The air in the meeting room remained frozen, the chill that seemed to emanate from the Warp not yet fully dissipated.
Cyril was just about to reach for the plate filled with shriveled nuts when a dull thud made everyone's heart skip a beat.
Thud!
A gold-inlaid cane struck heavily against the spliced steel plates, sending sparks flying.
Morozha stood up.
His half-metal mask glinted with a cold, hard luster under the dim lights. The red light in his bionic eye was no longer flickering, but had stabilized into a heart-palpitating dark red.
"Enough."
His voice was not loud, but it grated against everyone's nerves like a rusty saw, drowning out all the whispers and heavy breathing.
"Have you watched enough of the show? Or do you think the miracle just now was merely a magic trick?"
Morozha looked around, his gaze scanning the face of every subordinate like a searchlight.
No one dared meet his eyes.
Even Iron Hook the Third, who had been clamoring to hack someone just moments ago, now kept his head buried low, and the skinning knife in his hand had been returned to its sheath at some point.
"What Mr. Cyril did was to protect all of us."
Morozha spoke slowly and deliberately, his tone carrying unquestionable authority.
"The Iron Crow Gang is finished. One-Eyed Jack is dead, and that lunatic Rust Sage has been turned to ash. Now, that territory we've been coveting for ten years is like a stripped-bare whore, waiting for a new master to favor her."
He paused, his mechanical fingers lightly tapping the tabletop with a crisp clatter.
"This choice cut of meat can only be named Morozha. If anyone has an objection, stand up now."
The hall was silent.
Only a ventilation fan in the corner emitted a creaking, agonizing screech.
Morozha nodded in satisfaction, his gaze finally landing on Iron Hook the Third in the leftmost seat.
"Third, do you have an objection?"
Iron Hook the Third's entire body went stiff.
He could feel that red laser-like gaze locked firmly onto his throat.
If he said a single wrong word, he feared his head would explode like a rotten watermelon the next second.
Gulp.. Third Brother's hands tightly gripped his pant legs under the table, his knuckles turning white.
He locked eyes with Morozha for a full three seconds.
Ultimately, the ferocity of an Underhive cur succumbed to the fear of death.
"Boss is right."
Third Brother's voice was hoarse, as if he had swallowed a handful of sand.
"I'm just... just worried the Upper Nest will investigate. Since Mr. Cyril has... has those divine methods, then I have no objection."
As he spoke, a flash of resentment flickered beneath his lowered eyelids.
That look was like a venomous snake with a broken spine that had not quite died yet, calculating when it could bite back.
Cyril saw all of this.
He could not even resist a light chuckle, casually shelling a nut and tossing it into his mouth, chewing it with a loud crunch.
The sound was exceptionally jarring in the deathly silent meeting room.
The Third jerked his head up, staring intently at Cyril, the killing intent in his eyes almost solidifying.
Cyril merely raised the remaining half of the nutshell in his hand toward him, looking perfectly innocent.
"Don't look at me like that. It's easy to get worked up."
Cyril brushed the crumbs off his hands, his tone flippant.
"If you're really that bored, why don't you go check if that Lil Mouse has woken up for me. If he dies, I'll be very sad."
"You..." Iron Hook the Third was so angry that the veins on his neck bulged.
"Enough."
Morozha interrupted the conflict that was about to erupt.
He stepped over to Cyril's side, and that heavy mechanical hand slapped directly onto Cyril's injured shoulder.
Thump.
Cyril's eyes twitched from the pain, but he forced himself not to make a sound, merely tilting his head slightly to look at the iron hand resting on his shoulder.
This force was at least fifty percent.
It was both a warning and a test.
"From today on, Mr. Cyril is my Military Advisor."
Morozha's voice echoed throughout the hall.
"All operations to annex the Iron Crow Gang will be planned by him with full authority. His orders are my orders."
These words were like a bombshell, instantly causing an uproar in the crowd.
"Military Advisor?!"
"This kid has only been here for a few days!"
"Boss, this isn't according to the rules..."
Before the whispers could spread, they were interrupted by a burst of fanatical applause.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Scarface was the first to jump up, his two fan-like hands clapping with a thunderous sound, his face full of undisguised admiration.
"Boss is wise! Too wise!"
Scarface's face was flushed with excitement, and the scar running from his forehead to his chin trembled.
"What do you lot know! Lord Cyril is an envoy sent by the God-Emperor! With him here, our Black Hand Gang can definitely unite the Underhive, and even... even challenge the big shots of the Upper Nest!"
His fanboy behavior sent a chill down the spines of those around him.
But under Morozha's icy gaze, the others could only bite the bullet and follow suit with the applause.
The scattered applause echoed in the hall, sounding somewhat comical.
Only Iron Hook the Third remained in his seat.
He did not clap, but simply folded his arms, staring gloomily at a scratch on the tabletop as if it were Cyril's neck.
A faint, barely perceptible smile curled at the corner of Cyril's mouth.
This was the effect he wanted.
A divided team full of suspicion was exactly what made it easy for an outsider like him to fish in troubled waters.
The fish had taken the bait. Now it was time to reel it in...
...
Half an hour later.
Morozha's private office.
This was a secret room converted from a heavy armored shipping container. The four walls were hung with various models of firearms and a few yellowed old photos of the Astra Militarum.
The air was thick with the scent of machine oil mixed with low-grade alcohol.
The moment the heavy blast door closed, the noise outside was instantly cut off.
Morozha walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of a murky brown liquid.
He turned around and pushed one of the glasses onto the iron table in front of Cyril.