Boulder City.
The conference room on the third floor of City Hall was silent around the long table, save for the occasional falling ash and the nicotine that never seemed to disperse.
The Legion was gone.
Or rather, it had fled with its tail between its legs, and probably would not have the time to concern itself with River Valley Province for quite a while.
This should have been something worth celebrating.
However...
No one seated at the conference table could bring themselves to feel happy.
At that moment, the atmosphere in the meeting room was so grave that it felt less like a meeting and more like a funeral.
The only thing out of place in that funeral-like atmosphere was probably the brown shirt Duron had put on inside out beneath his black coat.
It was only after sitting down that he realized he had worn it backward, but it was too late to change. All he could do was keep fussing with his coat collar.
The meeting had gone on from the latter half of the night until dawn.
Fighting to keep his heavy eyelids open, Duron discreetly scanned the people around the table again, trying to read some shift in position from their expressions.
Yet there was still not the slightest clue.
To ease the stiff atmosphere at the table, he cleared his throat and spoke in a tactful tone.
"...At least, he did not deceive us."
Seeing that no one interrupted him, Duron continued.
"Not a single bullet—not even a shell casing—landed on our Great Wall last night, and those munitions they fired were undoubtedly fireworks."
"I think there is really no need for us to be overly nervous. The Alliance is a very friendly neighbor, and they have always valued their relationship with us."
As