After finishing his words, Lang Yao dipped his head once more, a perfect picture of loyalty and calm on the outside—but beneath that mask, his mind twisted with filth. A slow, bitter smile crept across his lips, invisible to Lord Xun.
It wasn't amusement. It was venom. Hate. A dark, rotting hunger that had only grown since the day Liora cast him out like garbage.
He remembered every second of it. The way she stood above him, calm and self-righteous, her soft voice delivering a sentence that shattered his pride. She didn't even raise her voice—didn't need to. With that steady tone and those sharp eyes, she cut him down in front of everyone.
She saw through him. She didn't bend. And when she stripped him of his rank and spat him out in front of the base, she did it without raising her hand or voice. That was what made it worse. She didn't scream. She simply dismissed him, like he was nothing.
And that—that cold, quiet rejection—had driven a spike straight through his pride.
