Reactions erupted from all around the room.
Sharp intakes of breath, eyes widening unnaturally, bodies flinching in shock.
Even without checking their levels, the astonishment they felt was written all over their faces.

“Are you sure you didn’t see it wrong?”

In contrast, Roxanne crossed her arms and let out a dismissive scoff.
As the highest-ranked Lord at the Round Table and the ever-prideful Dragon Lord, she was the epitome of arrogance.
If you had to pick the most conceited being in the Seventh Abyss, it would undoubtedly be Roxanne.

The idea that a Lord ranked five places below her could be the strongest among them?
It wasn’t just offensive—it was utterly inconceivable to her.

“Even if he’s a single entity, he’s still only the Seventh. I find it completely unbelievable.”
“Exactly! He doesn’t look that strong.”
“Rin thinks so too!”

The twin homunculi, Ren and Rin, chirped in agreement like sparrows.

To be fair, I did look like an ordinary Death Knight. That wasn’t just my exterior—it was the truth.
While no one said it outright, it was clear most of the room regarded this as absurd nonsense.

Roxanne’s eyes narrowed, sharp as a predatory bird’s.
She was trying to judge the truth for herself, but with an infallible lie detector already present, her efforts were redundant.

“Ren, Rin. Use your Heavenly Sight on Bliz.”
“Ehh—?! Why?”
“Rin doesn’t wanna!”
“Aren’t you curious too? Whether Bliz and Barghore are colluding or if that claim is true?”

Clearly, she was the most curious of all.
This was so typically Roxanne.

Reluctantly, the twins turned their gaze to Bliz.
For a fleeting moment, their eyes shimmered with an unusual glow—a telltale sign of Heavenly Sight being activated.

“Not on Bliz. Use it on the Seventh, Barghore.”

…Why me?
If they wanted to verify something, wouldn’t it make more sense to start with Bliz?

Ren and Rin’s Heavenly Sight had absolute judgment, but it couldn’t discern all truths at face value.
That’s because subjective conviction doesn’t necessarily align with possibility.
For example, if someone were 100% convinced they could defeat Bliz but lacked the strength to do so, their claim wouldn’t trigger Heavenly Sight. It simply wouldn’t activate.

On the other hand, it would work on Bliz.
If they asked whether he truly had Heavenly Sight and if it really showed a 100% chance of his death, they could definitively discern truth from lies.

So why ask about me?

…Now I understood.
They weren’t trying to verify Bliz’s claim—they wanted to see if I possessed an ability that enabled absolute instant death.
If I didn’t, Heavenly Sight wouldn’t activate. But if I did, it would.

“Seventh! Is what the squid said true? Can you really kill him whenever you want?”
“Answer! Answer!”

Enhancement chance: 0%. Instant death probability: 100%.
It only applied to Bliz, but no one else knew that.
Considering my earlier victory over Valmonk, they wouldn’t even think to doubt it.

The entire Round Table knew I had killed Valmonk—a hero ranked among the strongest—without even lifting a finger.

If you place an ant before a human, the human can kill it with just the intent to do so.
When the difference in power is so vast, there’s no room for comparison. Would Heavenly Sight even activate in such a case?
If my response were true, most of them would likely interpret it that way.

“It’s true.”

I answered calmly, keeping up the façade.

The stares from the Seven Lords bore into me. Judging from their expressions, they seemed to think I was just bluffing.

Silence filled the chamber as the focus shifted from me to the twins.
Ren and Rin’s playful expressions had vanished, replaced by stunned faces as they stared at me.

Ren’s eyes turned a vivid green, the unmistakable signal for truth.
My words had been confirmed as genuine.

“Whoa… So it’s true? No wonder he’s a single entity….”
“Rin has chills….”

Short gasps echoed throughout the room.
Even a slight glance around revealed levels fluctuating between fear and wariness, especially among the lower-ranked Lords.
Not that it mattered much to me—I shifted my attention back to the levels of the other Abyssal Lords.

“Rin, don’t you think the Seventh is interesting?”
“Rin thinks so too! Let’s be friends!”

The twins, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, now showed deep green levels.

“Hah. So that’s what it means to be a single entity…”

Even Darlon’s level shifted to a deeper green.
Both were the type to favor strength over caution.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? He’s the only single-entity Abyss Lord among us.”

Roscha’s level, a vibrant pink, had grown even deeper.

Once again, I was reaping the benefits of being mistaken for a single-entity Lord.
If I were just another Seventh-ranked Lord, they’d be questioning everything. But being a single entity? That was easy to accept.

Meanwhile, Kalandas’ level reflected a mix of guarded caution and faint fear.
Though he silently observed me, his emotions were plain as day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Roxanne twitching her nose.
Her level, a deep red, showed hostility without fear or caution. She wasn’t afraid of me at all.

‘Well, she is a dragon, after all.’

Roxanne would never show fear toward someone like me.
Her hostility had only grown, but it didn’t matter.
Ultimately, I’d gained far more than I’d lost.

I couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react if they learned the truth.
Though I kept a calm exterior, I was internally panicking.
I’d dug myself into this hole—how was I supposed to handle it moving forward?

‘How else?’

I had no choice but to manage it.
To protect my secrets, I’d have to become a master of bluffing—someone no one could doubt.

“Let’s end the idle chatter here.”

Bliz scanned the room before continuing.
“It’s time to begin the meeting. I will act as the moderator.”

***

The Round Table’s agenda covered conflicts between Dukes and Lords, disputes between lower-ranked dungeons, and various other matters that had nothing to do with me.

As the meeting progressed, arguments grew increasingly heated, with Lords debating over who was to blame.
The escalating tension was, at the very least, enough to draw attention away from me, and I felt a small sense of relief.

For my part, I pretended to listen, quietly feigning interest.
...All while trying to ignore the uncomfortable stares.

‘For the love of everything, stop staring at me.’

Admittedly, the attention had dispersed somewhat.
The lower-ranked Lords either stole quick glances or redirected their focus elsewhere.

The problem was the Seventh Abyss Lords.
They weren’t even subtle—they openly stared at me, as if determined to make me feel as self-conscious as possible.
It was as if their entire beings screamed, “We’re watching you!”
Trying to maintain composure while being scrutinized like this was unbearable.
I felt like a zoo animal on display.

‘What am I supposed to do after this meeting?’

No, I was worrying in the wrong order.
First and foremost, I needed to survive the meeting without incident.

As the discussion entered a lull, Bliz clapped his hands sharply, breaking the silence.

“Let us now move on to the main topic of discussion.”

The main topic.
I knew exactly what that meant in the context of a 72 Dungeon Assembly.
And sure enough, Kalandas was quick to seize the moment.

“This is an assembly of all present Lords,” Kalandas began, his voice sharp and deliberate.
“Comrades, this is the perfect opportunity to advance our cause. For too long, we have let this matter fall by the wayside. No more. We must be vigilant. Even Vango’s Shadow Fortress has fallen.”

I hadn’t expected him to come out swinging right from the start.

The core focus of every 72 Dungeon Assembly has always been the same:
The annihilation of humanity for the sake of the 72 Dungeons and the Seventh Abyss.

At this point in time, the Empire was no match for the 72 Dungeons.
Even a single Abyssal Lord could bring humanity to its knees.
Yet, despite this overwhelming power, the Empire remained steadfast through eight assemblies.

“Over the centuries, the Empire has only grown stronger. The fall of the Shadow Fortress has propelled them to new heights. Are we just going to stand idly by and watch?”

When a dungeon is conquered, a new one of similar rank is born to replace it.
While this allowed for continued resistance against humanity, it also handed the Empire a seemingly infinite supply of resources.

Dungeon byproducts had driven human development for centuries and would continue to do so.
Kalandas sought to break this shameful cycle.

“The time has come to bring an end to the Empire. If we unite the 72 Dungeons into a single force, humanity will—”
“Why should we?”

But there was a reason his proposal had always stalled.
Not everyone shared Kalandas’ vision.

Roscha glared at Kalandas with venom in her eyes.

“And why should we listen to you?”
“So, you’d just sit back and do nothing? Vango’s fortress has been conquered. Next, it’ll be yours, then mine.”

From a player’s perspective, the question always lingered:
If a single Abyssal Lord could destroy humanity, why had they waited for one fortress to fall after another?

It wasn’t mere gameplay logic—there was an actual reason.

“And for whose sake is this alliance supposed to be?”
“For the 72 Dungeons and the Seventh Abyss.”
“Hah! Lost in your own delusions, I see.”

The Lords weren’t merely protecting their dungeons because they lacked the capacity to do more.
The truth was simple: the 72 Dungeons didn’t trust one another.
This universal knowledge was something everyone willfully ignored.

Betrayal and mistrust made unity impossible.

“And what happens to the dungeon cores in a war? Do you expect unity when we’re constantly worrying about betrayal during the chaos?”

Humanity’s obsession with the 72 Dungeons was largely due to dungeon cores, the central treasure of each dungeon.
Just as humans sought dungeon cores, Lords could also absorb the cores of other dungeons.

If war broke out, cores would need to be hidden away for safekeeping.
But no one could guarantee they wouldn’t be targeted by their own supposed allies.

“We are bound by hierarchy. We instinctively crave higher ranks. Those numbers engraved in our minds are no coincidence.”

If a 20th-ranked Lord absorbed the core of a 15th-ranked dungeon, their rank would likely rise to 15th.
The new 15th-ranked dungeon might be weaker than before, possibly dropping to 16th or even lower.

By gradually absorbing cores, Lords could climb the ranks, one by one.

“Humans are a necessary evil. Without them, many non-human races would eventually go extinct.
And who bears the greatest losses in a war? The lower-ranked Lords of the 72 Dungeons. They’re the ones who’ll die first.”
“They’ll just be reborn. Their sacrifices are infinite and meaningful.”
“Oh, really? So when you die, a new Fifth-ranked Lord will take your place? Go fight on the frontlines, then. Sacrifice yourself. Can you do that?”
“…Hah.”

Watching this unfold was strangely entertaining.

Roscha’s arguments were sound.
At the end of the day, survival took precedence over any grandiose cause.
It was this insistence on forced sacrifices that had prevented unity, even after eight assemblies.

“You know this, don’t you? You’ve always known. And why? Because you see the other dungeons as expendable.”
“....”
“More importantly, Kalandas, everyone here knows your plan. A war with humanity will inevitably come at a cost. But only one Lord will profit without any losses.”
“That’s enough.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. Everyone here is aware that this skeleton is just trying to manipulate us for his own gain.”

Internally, I cheered.
Roscha was saying everything I wanted to but couldn’t. What a perfect antagonist for Kalandas.

If war broke out, the casualties on both sides would become Kalandas’ undead army.
In the game, after consuming humanity, his next target was the 72 Dungeons.
Perhaps Roscha had foreseen that future.

The idea of forming an alliance to destroy humanity sounded noble, but everyone had already seen through Kalandas’ true intentions.
Fear kept them silent, but none were willing to play along.

“This is absurd.”
“Exactly. How many times have you pushed for an alliance under the guise of ‘the cause’? Aren’t you tired of this? You’d have better luck catching the wind with your bare hands.”

A war against humanity would only serve to benefit Kalandas.
I wholeheartedly agreed with Roscha but kept my mouth shut, nodding quietly.
There was no way I wanted to draw more attention to myself.

“Enough.”

Roxanne finally stepped in to mediate.

Given the heated atmosphere, it was only a matter of time before one of the higher-ranked Lords intervened.
And as the most authoritative voice at the table, Roxanne silenced both of them effortlessly.

“Strengthening our unity is important. Questioning it is equally valid, but you’ve got your priorities wrong.”

Roxanne swept her gaze across the room.
When her eyes briefly landed on me, a sudden unease washed over me.

“Before discussing war, we must address a more pressing issue. Our top priority is rooting out traitors within our ranks. If there are cracks in our foundation, unity will crumble.”

Her piercing gaze lingered on me—more precisely, on Charlotte standing behind me with the Holy Sword.

“Everyone here knows what the Holy Sword represents. It is a divine artifact of Solari, the protector of humanity. And its chosen wielder is here, along with a pure-blooded human as their lieutenant.”

...That bitch.

She wasn’t even subtle—she outright pointed at me.

“Barghore, the Seventh Abyss Lord. I, Roxanne Dietrich, Second Abyss Lord of the Ten Pits, formally call for a tribunal to investigate your loyalty to humanity.”

The room’s tense atmosphere turned icy.

According to the assembly’s charter, any Abyssal Lord could demand a tribunal for their peers.
Tribunals often escalated into silent wars and open conflict.

Was this truly about accusing me of siding with humanity?
No. Her hostility had been obvious from the start—this was personal.

‘Petty, overgrown lizard.’

This wasn’t about loyalty; it was about her wounded pride.
She was doing this simply because she hated me for tarnishing her ego.