Chapter 121
They all had to restrain themselves, draw long breaths, and give their leader space to think further before the next step was taken.
"The order is clear. We must hold ourselves back. But for how long? Time does not favor those who remain still."
"Precisely by remaining still, we can read the patterns of their movements. The Honorable Zhulumat would never make a decision without a foundation."
Fhoooh!
Outside the meeting circle, still shrouded in heavy silence after Zhulumat's command to hold back, small movements began to emerge within the shadows.
Several soldiers from the Anti-Rumble Line, who had previously only guarded the perimeter under strict instructions not to advance without permission, were now seen slowly approaching.
They were the direct subordinates of the captains of Team Xirkushkartum who were seated in the meeting—ordinary members who had long served as living shields on the front lines, whose bodies were accustomed to enduring impact and whose hands were used to gripping heavy weapons.
Now they moved differently, not with the posture of soldiers ready for battle, but with careful steps that tried to make no sound, with slightly hunched bodies as if trying to shrink themselves as small as possible so as not to draw anyone's attention except the captains they were approaching.
One by one, in small groups of one or two, they slipped through the gaps in formation, passing comrades who remained steadfast at their posts, moving toward the center where their leaders sat gathered in suffocating silence.
The captains, who had been immersed in the silence of the meeting, slowly became aware of their subordinates' presence.
Some turned their heads, brows slightly raised, questions clearly etched on faces that were weary yet still alert.
Others remained seated without moving, only their eyes shifting to follow each approaching soldier, trying to read from their body language whether this was a sign of good news or yet another burden to add to their already heavy thoughts.
No formal protocol was truly being violated, for in emergencies like this, the line between closed meetings and open information often became blurred.
Even so, the arrival of these soldiers in the middle of an unfinished discussion created small ripples upon the fragile surface of concentration.
Several Satanic Elites from the Banner of Zhulumat glanced toward Zhulumat, searching for any sign of reaction to this disturbance, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable, allowing whatever was about to unfold to proceed.
When the soldiers finally reached their respective captains, they did not immediately speak in voices loud enough to be heard by all.
Instead, they leaned in, bringing their faces close to their captains' ears, and whispers began to flow.
Whispers too soft to be caught by others, too quick for lips to be read, too secret to be shared with anyone except their direct commanders.
"Apologies for interrupting the meeting, Captain Shaqar. I just came from the boundary."
Huuuuh!
"Security in our sector—myself, eighteen of the Captain's subordinates, and all subordinates of the other captains—is at full alert. However, not long ago, individuals from the satanic faction approached the outer boundary of Thalyssra. They claim to be messengers from Team Xirkushkartum. But Captain, they were not instructed by Zhulumat Katamtum. And they are not under his command."
Among the captains receiving whispers from their subordinates, Shaqar was one of those who showed no immediate reaction for the longest time.
His sixty years as part of the satanic order had taught him many things—control, concealment, the art of hiding turmoil behind a calm expression, the discipline of never allowing enemies or even allies to read what stirred within his mind.
Yet when Apathy, one of his most trusted subordinates, approached and whispered into his ear, there was a subtle change at the corner of his eyes.
Not a change born of shock, nor fear, but something far more complex: an acknowledgment that the reality beyond this meeting circle was far more intricate than they had accounted for.
Apathy, the soldier who had been stationed at the outer boundary of Thalyssra alongside eighteen of Shaqar's subordinates and the combined forces of other captains under strict guard, had witnessed something that should not have happened.
Something that altered the entire equation they had been trying to solve.
At the outer boundary of the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Grand Sanse, at the foremost line separating their darkness from the enemy's light, at the place where even dust and pebbles crumbled before crossing the threshold, several individuals had suddenly appeared.
They did not come from the battlefield, nor from the rear lines where Zhulumat's forces gathered, but from an entirely different direction—from the darkness they had always believed belonged only to them.
Apathy and the eighteen others, whose eyes were trained never to linger in a blink while on guard, immediately noticed the presence of these newcomers.
Weapons were raised halfway, shields shifted into readiness, but before further action could be taken, the newcomers introduced themselves.
They claimed to be messengers from Team Xirkushkartum, mentioning names and codes known only within internal circles, presenting signs that were difficult to falsify.
Yet behind all those claims, there was one detail that made Apathy and the others fall silent.
They had not been instructed by Zhulumat Katamtum, nor were they under the command of the leader currently seated in council with the captains.
They were envoys of another Satanic authority, sent with an unclear purpose, appearing at the most unexpected moment.
"They insist. They will not leave until they deliver it directly to the Elites."
Apathy continued his whisper, his nearly inaudible voice reaching Shaqar's ear like poison spreading through veins.
He described how, after the envoys introduced themselves and declared their allegiance to another leadership within Team Xirkushkartum, the first response from Shaqar's eighteen subordinates and all other soldiers guarding the boundary had been firm rejection.
Not a hesitant refusal, not doubt that could be softened with persuasion, but rejection born from the deepest instincts of soldiers who fully understood the meaning of loyalty to command.
Hands that had been gripping weapons cautiously were raised higher, shields that had been lowered returned to cover their chests, and the formation that had faced only toward Thalyssra now split its vigilance in two directions at once.
They forbade the envoys from advancing further, forbade them from approaching the center of the meeting, forbade them from disturbing anything within the inner circle.
The outer boundary of Thalyssra, which had long served only as a line separating them from the enemy's light, suddenly also became a line separating them from fellow satanists arriving from an unexpected direction.
Yet the envoys, though vastly outnumbered by the dozens of soldiers on guard, showed no sign of retreat.
They stood their ground, neither advancing nor withdrawing, like stones refusing to be swept away by the current.
And then, all at once, with coordination that suggested they had prepared for this moment long in advance, the envoys began to speak.
To be continued…