Near the moonlit forests of the Catastrophe area, an old man in his late sixties walked, supported by a cane, as his son followed.
“What do you mean, Father?” the elder son asked.
The old man, Patrick Slate, looked at his son.
“Are you seriously asking me that? So much happened around, and your son didn't find anything wrong and important enough to notify me, hmm?” Patrick asked.
The former council head's son, the current council head, Peter, looked down at his feet.
It was indeed wrong of his son not to assess the situation correctly and inform them. He thought his son was ready to become the next council head, but it looked like he still had so much to learn.
“I am sorry, Grandpa. I have no excuses for my incompetence.” Gladiator walked behind Patrick, looking at his father wi
