As soon as Iver entered the Silver and Tin Palace, he faintly caught the scent of blood.
The aura of death and destruction permeated the once solemn and sacred silver palace. The walls, repeatedly reinforced by preservationists, still couldn't withstand the aftershocks of the knights' battle. They had been reduced to a sorry state, with cracks and rubble everywhere.
It was as though this were not Avalon's royal palace, but the ruins of a palace from the destroyed Old Dynasty.
When Iver passed the entrance to the Round Table Hall, he could vaguely see that the Glass Staircase remained intact.
Yet the Round Table Hall was empty. Not a single knight had returned to his seat at the Round Table.
The surviving knights were either stained with blood or wounded.
They stood scattered throughout the Silver and Tin Palace, casting different looks at Iver from all directions.
Some were pitying, some wary, some nervous, some mocking, and some indifferent.
Clearly, although they now stood on the same side, their feelings and goals were not the same.
Perhaps because they were wary of Diomedes beside Iver, not a single knight dared approach him or speak to him.
Iver merely watched them in silence, looking at every one of them in turn.
Iver's gaze was like a terrifying catalyst.
Every knight who met his eyes changed expression. Some glared at him, some looked away, and some fled. Not one of them could remain calm and composed after meeting Iver's gaze.
It wasn't until Minister Drost came forward that this silent confrontation ended.
"Bishop Moriarty."
Minister Drost approached with a beaming smile, his huge belly so round that he couldn't see his feet when he looked down. "Ah, you've arrived..."
He patted his belly and swept his gaze around.
Before he could say