Inside the pure-white room, the atmosphere was very silent.
The Emperor observed carefully, and so he did not speak.
The White Tower Council's current Administrator, Natalia Carroll, had her eyes calmly closed, as if she were meditating. But her breathing alone was subtly changing the properties of the Magic Power in the room.
The comfortable, peaceful Magic Power that had originally filled the room was replaced by violent Magic Power that almost made it hard to breathe. The Emperor had no doubt that when she opened her eyes, something rather unpleasant would happen.
Of course, unpleasant for the Empire's enemies.
The man in the suit stood with his hands behind his back before the window he had created, humming a tune. The melody did not match a man dressed in a modern suit at all; if anything, it sounded more like a hymn sung inside a church.
The Treefolk's eyes darted around, its waist slightly hunched. Its hands were tucked inside its wide sleeves, and aside from not being human, it basically fit people's negative impression of the profession known as "merchant" extremely well.
In truth, if you really thought that, the Treefolk would be delighted. It meant its role-playing had been a success—of course, it also meant something else.
In people's negative impressions, merchants pursued profit without the slightest bottom line.
Even if they had to die for it, they would still have to grab a fistful of gold before they did. Since the Treefolk had played the role so successfully, how could it forget that?
"Ahem, ahem, ahem."
It suddenly began coughing comically, raising its right hand to cover its face. This was supposed to be a polite gesture, one that avoided spraying spittle, but clearly, it was not simply coughing.
At that instant, everyone in the room