In the morning, Haimirich was just like any other empire. There were officials going in and out of the imperial palace. However, not many knew that there was more to know in the empire, especially when night fell.
The officials attending in the morning are mostly filled with humans; there were only a few morning officials, who were vampires, blending perfectly with them. Most of the officials knew a lot of things, but one.
The existence of the night council.
The night council comprised ten noble vampire clan leaders and two high priestesses (Wiccan Leaders) in Haimirich. Their sole duty was to keep the vampires and witches living in the empire at bay. Everything regarding the vampires, witches, and everything that was non-human was under the night council's jurisdiction.
Unlike the morning royal court that would happen daily, the night council only held gatherings at least once a month. But only before and during the coven would the night council be completed, since its members didn't have that great relationship.
Sitting in the head seat, Abel gazed at the people sitting respectively on their seats around the oval-shaped table. The room was brightly lit, almost orange, sharing the same thick silence. Some of them bore confidence and distant expression, others looked a bit more nonchalant.
Conan studied everyone in silence, standing behind Abel's seat. His hands were behind him, keeping his chin up. Meanwhile, Abel remained silent like usual.
"I will not beat around the bush." Abel's calm voice pierced the thick air, reigning in the secret chancery within the inner palace. "Whatever you are planning, you better give your best. I plan to end this coven."
No one reacted, very unlike the chaotic morning royal court, where everyone was quick to react. But although they remained silent, they slowly turned their eyes to the emperor of this land, and also the only person who bridges everyone.
"And with that being said, you may have an option to either stay low or… continue to challenge my authority." Abel leaned forward, treating this meeting with more seriousness.
A middle-aged man with a dark mustache contrasting his blanched hair that was cleanly parted in the middle snorted. Conan's eyes instantly glinted with malice, catching the man's almost unnoticeable reaction.
"Your Majesty, the coven… is the only reason we, the council, had followed all your conditions," said the man under his breath, looking back at Abel in ridicule. "Now, you are telling us you want to end the coven Your Excellency created himself?"
"Exactly. I was the one who established the coven, and thus, I will be the one to eradicate it." Abel smirked, unbothered by the scornful look of the man. "I'm not stopping you from attending this coven, since I know you lot are all hungry for my blood. I am simply warning everyone of what to expect in tomorrow's coven. Your beloved emperor doesn't want to sit idly tomorrow."
His lips stretched, fixing his attention on the middle-aged man. "To be fair, I am actually looking forward to your attendance, Viscardi."
"In other words, Your Majesty plans to massacre everyone who attends the coven?" a woman sitting two chairs from the man named Firion Viscardi spoke. Elegance was the perfect word for her. Despite her wrinkly face and white hair, she had aged elegantly.
"Aren't you bold, Your Majesty?" she looked at Abel with a smirk, not hiding the amusement in her eyes. "You never cared about the coven and had treated it with little regard —"
"And yet, no one had yet succeeded in inheriting the prize for many years." Another man in a neat black suit chimed in, smirking at the old lady. "Isn't that right, Your Holiness?"
"Balthier, are you insinuating no one will fulfill His Majesty's one and only wish?" asked the old refined lady to the other man sitting two chairs away across from her.
"What I am pointing out is that it is bold of you to talk to His Majesty with such confidence. Slow-witted as I am, I am curious. Where is the source of your confidence, Marcia?" the man, Dante Balthier, arched a brow playfully. "Have you found a spell that could take down His Majesty?"
"Why don't you attend tomorrow's coven and see for yourself, Balthier?" Marcia Graves, a member of the night council, and also the High Priestess of the first Wiccan Coven, smirked wickedly. "Or are you too terrified that you are considering skipping tomorrow's banquet?"
"I won't deny I am." Dante Balthier shrugged, smiling back at Abel. "His Majesty never gave importance to the coven, and no one has yet to succeed. I can't help but tremble, assuming he is now planning to take it seriously. It'll be a massacre… just like the last one. I won't be surprised if this time around, no one will leave the banquet hall alive. Isn't that right, Your Majesty?"
"Don't speak as if you truly meant that, Balthier." Firion Viscardi, the middle-aged man, chuckled in ridicule. "If anything, I wouldn't be surprised if your sneaky mind had already set its attention on Vandran's sister."
Shing!
Firion Viscardi raised his chin as the screeching sound of metal pierced the air. A blade instantly pressed on the side of his neck. He moved his eyes to the side, catching Conan standing within his reach while pressing the tip of the blade against his neck slightly deeper.
"One more nonsense, and I won't hesitate to cut off your tongue. I don't think you need one to attend the coven, Firion Viscardi," Conan warned coldly, making Firion Viscardi raise both his hands in surrender.
"I played too much, Lord Hakebourne." Firion sighed calmly. "My apologies."
The side of his lips then curled up into a smirk. "It seemed you had been on the edge, my Lord — ah!"
Conan withdrew the sword from Firion Viscardi's neck, only to swing it down, stabbing the latter's thigh without batting an eye. Some people around the table flinched, taken aback at the cruel actions Conan chose in a split second. Others snickered, pleased at how things unfolded.
Meanwhile, Firion Viscardi, who had been acting cocky for quite a while now, grabbed the edge of the table. Breathing in and out heavily through his gritted teeth, he shot Conan a glaring dagger.
"You — ugh!"
"Hah. I am indeed on the edge these days, Viscardi." Conan lowered his head until he was staring at Firion eye to eye. "Don't test me. I don't know where this sword will land next if you do."
Abel chuckled with his lips closed, shaking his head. He didn't dwell on Conan and Firion as he faced everyone.
"I won't repeat myself, nor will I ever hear your pleas once you ask for my mercy." Abel pushed himself up, hands on the surface of the table. "As I've said, I won't sit idly. May you all decide wisely."
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