At that moment, report letters scattered across the table like blossoms cast by a celestial maiden. Amid the crisp sounds, everyone's faces went pale.
It was as though they had fallen into an ice cellar.
As though they had awoken from a self-satisfied dream and realized the terrifying reality before their eyes—and even glimpsed an even more horrifying future.
"You people really are talented in your own ways."
Idra bared his teeth in a sneer. "Speak. Why have you stopped talking? Weren't you all shouting quite loudly just now? Let me see—which one of you still has some soul-stirring words to say? What other grievances and injustices are you waiting to denounce?"
"Mercy of the Saint!"
Amid a succession of kneeling thuds, figures trembled as they prostrated themselves on the ground, unable to say another word. All that remained was their tearful misery and wailing.
They put on a thoroughly convincing display of terrified disbelief, even annoyance at having been kept in the dark.
But how much of it was acting, and how much was sincere?
Idra lowered his gaze and looked down coldly.
He knew perfectly well.
Just as a tulip bulb could be auctioned off for an unimaginably sky-high
price, an utterly ordinary thing could also be driven by the tides to heights beyond the reach of common people... But were those participants truly so foolish? Or had they truly failed to see this foreseeable outcome?
They simply believed that when the fall came, it would not be them. That was all.
In this farce, everyone was equally "clever," and thus equally "foolish" in just the right measure.
When they succeeded, they wore the expression of spirited confidence, as though everything were under their control. When they failed, they donned the mask of ignorance and annoyance at having