Chapter 123
His first step was taken firmly, without hesitation, neither too fast nor too slow.
And behind him, one by one, the representatives followed.
They lined up directly behind Apathy, forming a small procession that moved away from the center of the meeting, away from the flickering unstable lights, away from the warmth of the gathered bodies.
Their footsteps created a faint rustling sound on the ground, a sound that was quickly swallowed by a greater silence.
"Is this news considered good? Or is it the opposite?"
The shadows of Apathy and the other representatives had not yet completely vanished behind the veil of darkness that separated the meeting space from the outside world when Zhulumat Katamtum's voice suddenly broke the silence that had long been the only language understood by everyone present.
The voice did not come loudly, nor did it come in haste, yet it carried a quality that made every hair on the listeners' bodies stand on end, tightened every muscle without command, and dragged every wandering thought back to the center of the circle by force.
Zhulumat asked, not to everyone at once, but specifically to each captain who had just received whispers from their subordinates, whether the news that had just been delivered was good news, or otherwise.
"There is a group of members from Team Xirkushkartum commanded by another Satanist High Official. And they are not under your command, Your Excellency Zhulumat."
The nod came first, a movement so small it would have gone unnoticed if one had not been paying close attention.
Yet within the meeting circle, wrapped in ever-deepening silence, even the slightest motion could not escape the eyes trained to miss nothing.
Shaqar nodded, not directly toward Zhulumat, but toward the empty space between them, as if he were gathering the scattered fragments of information in his mind, arranging them one by one, ensuring that not a single word would come out in the wrong order.
The nod lasted only a fraction of a second, but it was enough to tell everyone present that what would come out of his mouth next was not mere opinion or speculation.
It was fact.
Verified fact.
Fact received from the most reliable source.
Fact that could not be denied by anyone.
And when the nod ended, when his head returned to its upright position, Shaqar began to speak, his voice flowing at a steady pace, neither too fast nor too slow, like a river that knew exactly where its current would end.
He recounted to Zhulumat what Apathy had told him moments earlier, about the news coming from the outermost border of the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse, about the very frontline that had for hours been the main focus of attention for all forces under Zhulumat Katamtum's direct command.
He said that Apathy, along with all subordinates of each captain of Team Xirkushkartum who were currently assembled as the Anti-Rumble Formation, the ever-watchful eyes at the very edge of their territory, had received news they had never expected to hear.
There was a group of individuals, Shaqar continued, a group who claimed to be members of Team Xirkushkartum, yet not like the Xirkushkartum they had always known.
They were members of Team Xirkushkartum commanded by another Satanist High Official, an official who was clearly not Zhulumat Katamtum, an official who had never once appeared on their surveillance radar, an official who had suddenly emerged at the most unexpected moment, bringing with them something that Zhulumat's forces had never possessed.
They succeeded in entering, Shaqar said, and the pressure in his chest grew heavier as he spoke this part aloud.
They succeeded in entering the outermost border of the city of Thalyssra, Blessed by the Great Sanse.
And not only entering, they also succeeded in leaving safely.
Leaving behind traces that could not be seen, yet carving a very real wound into the pride of every soldier stationed there.
In truth, Shaqar hardly needed to say this, because everyone in the meeting circle already understood what it meant.
Until this very moment, until the second he was speaking, until the cold air still surrounded them, the three formations established by Zhulumat Katamtum—the Anti-Rumble Formation, the Orbit Severance Formation, and the Banner of Zhulumat—had not once succeeded in breaching the outermost border of Thalyssra.
Dozens of methods had been attempted.
Dozens of minutes spent observing.
Hours spent scribbling sketches across worn papers while throwing dust, pebbles, and incantations toward the boundary.
Yet none had succeeded.
And now, at the very moment they were gathered to plan their next move, debating which strategy would be the most effective, restraining themselves under the direct order of their leader, a group from a different command had arrived and done what they never could.
"What kind of urgent news is so pressing that they dared to enter and exit the Thalyssra border? That is what still hangs unanswered."
After laying out all those bitter facts, after admitting that others had succeeded where they had failed, Shaqar continued with something that slightly eased the weight, though it did not fully heal the wound carved into their pride.
He said that the Anti-Rumble Formation, the soldiers who had stood on the front lines from the very beginning, whose bodies were accustomed to enduring impacts and whose eyes were used to staring into darkness longer than anyone else, greatly appreciated the map brought by the envoys of the Xirkushkartum team that was not under Zhulumat's command.
A hidden route map, as they called it.
A map that depicted concealed paths never once detected during their long hours of observation.
A map that became undeniable proof that there had always been a gap they had overlooked, a route they had failed to notice, a possibility they had never considered.
That sense of appreciation was not born from finally obtaining something valuable.
It was born from the realization that there was still something to learn.
Still something to improve.
Still hope amidst the failure they had just swallowed whole.
Yet behind that appreciation, behind the gratitude that briefly appeared on the weary faces of the soldiers guarding the border, there was something unsettling.
Something unreasonable.
Something that made Apathy, his eighteen subordinates, and all the subordinates of each captain of Team Xirkushkartum currently assembled as the Anti-Rumble Formation feel as though they were standing at the edge of a vast abyss.
They could see the bottom clearly.
They could count every stone and every crack along its walls.
And yet they could not understand why they had to stand there.
They did not understand—or more precisely, they could not comprehend—the extremely urgent news that the Xirkushkartum team not under Zhulumat's command wished to deliver.
The envoys insisted.
They persisted.
They were willing to take great risks by approaching the border when everyone had been ordered to hold back.
They brought a highly valuable map as their entry ticket.
Yet when asked what the urgent news truly was, when pressed to give even the slightest hint, when urged to explain why all of this had to be conveyed directly to Zhulumat, they remained silent.
Or repeated the same statements.
Or simply stared with unreadable eyes.
Keeping their secrets sealed behind tightly closed lips.
To be continued…