speaking, the chamber was completely, utterly silent. Then it exploded.

The first to react was a massive figure in a spiked iron mask sitting near the middle of the table. He was a senior knight, a man who had fought in three wars and had the scars to prove it. He slammed both of his armored fists onto the obsidian surface with a crash that echoed through the chamber like cannon fire. The table vibrated. Several of the other rulers flinched.