Bab 367: Hold the Grain!

BAM!—

The sudden noise echoed through the luxurious room, where dim light filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows on ornate furniture and gilded accents.

The room was adorned with oil paintings and elegant tapestries, creating an air of luxury.

Albert Ferron stood in the centre of this opulent chamber, his face flushed with anger. His face contorted with a furious shade of red, as though the very blood in his veins had ignited with anger. The veins in his temples pulsed rhythmically, visible signs of his escalating rage.

His once impeccably groomed hair was nowhere to be seen. A few dishevelled strands broke free from the usual order. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch a breath and his eyes seething with frustration and rage.