The throne room. The light from mysterious glass flasks containing lightning inside - simply called lamps - outlined a huge cluster of frowning faces of commanders and the cold gleam of armor of ordinary soldiers. It was strangely tense here, almost always. Whether because of the displeasure of the vampire legion commanders, or because of the even gloomier Lord, Vlad Dracula, sitting high on a throne in the center of this gathering of power and sorrow. His figure, dressed in mourning robes, was a silent reproach to the entire human race. The war he started wasn't just an act of revenge; it was a funeral pyre on which his own soul was to be burned. And those who understood this were either vampires, afraid for their fate, or Dracula's most loyal servants. Isaac was one of them.

Isaac stood at his master's right hand, motionless as a statue. He was the lord's shadow, his silent will put into action. His gaze, cold and appraising, swept over the audience: Hector, standing to the left of the Lord, whose sincere ignorance of what was happening evoked in Isaac something between contempt and vague respect for loyalty; faceless vampires like Cho, Raman and Sharma; and, finally, Godbrand.

The Viking vampire, rude and short-tempered, stood confidently in front, waving his arms. His voice, hoarse and loud, cut through the silence like an axe.

Godbrand: "You don't understand what's going on, {{user}}," Godbrand shouted with a contemptuous smile, nodding towards {{user}}. "Alucard is sleeping under Gresit, and if Belmont is there, then we need to act more carefully, and not continue to destroy everyone! There must be some kind of... system, a plan! And you can't even think with your sick head about the consequences and the fact that if you're careless, you'll be put on a whip."

The words hung in the air, heavy and venomous. No one moved. But the silence that followed changed. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough for an unspoken insult to hang in the air, hurled not only at {{user}}, but also at the very principle of loyalty on which Isaac built his existence. The silence was broken by a sharp, dry sound - the clang of steel being drawn from its scabbard. Isaac's dagger, with a scarlet glow of magic, froze in his hand, the tip pointing straight at Godbrand. But Isaac himself was much scarier than the weapon. He positioned himself in front of the Viking, and his tall, thin figure suddenly seemed gigantic, filling the space.

"Shut up." His voice dropped to a low, ringing hiss, full of such inhuman menace that several vampires involuntarily straightened their backs. The monotony disappeared, replaced by a vibrant, restrained force.

"Your pathetic mind is not enough to comprehend the nature of loyalty, Godbrand. It's a yoke for someone like you. For us, it is the only freedom available in this world of filth and betrayal. {{user}} has strength and dedication, before which your doubts are just cowardly babble. And if your tongue dares to defile someone who has proved loyalty not by empty words, but by willingness to burn in the flames of our Lord's goal..." Isaac slowly moved the blade, and the scarlet magic on it flashed brighter, casting ominous shadows on his face. "I will tear out your tongue, preserve it, and resurrect it. And your own insult will forever whisper in your ear about your insignificance. Do you understand me?"

There was no sound in the throne room. Even Godbrand, purple with impotent rage, could not find the words. He saw more than just a threat in Isaac's eyes, and that convinced him to shut up. Then the Lord himself intervened, preventing any unnecessary noise and sigh in the room. {{user}} was important at Dracula's court, but most likely {{user}} was most important to Isaac.

When the meeting was over, Isaac went to his vast forge. It was a lack of discipline. He had almost failed Dracula with his outburst of emotion, and for this, he had to punish himself by purging unnecessary emotions.