As the Harbingers all took their seats, the meeting officially began.
reached high into the cold sky.
Outside the windows, icy gales howled, yet inside the hall reigned a deathly warm silence.
Everyone was seated, save for the high platform at the front, which remained vacant.
Pierro, the Jester, took a step forward.
The crisp sound of his footstep echoed through the hall, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.
The gaze beneath his mask was deep and hollow, as if capable of peering directly into the soul.
“Regarding the Sixth Seat, Scaramouche.” His voice was low and slow, flowing through the hall with a solemn weight like the declaration of fate itself.
“Concealing a Gnosis in secret, attempting to desert, and betraying Her Majesty’s grace and trust.”
He paused, his eyes sweeping over every Harbinger present before coming to a brief stop on Dottore, as though confirming an outcome that should never have transpired.
“His crime warrants his expulsion.”
As his words fell, a supreme chill surged from the depths of the palace.
The Tsaritsa’s figure slowly condensed upon her throne.
She paid no mind to the Jester’s subtle gestures, nor did she look at anyone present, merely offering a faint nod.
Her ethereal, icy voice pronounced the final verdict.
“Approved.”
With that single word, everything once possessed by that arrogant Harbinger was brought to an absolute end.
Immediately after, the Tsaritsa extended her fair palm upward.
*Hum—*
A purple crystal pulsing with violent thunder power materialized out of thin air, floating above her palm.
That divine pressure caused every Harbinger present to tense up instantly.
This was the Gnosis of the Inazuman deity—the one Scaramouche, the Balladeer, had been tasked with retrieving.
The Gnosis of the Narukami!
Amid the shared silence, the Tsaritsa calmly withdrew the Gnosis, and Pierro the Jester spoke once more.
“Three days ago, Daigan hunted down the traitor and reclaimed the Gnosis.”
The hall remained deathly silent, yet the very air seemed to freeze solid.
Sandrone’s fingers tightened slightly, her knuckles turning pale.
The corners of her eyes darted involuntarily toward the corner, where a guy sat looking as though he had nothing to do with the meeting at all.
*Three days ago?!*
If they weren’t in the grand palace right now, she would have practically burst out laughing.
But seeing Daigan’s utterly indifferent composure, the laugh caught in her throat like a sharp bone.
From Snezhnaya to Inazuma, even using her fastest mechanical transport, the round trip alone would take several days.
Yet he had already returned three days ago?
No, subtracting the day of the tea party, Daigan’s actual mission time had taken less than two days!
This weirdo had no vehicle.
How on earth had he completed the task in such a short window?
Furthermore, without a steam-driven vessel, how had he crossed the boundless, stormy seas surrounding Inazuma?
Deducting the time spent traveling…
had he and Scaramouche only exchanged blows for a single instant?
Had that arrogant puppet been eliminated by this strange guy before he even had a chance to flee?
Thinking back to how she had mocked him in the snow earlier, Sandrone felt like she had been slapped hard across the face.
How could a monster capable of traversing such brutal environments in two days possibly be afraid of mere snow and cold?
She had been completely played by him!
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to mask the shock and subtle chill lingering in the depths of her gaze.
Arlecchino sat quietly in her seat, her fingertips lightly tracing the dark patterns on her cuffs, her face maintaining its habitual indifferent coldness.
Her eyes were lowered in quiet contemplation.
*Her Majesty’s intent…
Is Scaramouche dead?*
To be honest, her heart felt little turbulence.
The disappearance of that fellow who walked hand-in-hand with the Doctor meant the House of the Hearth had lost one potential threat.
Now that the “children” were thoroughly settled, the House of the Hearth was back on its proper track.
However, feeding so many mouths and maintaining such a massive apparatus required a “budget” that was by no means a small sum.
A faint calculation flickered deep within her dark eyes.
Capitano’s towering figure stood in the shadows.
His face, hidden behind a fierce mask, turned toward Daigan.
He said nothing, but the eyes visible through the slit of his mask narrowed slightly, revealing an unprecedented degree of scrutiny and interest.
“Reclaiming the Gnosis in just a few days?
Are you serious?!”
Tartaglia practically sprang out of his seat.
Battle lust burned unreservedly in his blue eyes like a shark smelling blood as he stared straight at Daigan.
Even before becoming a Harbinger, he had heard of Daigan’s reputation—a mission addict?
An efficiency monster?
Emotionally challenged?
Daigan’s missions never failed, but he only accepted high-difficulty tasks.
If you tried handing him an ordinary assignment, he wouldn’t even spare you a glance, even if it came from a superior.
It seemed the rumors were true.
Only a few days had passed since the last meeting, and who could have guessed this guy had already wrapped up his mission?
Such terrifying efficiency—how interesting!
Looking at the completely unbothered Daigan, Tartaglia could barely restrain the urge to draw his blade.
He desperately wanted to see whether this man’s sword was as blindingly fast as his work ethic!
“Heh…
It appears Mr.
Daigan hides his depth quite well,” Dottore murmured.
The fingers resting against his bird-beak mask paused slightly, the gaze behind the visor growing sharp and gloomy.
He knew Scaramouche’s secret cards.
Aside from his own inherent strength, the fellow had Dottore’s strongest “Segment” backing him up.
Just as Scaramouche, hailing from Inazuma, was tasked with the Electro Archon’s Gnosis, Dottore himself was responsible for Sumeru’s.
Pierro and the Tsaritsa surely knew about his Segments; otherwise, staying in Snezhnaya doing nothing for so long would have gotten his research funding cut ages ago.
Yet even with his Segment assisting, Daigan had still resolved everything so cleanly and decisively, even locating a hideout that Dottore himself hadn’t fully tracked down…
This weirdo’s intelligence channels, combined with an operational capability that seemed crude yet was precise to the extreme, were far more dangerous than he had imagined.
“Hmm…”
On the high platform, Director Pierro quietly observed everything after speaking.
His gaze swept lightly between Dottore’s tense posture and Daigan’s nonchalant sitting position.
He offered no commentary, though the spark of speculation in his eyes deepened.
“Haa…”
Columbina let out a silent yawn, her eyes peeking sleepily from beneath her eye cover.
She had zero interest in Gnoses or traitors.
Her gaze drifted lazily across the room before finally settling on Daigan.
Everyone around was communicating with glances, calculating the variable this man represented.
Meanwhile, Daigan—who had barged into her tea party uninvited just days ago—sat silently like a lifeless statue, calmly taking it all in.
*Why does it feel like he’s drawing so much attention?*
She suddenly felt a faint pang of envy.
At least he was “needed.” Unlike her, who was merely an adopted, redundant spectator.
If she had been the one to bring back the Gnosis this time, would Sandrone look at her like that too?
Would everyone be talking about her like this?