Chapter 4: Pure Hate (II)

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*** Fjellborg Castle ***

—15 November 2023—

—Present Day—

"Outrageous!"

The sound of hands slamming like descending clubs on the wooden table echoed like the sound of a thrumming drum in a canyon. 

The echoing sound vacuumed everything, filling the 「Hollow Sanctum」with an eerie stillness. 

The sound of a huge wave crashing against the cliff that faced the North Sea drowned out the silence as the man slipped back into his seat, his face bright red. The man in question was Lawrence White, the current head of the "Whites." 

Possessing a pot belly that stripped the image of someone touted as one of the strongest humans on earth, Lawrence was a middle-aged man, bearing a striking resemblance to his son—Michael White. However, his white hair was trimmed considerably shorter, styled into a side sweep with an excess of gel, making it look more like that of a porcupine's quills than human hair. His eyes were round and huge, almost as if they were ready to pop out any second. 

His rather fat arm hammered down on the table viciously, making the wine inside the glasses in front of the adults ripple and violently judder to the sides. The redness on his face was still there, however, he took in a deep breath before settling back down, holding himself from stripping the whole place down. 

Though his emotions appeared genuine at a cursory glance, beneath the surface laid nothing but a rotting greed festering Lawrence's psyche. 

Despite his fat appearance, Lawrence was a huge man, currently second tallest amongst the adults as he stood at around 193 cm. 

"Such an occurrence could have been averted had proper attention been paid in advance and appropriate measures been put in place. A stationed presence would have undoubtedly mitigated such a situation." 

The one talking this time was a short man. He was around 162 cm. His black hair was usually kept short on the sides and back, while the top was slightly longer and styled by neatly brushing it back. He had a sly, businessman-like smile on his face, his words measured, yet full of scorn as he pushed the blame onto Lawrence. 

"Don't you dare pin those accusations on me, Hiroshi!" Lawrence's voice boomed, causing Michael's gaze to snap towards him. He scrunched his nose in frustration, turning away from his father with a low grumble. "You know damn well that's a load of crap."

"Israel, though situated geographically in the Middle East, maintains a subsidiary membership within the European Union." Another man interjected, his shoulder-length blonde hair contrasting sharply with his tanned complexion as he entered the conversation. Maria subtly adjusted her position, moving closer to Yuki.

"However, it's evident that Israel's interests lie predominantly with the United States," he continued, his tone measured and diplomatic. "In this regard, the lion's share of accountability inevitably rests upon your shoulders, Lawrence. After all, they are intricately entwined with your nation's interests." His words were delivered with calculated precision, reinforcing Hiroshi's statement with a subtle yet decisive force.

As Arthur had guessed, they had already formed alliances. The scale of everything to come in the near future was quite big, after all. 

The one who talked was Rafael Miranda. Father to Maria Miranda and the representative from South America.

"I'd reckon now isn't the opportune moment for assigning blame. What's paramount is the fact that we've allowed something profoundly precious to fall into the hands of those..." The man's words halted momentarily, his expression contorting with visible disgust. "...foulborns. Our sole focus must be on reclaiming what rightfully belongs to us, fair dinkum." 

Blake Anderson interjected, his short luscious locks falling over his face roughly. 

Every head turned in Blake's direction as he nodded his head with a big grin. "That's right. That foulborn—Andrew Ashford—might have found our Godfather—Adam's Battle Armour—however, we will take it back." He spoke as a sinister chill ran across the room. 

"The long winter is coming." He spoke as a chill ran down everyone's spine. 

"Eden… is coming." 

"We are going to be one again. We have held this monopolised Arcanum knowledge to us due to its low ambient amount, but soon enough every foulborn would be able to use it." As he talked, he stood up, slamming his hands softly on to the table. 

"However, we—Adam's chosen, we will retrieve his last gift for us. We will stand at the top in the end!"

A synchronised hum rumbled in everyone's throat, agreeing with him. 

"In the Bleak Midwinter…" He paused, letting his words sink in. "...we will prevail."

As everyone's voice melded in with the synchronised cheer, Arthur's hollow orbs met Akesel's. Squinting his eyes, Aksel bobbed his head, as if asking him what was wrong. Staring deep into his father's olive eyes, Arthur shook his head. 

'Adam's battle armour… I do not have any knowledge about it.' As he looked around, he found the other heirs equally confused, however, with their glasses filled with juice raised up regardless. '...hmm.'

A sigh escaped his lips as a decision formed in his mind.