"Lord Hernandez, then—the Blood Rust Factory, the Iron Thorn Spine, the Ghost Rail—" Even from the perspective of the bigger picture, Meshal still wanted to do everything he could to salvage the situation.
He chose his words as tactfully as possible, trying to remind the Archon, who was so blinded by anger that all he cared about was saving face, that what truly mattered wasn't his pride, but these several key strongholds!
"You don't need to worry about those places."
A cold voice cut Meshal off. Hernandez's tone was full of displeasure. "I've already sent Derrick Elliot and Amalfi Gerard with a total of four Marauder Groups to suppress the rebellion. As for you—Meshal Montoya, you've disappointed me three times already. This is your last chance!"
When he heard that four Marauder Groups had been sent to suppress the rebellion, Meshal felt somewhat relieved. But once he learned who was leading them, his heart sank to the bottom, and he hurriedly said, "Lord Hernandez, I don't think Derrick and Amalfi are capable of serving as legion commanders. We should replace them with—"
"Meshal!"
A shrill, piercing voice, thick with fury, barged into Meshal's mind like a roar.
"Are you trying to tell me what to do?!"
That shout left Meshal chilled to the bone and drenched in sweat. Cold sweat streamed down his face. "No, Lord Archon Hernandez, I was only—"
"Enough! Meshal!"
Hernandez cut him off again without mercy. "Know your place! Carry out your orders! I don't want to hear any more of your nonsense!"
"...Yes."
Meshal opened his mouth, his eyes dimming as he reluctantly agreed.
The communication ended.
An oppressive silence settled over the frontline command room.
Apart from Meshal's heavy breathing, the other staff officers hardly dared breathe, afraid they would be used as an