Courage?

"Reputation... damaged..." Harald assessed coldly inwardly. He could even imagine that some of the corps commanders standing below were already plotting how to exploit the situation.

His gaze slowly swept over Hakon, who was kneeling below. As a representative of the Skarn Tribe and the deputy commander of the Horse Corps, he was currently kneeling there like a beaten dog.

He had survived, but Bragi was dead... That alone was rather suspicious.

Had Bragi bravely held off the enemy to ensure his survival? Or... was there some other hidden reason? Harald would not jump to conclusions, but the seed of suspicion had already been planted.

The Skarn Tribe had been somewhat unruly in recent years. Harald needed to weigh the matter carefully.

Silence continued to fill the great hall, and the pressure grew heavier and heavier, nearly driving the kneeling remnants of the army to mental collapse.

At last, Harald moved.

Slowly—extremely slowly—he raised the golden goblet in his hand toward his lips, as though he intended to drink, but stopped halfway.

He did not look at the wine in the cup. Instead, he once again turned those bone-chilling eyes toward the defeated soldiers below. His voice was calm, without the slightest ripple, yet it carried tremendous weight as it echoed through the great hall. "Continue. How did the Carnford Army breach Tyrol? How did Bragi die in battle? I want to know every detail."

He did not roar or berate them, but that extreme composure was more terrifying than any fury.

The defeated soldiers kneeling below trembled all over and lowered their heads even further, almost burying them in the ground.

The nobles standing on both sides also straightened their backs instinctively. The scent of blood in the air seemed to grow even thicker.

Hakon knelt on the cold