John's tone of command told everyone everything they needed to know. Something terrible had just happened. Even Lanmar, who had been mid-sentence imagining a delicious feast, jolted to his feet.
A weird, cold tension flooded his soul as he looked at John's silhouette, thinking what he possibly could have done wrong to entice his master's wrath to such an extent.
"W-what is it?!" Lanmar asked, running toward John with a shaky, uncertain stride, looking like a man caught red-handed in a disgraceful act. "John, what's wrong?"
"Tell me everything you know about the Fog Wrathers!"
John's eyes shone with a manic brilliance the more he spoke. To those watching, he felt like a bomb with a fuse burned down to the final millimetre, seconds away from a catastrophic detonation.
Yet when Lanmar heard the name, the reaction was instantaneous: the blood vanished from his face as if he had been confronted by a ghost from his darkest nightmares. His massive frame actually trembled.
