In the Anaheim family's office.
Mannacorn Anaheim sat at his desk, assigning tasks one after another.
"Walnemende!"
"Here."
"Gather supplies immediately. I need more arms!"
"Yes."
"Keel?"
"Here."
"We've maintained our troops for years for a moment like this. It's time to put Anaheim's private army to use."
"Yes, sir!"
"Milwick?"
"At your service!"
"Continue funding the Purple Dragons and the navy. I need a more detailed list of people we can trust."
"Understood."
His subordinates left the room at a brisk pace after receiving their assignments. Mannacorn always spoke concisely and never wasted time. This had always been the young head of the Anaheim family's style.
Efficiency, ruthlessness, and precise judgment had earned Mannacorn an excellent reputation among Suzail's nobility.
That was also why Caspar, the late Crown Princess's husband, had always regarded Mannacorn as his confidant. Duke Caspar had called Mannacorn his "friend" more than once, believing him to be his greatest hope of reclaiming the regency.
Once he had assigned every task, the Bane Godspawn remained seated and took a framed portrait from his drawer. Leaning against the soft back of his chair, Mannacorn silently ran his fingers over the frame.
The portrait depicted a handsome, gracious-looking man with black hair, dressed in elegant, well-tailored clothes. His expression was so stern that it bordered on cold, but the aura of strength and unwavering conviction he radiated had always inspired many people.
"Father." The Bane Godspawn murmured his father's name. His fingertips, clad in white ceremonial gloves, brushed over his divine father's familiar face, and memories of the past rose unbidden in his mind.
It had happened several years earlier.
"Manna, my son, have you ever considered trying your hand at politics?" In a secret chamber, the imposing man depicted in the portrait questioned his son with considerable