Chapter 721: Why aren’t you raising your hand?

All of human civilization had its eyes on the upcoming Grand Council. Every major media outlet was scrambling to cover it, and social media was already blowing up. After all, the decisions made by the top-tier elites would ripple down to affect everyone.

Howard was aboard a sleek aircraft, speeding toward the very heart of the Inner City.

At the center stood a towering, awe-inspiring structure known as the Sanctum. Whenever something major went down, this was where it happened.

Howard wasn’t the only one heading there. Other powerhouses from the great families were arriving too—Gareth, Tharen, even Serah, who was still recovering from serious injuries.

Representatives from all seven ruling families were gathering under one roof. Each of them radiated immense power—these were the apex of humanity’s strength.

“It’s been a long time since we were all in the same room,” Howard thought to himself, a flicker of nostalgia passing through him.

They entered the Sanctum and made their way into a large conference chamber, taking their seats in an orderly fashion.

But aside from the seven family heads, one more figure sat at the head of the table—an old man with silver-streaked hair and a weathered face, his eyes half-closed in a calm, almost meditative state.

His name was Harren Blackwell. Thirty years ago, he had led humanity’s invasion of Necroterra. Back then, he was the strongest human alive.

Howard and the others had once served under him as mere foot soldiers. Their respect for him ran deep, and even now, they still regarded him as the de facto leader of the entire alliance.

As always, Harren would preside over the Grand Council.

Once everyone had arrived, Harren slowly opened his eyes. Though slightly clouded with age, they still held a sharpness that commanded attention.

“I’ve heard about what happened in the Inner City,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “It’s been a long time since we’ve faced a crisis of this scale. What are your thoughts?”

Howard was quick to speak. “I think we need to hunt down that Zombie King who caused all this. If we don’t retaliate, we’ll lose the public’s trust. People won’t feel safe anymore.”

“Come on, Howard,” a woman across the table cut in. “Don’t pretend this is about public trust. You just want revenge for your son.”

She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “And even if we wanted to, that Zombie King’s already back in Necroterra. What do you suggest? We all go charging in and repeat the disaster from thirty years ago?”

Her words hit like a slap. The room fell silent for a beat.

All eyes instinctively turned to Harren. That war—three decades ago—had been his call.

A faint twitch flickered across Harren’s eyelid.

The woman continued, her tone softer but firm. “Harren, I’m not trying to reopen old wounds. I’m just being realistic. That thing is dangerous. I don’t support going after it.”

“I agree with Claire,” said a middle-aged man beside her. “We’ve had peace for years. There’s no need to risk everything now. We’re not facing an existential threat.”

Two of the seven families had now voiced their opposition.

Howard frowned, then turned to Harren. “Harren, I still believe that any creature bold enough to invade our territory needs to be taken out. If we let this slide, they’ll think we’re weak. What happens when they start showing up every other week?”

He paused, then added with conviction, “I’ve got a gut feeling—if we don’t kill him now, he’ll be back. And next time, it’ll be worse.”

The room went quiet again.

Everyone was deep in thought, weighing the risks.

After a long silence, Harren finally spoke. “If it’s about killing zombies, I’m all for it. My wife and children were devoured by them. But Claire has a point. That Zombie King isn’t just some target we can take out with a snap of our fingers. We need a real, executable plan.”

“I’ve fought him before,” Howard said, his voice hardening. “Even with Gareth and Serah backing me up, we couldn’t stop him. If we want to take him down, we’ll need at least four top-tier fighters. And that’s not even counting the horde he commands.”

He took a breath, then dropped the bombshell: “My recommendation—deploy the Dreadnought-class Starcruiser.”

At the mention of the Dreadnought, Harren’s eyes twitched again. His mind flashed back to that brutal campaign—three of those massive warships had entered Necroterra’s Heartland. One never came back, shot down by a coalition of Zombie Kings.

Harren had commanded that mission.

“I’m not trying to dredge up the past,” Howard said quickly. “But times have changed. Our Dreadnoughts are way more advanced now. And we’re not trying to wipe out all the undead—just one Zombie King. That’s doable.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, legs crossed, and shot him a skeptical look. “You really think it’ll just be one? You know how those monsters operate. If we go in, they’ll swarm us. It won’t be a surgical strike—it’ll be a bloodbath.”

Two more family heads nodded in agreement.

“She’s right. Too many unknowns. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Exactly. We should just reinforce our defenses. If that Zombie King shows up again, we’ll be ready to take him out then.”

“And let’s not forget—it’s been thirty years. Who knows what Necroterra even looks like now?”

“…”

Seeing that no one else was stepping up to support him, Howard’s confidence began to waver.

That’s when Gareth finally looked up and spoke, his voice calm but firm. “You don’t understand what we’re dealing with. That Zombie King isn’t just strong—he can cloak himself, blend in. Even if he comes back, we might not even see him coming. We can’t just sit around and hope we’ll catch him next time.”

Tharen chimed in right after, his tone sharp. “Claire, you’ve all gotten too comfortable. That’s the problem. We’ve been at peace so long, you’ve forgotten what it means to fight. We were attacked—on our own turf. And you’re saying we shouldn’t strike back? If I’d been there that day, I would’ve killed that bastard myself. So yeah, I’m with Howard. We take the fight to him.”

The room buzzed with tension. Everyone had their own stance, and no one was backing down. The divide was clear.

Harren’s aged eyes swept across the room, his voice cutting through the noise. “Enough. No more arguing. Howard’s plan has merit, but Claire’s concerns are valid too. As always, we’ll settle this the way we’ve always done—by vote. Whichever side gets the majority, we go with that.”

“Fine by me,” Howard said, nodding. He was confident—this was playing out exactly as he’d expected.

There were seven families in total. Gareth and Tharen were already on his side. Serah had every reason to want revenge too. With her vote, that made four. Claire’s side could only muster three at best.

It should’ve been a done deal.

“Alright,” Harren said, raising a hand. “Those in favor of hunting down the Zombie King—raise your hand.”

Howard didn’t hesitate. He raised his hand high, setting the tone.

Gareth followed suit, then Tharen.

Everything was going according to plan—until it wasn’t.

Only three hands went up.

Howard blinked, confused. He turned to his side, eyes locking on Serah.

She was sitting still, hands resting on the table, unmoving.

“Serah?” he asked, voice tight. “Why aren’t you raising your hand?”

Serah’s expression flickered, torn between emotions. Her face was pale, her body still weak from the injuries Ethan had inflicted on her. She hadn’t fully recovered—physically or mentally.

“I… I don’t want to fight that Zombie King again,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell into a heavy silence.

…