Chapter 140
The sense of dread came like water seeping through the tiny cracks of a dam they had painstakingly built, creeping slowly yet surely, filling the empty spaces within their chests with a coldness they had never felt before.
They could feel how their hearts beat in a different rhythm, how their breaths grew uneven for no clear reason, how cold sweat began to seep down their backs even though the temperature of the room had not changed.
They were high-ranking figures who had endured too many battles, who had witnessed too many deaths, who had faced too many critical situations to still be startled by anything.
Yet what they felt now, what crept into their hearts now, was something beyond all those experiences, something that for the first time in a span they could not remember made them question whether they would survive this night.
However, like all high-ranking figures who had reached their positions through long paths of sacrifice and proof, that sense of dread did not last long within them.
Perhaps only a few seconds, perhaps only the blink of an eye, perhaps only enough for them to realize that they were afraid before something else took over.
Something that for decades had been the most essential part of who they were, something engraved so deeply that no fear could erase it, something that set them apart from ordinary humans and made them worthy of being called the Satanic High Command under the Banner of Zhulumat.
As the dread began to recede, as their hearts returned to a more controlled state—though not entirely calm—they began exchanging glances with a new intensity, glances filled with unspoken messages.
They began to remember who they were, began to remember what they had fought for all this time, began to remember that there was no place for prolonged fear in the chest of a leader who must serve as an example to thousands of soldiers under their command.
"Everyone, be silent. Take your breath. Control yourselves. No one moves without my command."
Amid the vortex of panic that had begun to grip the room, Zhulumat's voice emerged not as a shattering shout, but as a murmur that seeped through the gaps of silence between ragged breaths and racing heartbeats.
He did not stand, did not raise his hand, did not perform any gesture commonly used by a leader to draw attention.
He simply remained seated in his original place, at the center of the circle now slowly being abandoned by captains retreating unconsciously, and let his authority speak for itself.
The words that left his lips flowed with an almost unnatural calm, like an underground river that continued to flow even as a storm raged above it.
He reminded them, in a tone that did not rise yet pierced every corner of the room, that not a single one of them was permitted to act outside his instructions.
That panic was a more dangerous enemy than whatever was happening out there.
That a wrong step in a situation like this would not only claim lives from their side, but also open the door for even greater chaos to enter.
"That is how it should be. We are not a formation that panics from a single explosion."
Within no more than a few breaths, the unease that had gripped the room began to show signs of receding.
It did not leave like water evaporating under heat, but like mist slowly drawn back by the sun, leaving behind traces of warmth that still clung to the skin and to corners of the room untouched by light.
The captains of Team Xirkushkartum, who moments ago had nearly lost control of their own legs, began to rediscover the rhythm of normal breathing.
Shoulders that had been tense gradually lowered, jaws that had hardened began to loosen, and in their eyes reappeared the light that had dimmed when the first explosion thundered.
Some of them even dared to shift their gaze away from the exit and refocus on the center of the circle, where Zhulumat still sat with unwavering calm.
They had not fully recovered, had not entirely returned to being the hardened warriors who faced death with smiles, but they were calm enough to no longer be a burden to themselves.
On the other side of the circle, the Satanic High Command under the Banner of Zhulumat underwent a subtler yet equally real transformation.
The authority that had briefly faded when fear crept into their hearts now began to refill the empty spaces within their chests, like blood returning to limbs that had gone numb.
They sat with slightly straighter backs, with chins slightly raised, with eyes once again radiating the intensity that for decades had defined them as leaders.
Not because they had succeeded in expelling all fear from their hearts, for fear never truly leaves any sane living being.
But because they had learned, through long paths of sacrifice and proof, that being a leader meant never showing what raged within.
That authority was not about never feeling fear, but about the ability to make others believe that you are not afraid, even when deep within yourself, in the most secret space you never reveal to anyone, there is a small voice screaming for help.
"The explosion has ended. There is no further resonance. That means whatever is happening at the center of the castle has reached a temporary point of stability."
Hooooh!
"We will not remain outside the walls forever. High Command. Captains. Prepare—"
Buuuk!
Buuuk!!
Zhulumat opened his mouth to speak.
The air in the room seemed to hold its breath along with him, awaiting what would emerge from the lips of the supreme leader who had sat unmoved at the center of the circle.
The words had almost fully formed at the tip of his tongue, commands that would shake them from their stillness and set them moving once more into the city, into the heart of Thalyssra Blessed by the Great Sanse, to the place where the explosion had originated and where something unknown awaited.
He was about to order the Satanic High Command to prepare, about to instruct every captain of Team Xirkushkartum to regroup their soldiers, about to declare that after the explosion that had just been heard was confirmed to have ended, there was no longer time to sit idle in this refuge while something unfolded outside without their supervision.
But there, his intention stopped, not even halfway, not more than a fraction of the words that had crossed his throat before something else cut him off in a way he had never anticipated.
Members of the Anti-Resonance Unit began to emerge from the shadows that cloaked the room.
They did not come in haste, not with the panicked steps usually accompanying bearers of bad news, but with movements that instead made the hairs of anyone watching stand on end because of their strangeness.
Their steps were far too calm for a situation where an explosion had just shaken the capital.
To be continued…