In an instant, the room fell silent.
The disgusted, the hostile, the hateful, the scheming—all of them shut their mouths at this moment. Everyone sat quietly in their seats, waiting for that man's arrival.
Before long, the sound of slow footsteps rang out.
They did not carry the air of a trained fighter at all. Instead, they sounded like those of a frail old man. Yet the high officials and nobles present still sat upright, not even daring to raise their heads for a glance.
Before long, someone took his seat at the head of the table.
Only then did Charles dare to lift his eyes slightly.
He was an utterly ordinary man. He could not be called exceedingly old, but neither could he be called young—probably in his fifties. His clothes were simple as well. The materials looked expensive, but the style was merely casual homewear.
Yet before this seemingly harmless figure, everyone—including Charles himself—rose to their feet and bowed respectfully.
"Your Grace!"
The man known as the Duke swept his gaze around the room, then nodded.
"Sit."
His voice was not loud, yet it carried an inexplicable authority, as though it weighed upon everyone's hearts.
After everyone had sat down, the head of one of the Four Great Families—the Duke of Winton—finally spoke.
"This is just a routine meeting. There's no need to be so nervous. Make yourselves at home."
Still, no one dared reply.
After all, no matter how amiable he appeared at the moment, everyone present had dealt with him for a long time. They knew just how ruthless this mild-faced old man was behind the scenes...
Fortunately, the Duke of Winton was merely being polite. Before long, he leaned back against the velvet chair and said casually, "Since everyone is here, let's not waste time.