In a magnificent, ancient castle, hidden amidst a dense old forest where sunlight struggled to penetrate, countless servants bustled about, preparing exquisite dishes and the rarest of wines for a lavish and splendid banquet.

On a long table of precious wood, intricately carved, a great many fine dishes and delicacies had been laid out, exuding an alluring and tempting aroma: five-year-cured ham, rich and golden honey cheese, premium soft milk bread, tender and juicy slow-roasted beef, whole roasted suckling pigs with crispy golden skin, and skewers of grilled lamb ribs marinated in fine butter and herbs that smelled intoxicating…

Beside them were hundreds of bottles of rare vintage wines and the world's most famous spirits, carefully stored in ancient cellars. Just one look was enough to know this was a feast for the highest class of society.

The guests at this lavish party were also diverse, coming from many different classes and forces. Some were dressed elegantly and sophisticatedly like true nobles. Others wore cumbersome, heavy warrior's armor, still carrying the faint smell of blood and the smoke of the battlefield.

There were also old mages, holding ancient magic staffs that radiated a mysterious energy. And then there were those with strange, half-human, half-beast bodies, carrying the blood of ferocious monsters… The factions sat apart, each occupying a corner of the room, forming their own islands of power.

The wealthy merchants of the Gilded Veil whispered their calculations, the commanders of the Black Chess Society glanced at each other with sharp eyes, while the fanatical warriors of the Scarlet Crusader were loud and boorish.

The noise suddenly stopped when the final four figures entered. It was Laurent and the three core members of the Cabal. The air in the room seemed to chill with their entrance. All eyes turned to them, a mix of respect, fear, and hatred on every face.

They leisurely approached an empty table. Maras, the hulking guardian, said nothing, immediately piling his plate with an entire roasted suckling pig leg and a slab of beef. Selena, in a seductive purple dress, gently took a portion of vegetable salad and a plate of fat milk oysters, her eyes constantly flicking towards Laurent with hidden meaning. Seere, the elf assassin, chose only a simple portion of grilled fish and boiled vegetables.

As for Laurent, he took only a small piece of roasted beef, a rare warm smile gracing his lips. "This dish, it truly brings an sense of nostalgia. It's quite delightful to eat," he murmured, his voice seemingly only for himself to hear.

The Bloodluster Fuson approached, sneering, his eyes boring into Seere. "An Elf turned assassin?" Fuson goaded, his voice a low sneer. "Are you not ashamed of your lineage, Seere? Or are the traditions of your people merely empty words?"

Seere's hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger, a murderous aura flaring for a brief, cold instant before being suppressed. But before he could act, Laurent intervened. Without turning, he leisurely raised his wine glass. "The vintage here is excellent, Fuson," his voice was a soft murmur, yet it silenced the hall. "But perhaps it is too refined for someone who only drinks blood. Your table is over there."

"Yes, yes, please forgive my impertinence, esteemed 'Supreme Commander Laurent'," the Bloodluster Fuson bowed mockingly, then slowly backed away. But a satisfied, pleased smile still lingered on his lips, for he knew his words had surely provoked the arrogant Seere.

"You didn't need to lower yourself to answer that bastard on my behalf, Lord Laurent," Seere's eyes glinted with an anger. "I will not let a few foolish provocations affect our collective plan."

"I know you are a man who always considers things carefully, Seere," Laurent replied with a gentle laugh, his tone still mild and pleasant. "But if I hadn't stepped in, that Fuson might have lingered in this area a while longer, causing unnecessary trouble. That would have affected our pleasant and relaxed atmosphere here."

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"Yes, I understand now." Seere bowed respectfully, the anger in his eyes subsiding somewhat.

After finishing their meal, the group of four from the Cabal, Laurent, Seere, Selena, and Maras, left the grand dining hall together. From the moment they stood up, the atmosphere in the banquet hall changed dramatically. All the loud noises of eating, the cheerful conversations, and even the vulgar curses of the drunkards nearly ceased. Almost all the esteemed guests present at this lavish party stopped what they were doing, their eyes following the departing figures of the four Cabal members.

The guests watched them with a mix of complex emotions: fear, respect, anger, and hatred. There was respect and admiration. There were also those who looked at them with eyes full of anger and hatred… But it seemed that all of them, regardless of which power they belonged to, held a certain degree of reverence, a certain fear, for this mysterious and dreaded Cabal.

That afternoon, in a grand conference hall, lavishly decorated yet bearing an unusual gloom. A ten-meter-wide, round table of polished black ebony was in the center of the hall. It was estimated that if everyone present in this room sat at that table, there would still be plenty of empty seats.

But currently, only four individuals were seated at four opposing sides of that round table, the leaders of the four most dominant dark forces. More than forty others, representatives of smaller black societies or trusted subordinates, were arranged in auxiliary seats placed along the stone walls behind.

"As the host of today's gathering," Londor, the aristocratic man, leader of the Gilded Veil, began, his voice measured and polite but hiding an unpredictable cunning, "I hope that over the past period, all of you esteemed guests have had pleasant, comfortable, and satisfying moments in this ancient castle of mine."

"I am truly satisfied with your thoughtful and enthusiastic hospitality, Londor," Laurent, the white-haired man, leader of the Cabal, replied with a warm laugh, breaking the initial tense atmosphere. "Perhaps, after today's meeting, I will have to ask you for a few secret recipes. The dishes in the feasts you have prepared are truly excellent, beyond reproach."

"If possible, perhaps we should skip these frivolous, meaningless conversations," Zepar, the man with the strange tattoos, representative of the Scarlet Crusader, interrupted impatiently, his voice gruff and rude. "We are gathered here today not to feast, nor to enjoy wine."

"Our plan has succeeded brilliantly, has it not?" Queen, the beautiful and sharp vice-leader of the Black Chess Society, let out a clear laugh, yet it carried an mockery. "After today, who knows if we will have another chance to sit together so amicably and peacefully. Perhaps the next time we meet, there will only be the sound of weapons clashing against flesh." She again directed her seductive gaze towards Laurent.

"The more I look, the more I find Lord Laurent Smitras truly captivating. Tonight, would I have the honor of a private conversation with you? I truly wish to have some memorable, unforgettable moments before we conclude this matter." She used suggestive words and alluring gestures to try and seduce Laurent.

"Queen, you should remember that you are a century-old crone," Zepar once again let out a mocking laugh. "Still chasing after strong young men? I doubt our esteemed Commander Laurent has a fondness for antiques, however well-preserved."

"It is the height of rudeness to mention a lady's age, Zepar." Queen replied, her voice like velvet layered over steel. Her pout was a calculated performance, and her eyes, glittering with dangerous allure, never left Laurent. She wielded her mature charm not as a plea, but as a weapon.

From behind Laurent, a few small sounds were heard. Seere was trying to stifle a laugh. As for Selena, the girl in the Cabal group, she was grinding her teeth, occasionally muttering what sounded like curses, clearly angry and jealous.

"Thank you for the sincere invitation, beautiful Lady Queen," Laurent replied with his usual mild and polite demeanor, revealing no emotion. "First, let's resolve all the remaining issues of this campaign. Lord Londor, shall we begin the meeting now?"

"Before we officially delve into important matters," the aristocratic man named Londor spoke again, his tone more formal. "I would like to invite the esteemed Necrofear, Lord Beleth, to come up here and sit at this round table with us."

From the deepest shadows of the hall, a raspy voice cut through the tension. "There is no need for such formalities, Londor. This was a personal contract, nothing more. I represent no one, and I have no interest in your petty power games."

A figure stirred in the darkness, the faint glint of a bone mask visible. "Pay me my fee as agreed. Our business is concluded." Even unseen, the raw power of the Necrofear Beleth, a peak Rank 6 who had emerged from the fires of Aerion completely unscathed, was an unnerving presence in the room.

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