Let’s make him your puppet

"Is that so?" a cold, smooth voice echoed within the dimly lit chamber.

Inside the dark room, standing before a mahogany desk that held a shimmering communication orb, was Malcolm—the Sixth Successor's direct confidant and most trusted shadow strategist.

The glowing surface of the orb displayed the pale, tense face of Arya Benova.

After extracting every bit of information she could from the naive Annie Blacksun in the castle gardens, Arya had hurriedly returned to the privacy of her own bedroom, locking the door to report her findings directly to her ruthless handler.

"Good," Malcolm spoke softly as Arya finished her detailed breakdown. A heavy frown creased his forehead.

"To think the Seventh Successor is that meticulous... building a private military company right under our noses and binding rogue Rankers to his personal banner."

He crossed his arms, his dark eyes glittering beneath the dim light.

"That is quite troublesome."