The shadow of a bird descended from the sky, bypassing layers of vigilance and prohibition, finally landing… on a precious ancient wooden long table.

Robin looked up, his gaze falling to the other end of the table, where… the White Tiger sat, meticulously savoring a glass of red wine.

Dressed impeccably, the White Tiger swirled his glass, an expression of intoxication on his face. From the label of the wine on the table, it was clear this was Oakwood Red Wine from the Royal Winery, an exceptionally rare vintage with an annual production of less than a hundred barrels.

The reason this wine was named after oak lay in the claim that the barrels used to age it had to be made from oaks over a hundred years old, imbuing the wine with a distinct and extraordinary fragrance.

"Mr. Speaker is in quite the mood," Robin remarked.

Casually pouring himself a glass, he took a sip without a trace of reverence, his wings lifting the glass effortlessly. Then he added:

"I hear His Majesty has just issued a new tax reform. Once again, it’s another knife slicing into our lifeblood, drawing yet more blood. And yet, Mr. Speaker remains so relaxed—it does wonders for calming the rest of us."

"Naturally. At times like this, if one were to act as panicked and restless as those fools, what purpose would it serve aside from providing fodder for others to mock us?"

The White Tiger opened his eyes, smiling coldly as he continued:

"After all, once our goals are achieved, everything we’ve lost will be regained—and perhaps even more."

"…You make a good point."

"How is the things going?"

"Though your lofty tone is rather irritating, I can only say for now…"

Setting down a wine glass nearly as large as his bird-like body, Robin replied:

"All is going smoothly. The prey is in the cage, and the hunter is in position. Now, it's merely a matter of waiting for the outcome."

"I imagine it will be a favorable one."

"I must say, Mr. Speaker, you do possess unshakable confidence. However…"

Robin's eyes glinted momentarily.

"I can't help but have a bad feeling about this."

"Oh?"

The White Tiger raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Because Plan A failed," Robin admitted.

When tasked with carrying out this operation, Robin had thought it to be a plan so flawless that even for Moen Campbell, it was an inescapable trap.

An ambush on a seasoned Crowned, executed in total secrecy and with surprise on their side—how could it possibly fail? After all, even with the presence of the Pink Bear on his side, the Pink Bear was not a true Crowned; there was no way he could stand in the way.

Yet it failed.

It failed because Moen Campbell seemed almost preternaturally prepared for it. As if he had foreseen this coming, he had actually hidden another Crowned among his convoy.

Damn. Just what had he gone through to cultivate a vigilance this extreme? According to recent investigations, Moen Campbell had even sold several of his father's estates just to secure the services of a certain Stargazer on short notice!

If Robin had a son as recklessly prodigal as that, his first reaction would surely be to slap him senseless with a resounding face palm.

But.

It was precisely this abnormal vigilance of Moen Campbell that had led to the utter failure of Plan A.

And the failure of one seemingly perfect plan left Robin unable to banish the thought: could another seemingly perfect plan also fail in the end?

"I see. That sort of thinking is quite understandable."

The White Tiger’s gaze remained calm.

"But I believe such concerns are entirely unnecessary."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because all of you are far too focused on Moen Campbell as an individual," the White Tiger remarked.

"An individual?"

"Indeed. The failed assassination attempt and the intelligence from the academy all point to monumental shifts in Moen Campbell recently.

In fact, it’s possible that the foolish image he projected in the past was merely a façade. Now, as his engagement to Princess Celicia approaches and all threats against him fade away, he is finally baring the fangs of the young lion he truly is.

We were all fooled by him. He is far more exceptional than anyone suspected.

But…"

The White Tiger’s tone shifted, his lips curling into a disdainful sneer. He said:

"Did he really survive Plan A because of his so-called excellence?"

"Isn’t that the case?"

Robin frowned.

"Had it not been for his heightened vigilance, we would have…"

"Of course not!"

The White Tiger cut him off.

"So what if he’s excellent? So what if he’s vigilant? Do you really think that’s why he managed to survive this time? None of that is the reason!

He has survived thus far because he’s the son of a noble duke. He has the resources to afford hiring a Crowned to protect him. He is shielded by his privilege!

Ha. Excellence? Genius? Cunning? Without a foundation to stand on, these attributes are utterly meaningless. Otherwise, do you think…"

The White Tiger fixed his cold gaze on Robin’s eyes, sneering:

"Do you think precisely how many so-called geniuses I’ve personally crushed over the years?"

"…"

Robin shuddered involuntarily. For the first time, he glimpsed the deep, concealed darkness within this enigmatic individual—this creator of the great and shadowy Inner Council.

"Do you understand? That is the purpose of Plan B. When his privilege fades away, when he is cast into an isolated abyss with no one to back him up, then—even if our Duke’s son is ten times more extraordinary, ten times more brilliant than we think—

So. What?"

The White Tiger suddenly slammed his paw against the table as though squashing an insect with effortless ease.

A bug, stripped of its glow, remains but a bug.

"Of course, if Mr. Robin is still uneasy, you may imagine yourself in Moen Campbell’s predicament. Hmm... Based on prior intelligence, let us assume he is at the level of a Three-tier warrior—or rather, let us generously say Three-tier at its apex. Then, my dear Mr. Robin, use that sharp intellect of yours to ponder: does Moen Campbell have any chance of survival?" the White Tiger asked with mocking amusement.

"A chance of survival…"

Robin fell into contemplation.

Though the plan had been devised by the White Tiger, Robin had overseen its execution personally. As a result, he had intimate knowledge of every individual involved in its orchestration.

And currently, the group assigned to hunt Moen Campbell consisted of…

Corpse-Slicer Barton, who killed his own father, a man at least killed hundreds of lives, wielding a strange combat style feared even by Five-tier powerhouses.

A hyena from a certain secret laboratory, nicknamed "the monster among monsters," whose physical strength and regenerative abilities allowed it to survive even a charge from an entire regiment of heavy cavalry.

The renegade Fular Sisters from the Tower of Origin… Just being accepted into the Tower of Origin in itself testified to their exceptional capabilities.

And lastly… Father Elsie, hunted for years by the Life Church and still miraculously alive.

These individuals were the kind of fearsome beings whose names alone could terrify children into silence throughout the night. Every one of them sent chills down Robin’s spine.

If he were in Moen Campbell’s position, assuming himself a peak Three-tier warrior—or no, taking it a step further, even as a Four-tier warrior equipped with all manner of tools and artifacts…

There was not the slightest possibility of survival!

Even if he dragged a magic-cannon along with him into the forest to help, there was no chance at all!

This was a gap in power that could not be bridged by talent or harboring external advantages.

Unless Moen Campbell suddenly decided to become a believer of the dark gods, acquiring tremendous power directly from those gods—otherwise, there was no way.

But the cost of gaining that kind of power… might be a fate worse than death itself.

Besides, would Moen Campbell go insane and throw away his bright future to embrace worship of a dark god?

As for the little girl who had reportedly been transported with him—a devout cleric of the Goddess, specializing in healing and practically devoid of combat prowess—what could she possibly accomplish?

"Do you see now?"

The White Tiger raised his wine glass, chuckling softly:

"In this world, there may be no such thing as a truly flawless plan. But for Moen Campbell, the moment he was transported into Deathbane Forest marked the countdown of his life."

"I see now. I was overthinking," Robin acknowledged, raising his own glass and smiling.

"Then let us await the good news."

"To awaiting good news."

The sound of glasses clinking was crisp and melodious, like the notes of a celebratory tune heralding victory.