"They have arrived at the Brown Soil."
The man who served as one of Red's trusted subordinates lowered his head slightly as he delivered the report. Dust clung to his boots from the constant excavation beneath their headquarters.
His voice carried restraint, but there was tension behind it. The arrival of Myles' group at that place was not a trivial matter.
"Good. Let them do that job as well," Red said.
He sat on a reinforced metal chair inside what used to be an underground lecture hall, now reshaped into his command chamber.
A faint smirk curved across his lips as he dragged a whetstone slowly along the edge of his short sword.
The blade was compact, designed for close-quarters brutality rather than flashy reach. Its metal surface was predominantly matte black and faint purple veins ran along the fuller.
Thin wisps of Ether mist coiled around it, rising and fading in a steady rhythm as if the weapon breathed on its own.
