The moment he finished speaking, murmurs rippled through the crowd below the stage.
Someone suddenly called out, "Why isn't the head of the Silverwood family here to preside over this gathering?"
The voice wasn't loud, but it carried unnaturally well—as if aided by some kind of strange technique. Whether intentional or not, everyone in the hall heard it clearly.
The speaker didn't bother to hide his identity either. He stepped forward from the crowd, stopping directly before Liam at the edge of the stage.
Liam's brow furrowed at the sight of the man, but he kept his composure. Calmly, he said, "Ambrose Silverwood is feeling unwell today and is unable to preside over this gathering."
"Oh? Is that so? Ambrose and I go way back. We were comrades through life and death in our youth," the man said with an exaggerated tone. "As an old friend, I think it's only right I visit this 'unwell' family head of yours. Why don't you, 'Steward,' send someone to lead me there?"
