Chapter 195

I think we should replace our leader with someone else.

After glancing at the vacant seat at the head of the table, a middle-aged man with a plump build looked around the others seated along the long table and smiled warmly:

Though this organization was originally founded by Lord Nathan, and we all came together under his guidance, everything changes over time.

In my personal view, Lord Nathan is no longer suitable to lead us—what do you all think?

What do I think? I think nothing!

After the plump man finished speaking, the bald woman, who had been playing with a slingshot, snorted in dissatisfaction:

The leader is always the leader. He saved my life and helped me gain my ability. I don't care what others think—I recognize only him!

Understandable. Very understandable.

Unsurprised by the bald woman's attitude, the plump man nodded at her and smiled warmly as he explained:

Don't misunderstand—I'm not denying Lord Nathan's achievements. All of us have received his favors, even me, who wants a new leader.

But whether you're willing to admit it or not, Lord Nathan has grown old. Over the past two years, he no longer thinks with perfect foresight or remains always right—he's started making reckless mistakes.

As he spoke, the plump man's smile faded slightly, replaced by a sorrowful expression as he spoke in a low, dejected tone:

A few years ago, we were all fine. But since the failed assassination of the prince, Samantha was captured, and the Bandage Anomaly was seized by the Cleanup Bureau.

Then Barton, our mole inside the Secret Investigation Bureau, was trapped there while covering Samantha's retreat—and never came back.

Later, Lord Nathan led a retaliatory strike, sending David to infiltrate the succession ceremony to ambush Leon Rayne with 【Moment of Heartbeat】, but David too was captured by the Cleanup Bureau and won't return.

Compared to those past years, after losing three comrades, this once-crowded long table now has an empty corner.

…

Unlike before, after the plump man finished speaking, the rebels around the table fell silent as they stared at the three vacant chairs—even the bald woman, a loyalist to the leader, said nothing in opposition.

Everyone, I admit Lord Nathan has given much in the past—but have we given less?

After a pause, sensing the group's attitude had softened, the plump man's expression shifted again. He pointed at the old woman and little girl across from him and slammed his fist on the table in fury:

Not to mention others, how much have Lucy and Phoebe, the two sisters, contributed to everyone over these years?

When they first joined us, they were both young and beautiful, but because of frequent use of their abilities, one has regressed in age, her intellect now lower than a five- or six-year-old's—she can't even form a coherent sentence.

And Lucy, though better off, has become an old woman. She's not even thirty, yet her physical condition is worse than that of a seventy- or eighty-year-old. If we're talking about sacrifice, have they given less than Nathan?

Enough, stop beating around the bush!

As the others sat in silence, a man covered in burns snorted impatiently:

Oliver, just say it outright—you want to oust Nathan and take his place as leader!

I do have that idea.

Hearing the burned man's words, the plump man's anger vanished, replaced by unmistakable delight. He leaned forward, eyes alight:

Do you remember why we joined? To seek revenge against everything that drove us to the brink! To destroy this diseased kingdom! To stop our tragedies from repeating!

Not to mindlessly cause chaos and fight head-on with the military, the council, the nobility, the merchants! And certainly not to provoke the damn Cleanup Bureau!

So now, friends, it's time for change.

After cycling through expressions of joy, sorrow, anger, and delight, the plump man returned to his initial cheerful smile, stood up, and proposed with a grin:

I believe Lord Nathan over the past two years is no longer the man he once was—he's no longer fit to lead us.

We must act now, while there's still time! If we let him continue unchecked, it'll be too late!

I agree!

No sooner had the plump man finished than the burned man, who had just moments ago snapped at him, raised his hand without hesitation—the first to support him.

I don't support Oliver as leader, but I support replacing whoever sits in that chair.

Facing the surprised stares of the rebels, the burned man licked his lips and squinted:

I don't care about change or timing—I think Nathan isn't fit to lead because, compared to when I first met him, he no longer smells like himself.

What nonsense are you spouting now?

The bald woman stood up, glaring at the burned man, who seemed even more dim-witted than she was:

What smell? What are you talking about?

Of course there is!

The burned man sneered at her and grunted:

You can't smell it? That's normal—it's the scent of the strong. Only those of us who are powerful can perceive it.

This scent belongs to the strong: the scent of someone who believes that as long as he still breathes, even if his bones are shattered, he'll rise again and bite his enemy to death with his teeth!

That's why I joined him back then—I was drawn to Nathan's scent, convinced he'd do what he promised, so I followed him.

But over the past two years, after every major operation, he'd isolate himself for a while. When he returned, that scent grew fainter, becoming more hesitant, more broken.

After the succession ceremony, his scent changed again. Now, he smells like a gazelle abandoned before it was weaned—weak. Stinking.

…

After hearing the burned man's incoherent speech and barely understanding his meaning, the rebels exchanged glances. Even the bald woman stopped her anger, bit her lip, and sat back down.

The "scent of the strong" the burned man described—stripped of its beastly phrasing—was likely just confidence.

Compared to the former leader, brimming with certainty, Lord Nathan now truly carried an air of quiet decay.

Like the giant in myth who endlessly pushes a boulder uphill only to watch it roll back into the valley, the current leader had truly lost the conviction that could change everything…

Should we… really replace him?

…

"Sniff…"

As the rebels fell silent, a loud inhale suddenly echoed through the room.

The burned man widened his nostrils like two black holes, greedily sniffing the unchanged air, then kicked back his chair and stood, squinting toward the doorway:

Tiger! A tiger has entered, hunting! The scent is so sweet!