But suddenly realized that the young man in the main seat had not said a word from beginning to end.
Louis just sat there, his fingertips tapping on the solid wood table intermittently, producing a rhythmic yet deep sound, like the faint beating of war drums.
No response, no retort, not even an expression.
Just his gaze, like a blade in a cold night, sweeping from one side of the assembly to the other.
Those who had just echoed Brooke's words lowered their heads, as if a sword was pressed against their necks, not daring to glance again.
Brooke's smile slowly froze.
He suddenly felt a bit cold, with sweat gradually forming at the back of his neck.
Why doesn't he speak? Why doesn't he counter?
Not taking the bait is the fiercest counterattack.
He doesn't care about the so-called "Snow Peak Nobles' joint proposal," nor does he bother to challenge its legitimacy.
Is he waiting for me to finish speaking, to make a decision in one stroke?
