"The dove has returned."

Robin looked up, his gaze settling on the white dove descending from the sky.

He set down the wine glass wrapped in his wing, took out a handkerchief, and elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth before smiling at the white tiger seated across the long table.

"It seems it's bringing good news."

"Oh? What other possibility could there be?"

The white tiger swirled the red wine in his glass with an air of undeniable confidence.

"Indeed."

Robin, having no reason to doubt, picked up the letter brought by the dove and commented as he began opening the seal,

"Speaking of which, I recently acquired a batch of new wine. I wonder if you'll be interested, Mr. Speaker?"

"Oh? A wine worth bragging about from you?"

"It's a new type of beverage called champagne. It's gradually becoming popular among young people."

"And what makes it so special, to earn your appreciation?"

"They say that when the bottle is opened, a rush of foam erupts, strikingly spectacular. The flavor of the wine itself is also quite remarkable."

"Interesting. Sounds like the perfect drink to open at celebrations."

"Exactly. I'm even planning to send that old lion Campbell a few bottles. Imagine him opening these at his son's funeral—the scene is thrilling just thinking about it."

"Hahaha, not a bad idea. Quite entertaining indeed. I'm so going there to see his face"

The white tiger laughed heartily, then suddenly frowned, gazing at Robin with confusion.

"What's wrong with you?"

Across the long table, Robin's animated chatter ceased abruptly. He stared at the letter in his hand, as if he could no longer envision humiliating the Campbell family as he had moments ago. The human-like joy on his face drained away piece by piece.

Instead, his body began trembling uncontrollably, even the magical construct of his substitute puppet wavering and growing indistinct under his mental agitation.

"This… this can't be."

Robin murmured like a madman, convincing himself it must be a mistake, or a malfunction of the puppet. He rubbed his eyes and read the letter again.

Again and again.

But no matter how many times he read it, the message remained unchanged.

And it was unbelievably shocking.

"What happened exactly?" the white tiger asked with furrowed brow.

"Did those people botch their job so badly that they've left something incriminating? Hmm, while evidence might be troublesome, as long as Moen Campbell—"

"…No. It was clean. Perfectly clean."

Robin interrupted the white tiger. "So clean that it seems no one even noticed that the so-called Moen Campbell faced brutal hunting in the forest."

"What do you mean?"

The white tiger's frown deepened.

"I mean…"

Robin looked up, speaking slowly, one word at a time.

"Moen Campbell… is still alive."

*Snap.*

The expensive crystal goblet shattered instantly under the grip of the white tiger, whose eyes turned crimson red. He glared ferociously at Robin, his voice erupting in outrage,

"What did you say? Say it again!"

"I'm telling you… Moen Campbell is still alive."

Robin repeated in a voice so frigid it seemed to freeze the air around them.

The white tiger suddenly calmed, his gaze dark and menacing as it swept over the letter in Robin's hand.

"And what about the others?"

"No clue."

Robin replied, "According to the received information, Eller Count's people found Moen Campbell and that little girl of his entourage near the forest edge. They're currently escorting them to the Holy City. As for the rest… not a trace."

"Are you reciting some fairy tale?"

The white tiger's rage reignited. With a deafening crash, the expensive antique mahogany long table in front of them shattered into a pile of useless splinters under the tiger's hand.

"There's a transcendent mage, two fourth-tier martial warriors, and an unbeatable pre-fifth-rank cleric! Together, they could even take down an actual five-tier warrior. And yet you're telling me they all failed against Moen Campbell—a mere second-tier warrior?!"

"Of course I know it's impossible! We thoroughly analyzed various scenarios together not long ago!"

Robin waved the letter in his hand, equally agitated and shouting,

"The one telling the fairy tale isn’t me—it's this intelligence letter! Have you considered the possibility that it's wrong?"

"Impossible! Intelligence reports cannot be wrong. My subordinates might be stupid, but they wouldn't dare fabricate a lie this obvious, one that would be instantly exposed."

"Then…"

"What does the rest of the letter say?"

"The rest?"

Robin was momentarily stunned. Only now did he realize the intelligence letter, which was usually brief, contained more than a single note this time.

The initial shock had completely distracted him.

Robin's eyes quickly scanned the second page of the intelligence. Then...

His shock deepened.

"Disaster..."

"What?"

"The intelligence says that Disaster, the dragon entrenched in Deathbane Forest… has awakened."

"....."

Silence descended. The two individuals, both seated near the pinnacle of power within the empire, found themselves at a loss for words.

No matter how intricate or far-reaching their plans, an event of this magnitude—Disaster awakening—overshadowed it all.

For a long while, the white tiger remained frozen in thought before asking,

"Are the two events connected?"

"Whether they are connected… only that Campbell boy might know. But based on rational deduction..."

Robin closed his eyes, ceasing his words prematurely.

Yet the white tiger already understood his implication.

Based on their earlier analysis, Moen Campbell alone couldn't possibly survive the meticulously orchestrated assassination.

Unless he had truly become a dark god's follower. No, even if he were a dark god's disciple, survival was still unlikely, as the power required for such escape would demand a steep cost the isolated Campbell couldn't afford.

From every perspective, the failure of this assassination seemed implausible. Yet the result remained unchanged.

The sole plausible explanation left was...

"Could it be Heaven itself favors the Campbells? What a fortunate boy."

The white tiger's face darkened like stormy waters.

"It seems we'll have to proceed with that plan after all."

"What?"

Robin was visibly alarmed. "That's too risky!"

"Risk means nothing. I've said it before—if we can't kill Moen Campbell, we’ll have no choice but to implement that plan."

"But…"

Robin's expression was conflicted and his voice hoarse. "You'll definitely drag all of us into hell!"

"We've already set half a foot inside hell’s gates, haven’t we?"

The white tiger locked his gaze with Robin's, speaking in a low tone.

"If we don't act… the ones having champagne at the funeral won't be Moen Campbell—it’ll be us."

"......"

Robin bowed his head in contemplation.

After a long silence, his resigned voice echoed over the ruined table, as though sighing.

"I hope we don't truly end up in hell, Mr. Speaker."

"Don't worry. Hell is for filth like the Campbells—for the insignificant and the despicable. As for us… I will lead you toward prosperity."

A cold and ruthless smile curled the white tiger's lips. He raised his hand, clenched his fist, and bellowed with fervor,

"All for the glory of the blood!"

...

...

"What?"

Moen was startled by a call that interrupted his thoughts.

Turning his head toward the window, Eller’s voice rang out.

"Young Master Campbell, we've arrived."