53 Reclaiming Hope (10)

In a banquet hall on Solemnace, numerous Necron lords and overlords had gathered with lesser nobles, drinking and feasting amid great merriment.

A gemstone, still ten meters in radius even after being cut into uniform facets, floated above their heads, radiating a wondrous brilliance. The Necrontyr who had once crafted it had probably spent his entire life polishing it, yet the iron skeletons seated beneath it showed not the slightest respect for it.

Those among them who still retained some semblance of sanity were busy attacking one another, hurling insults or trading favors. As for those who had awakened from slumber only to lose something along the way? They were even less likely to look up and admire the gem.

Zahndrekh swirled the wineglass in his right hand and leaned back in his chair, observing the noisy spectacle before him with utter boredom, his heart unmoved.

His gaze passed over the wineglasses in the nobles' hands and the dust along their rims, over the empty dinner plates and the scarabs carrying out their cleaning duties across the tabletops, before finally settling on a broad glass window in the corner.

He did not want to watch any longer—throughout this enormous banquet hall, only his own cup contained real wine.

The old general chuckled, his laughter overflowing with mockery. He raised his hand and toasted the glass window from afar, then tipped back his head and poured every drop of wine in the cup over himself.

This mad behavior naturally drew plenty of attention. Many lords who already disliked him cast cold stares his way, some of them brimming with fury.

They had never liked Zahndrekh. They considered a madman like him a disgrace to their entire race, yet there was nothing they could do about him—the Stormlord Imotekh had granted this