Chapter 155: Blame It on the Silver Moon Race's Bad Luck

Kresol Dragon City, the council hall.

The Light Source Stones in the dome cast a cold, white light, which reflected off the surface of the black basalt round table with a faint, eerie glimmer.

Seven high-backed stone chairs were arranged around the table. It seemed much more spacious than before, when twelve chairs had been crowded together—a silent testament to the grievous losses of the battle at Grayrock Pass.

But today, the faces of the seven consuls seated in the hall showed little sign of gloom.

Aurion leaned back in the stone chair at the head of the table, his expression more relaxed than it had been in a long time.

Walt, seated to his right, tapped his fingers on the tabletop in a light, brisk rhythm.

The other five consuls also leaned back in their chairs, their postures far more composed than they had been in years.

"The moment the City Lord returned, those scurrying buffoons immediately fell in line."