Chapter 64: Let’s Attack Together

It wasn’t long before the car came to a stop. Samuel Ford walked around to the other side, opened the door, and said coolly, "Out."

Jean Vance looked at him but said nothing, getting out of the car with his lips pressed tight. He glanced up at the building. The sign was simple, just two bold words: ’Martial Hall.’ He shot a sideways glance at the man next to him, wondering why he’d been brought here.

"Keep up." Samuel Ford offered no explanation and strode inside.

After a moment’s thought, Jean Vance followed him.

There weren’t many people inside, just a scattered few. But from what he could tell, they were all highly skilled practitioners.

Their stances were solid, their auras well-concealed.

’Not people to be trifled with.’

He took a steadying breath and looked at the man ahead of him, just as someone approaching called out, "Boss."

’Is he their boss because they respect his strength, or is he just the owner of this place?’

The moment the thought surfaced, he had a gut feeling that the former was more likely.

Jean Vance lowered his gaze slightly, asking no questions as he continued to follow him.

Suddenly, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He looked up to see Samuel Ford gazing down at him, his brow furrowed slightly. "What are you thinking about?"

After staring at him for a moment, Jean Vance coolly averted his gaze. "Nothing."

Samuel Ford didn’t press the issue. He led him to a small punching bag, took the gloves Rocco handed him, and bent down to put one on for him—only on his right hand, since his left was still injured.

He said nonchalantly, "Since you won’t talk, just let it all out. You’re still young. You don’t have to keep everything bottled up inside. I’m here for you."

Jean Vance’s eyelashes fluttered. He abruptly looked up at the man before him. They were so close he could see his expression perfectly.

It was calm and untroubled, as if he could hold up the heavens if they were to fall.

’But for the past five years, his mother had shouldered everything alone. This man had never once been there.’

’And most of the pain his mother had endured was his fault.’

At this thought, he pulled off the glove. "I don’t need this."

’He didn’t need to hit a punching bag to vent his frustrations. That was for the weak. His enemies would never be punching bags, standing still and letting him hit them. What he needed to do was become a true man, to share his mother’s burdens so she wouldn’t have to be so weary.’

’She still had him.’

’They would always be the closest people in the world. Beyond their blood ties, they were allies, partners.’

’He wouldn’t hold her back.’

With that thought, he turned to walk away, only to be pulled back.

Samuel Ford’s hand rested on his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but it held him firmly in place, making it impossible for him to leave.

Jean Vance glared at him, annoyed.

’The vow he’d just made to himself seemed utterly ridiculous now. He couldn’t even overpower a single one of the man’s hands!’

The realization soured his mood even further.

Unsure why the boy was suddenly angry again, Samuel Ford felt a headache coming on. ’He really couldn’t fathom what went on in a child’s mind.’

After a moment of thought, he said, "Since you don’t want to hit it, you can watch me instead."

"Boss, you’re gonna fight?" The man from before asked, rubbing his hands together, looking excited.

Jean Vance glanced at the man. His breathing was steady; he was the most skilled one here. ’Judging by his reaction, Samuel Ford must be incredibly strong, then?’

He paused, his interest suddenly piqued. "Fine," he nodded. "Go on, then."

’He wanted to see for himself just how powerful the man really was.’

"Alright." Samuel glanced at the boy, then shot a look at Rocco, a clear order to watch over him. With that, he turned and went into another room to change.

Receiving his orders, Rocco nodded and brought over a chair, along with a platter of fruit and snacks.

He plopped down on a small stool next to him, watching the training area with excitement. "Young Master, you’re in for a real treat today. The boss doesn’t usually like to fight. It’s rare to see him get in on the action."

Then, he leaned in and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "And do you know why?"

He had a booming voice, and even though everyone could hear him, he acted as if he were whispering a secret, which was utterly comical.

Jean Vance shot him a look, then glanced around at the others. He could see a subtle, but clear, disdain in their eyes as they looked at him.

It was directed at him.

’The disdain of the strong for the weak.’

His eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. Before he could even ask, Rocco, unable to contain his excitement, blurted out the answer. "Because he wants to cheer you up!"

As soon as he said it, the disdain in the others’ eyes intensified.

Jean Vance paused, giving Rocco a speechless look. Seeing the big man sigh, as if about to launch into a long-winded lecture, he quickly changed the subject. "Are these guys skilled too?"

"Them?" Rocco choked on his words, but his attention was easily diverted. "Of course they’re skilled! Everyone here is from The Crimson Covenant."

"What?" Jean Vance had only asked to change the subject, but when he heard those three words—’The Crimson Covenant’—he whipped his head around to stare at Rocco.

’The Crimson Covenant. The world’s top mercenary organization. They didn’t engage in murder or arson, yet their name alone struck fear into the hearts of countless underworld figures who lived by the sword.’

’Unlike other mercenary groups who would do anything for money, The Crimson Covenant strictly vetted every mission, and there were many types of jobs they refused to take on.’

’They refused jobs involving murder and arson, jobs that harmed civilians, jobs that were morally reprehensible...’

’They were less like a modern organization and more like the knights-errant of old, drawing their swords to right injustices.’

’The Crimson Covenant was the group he admired most in the world.’

’But now... what was this big guy saying? That *they* were members of The Crimson Covenant?’

’Then who was Samuel Ford?’

’They had just called him ’Boss.’’

Just as Rocco was about to speak, a man carrying a broom walked over impatiently. "Out of the way."

The moment he saw the man, Rocco clammed up. He didn’t let out a sigh of relief until the man had walked away.

’Pathetic. All that size for nothing.’

Jean Vance looked at the men around him, and after a moment of thought, he understood why they were looking at him that way.

’They must really look down on him. Just a spoiled brat who was lucky enough to be born into the right family. Why was he worthy of their boss’s indulgence?’

Considering they might actually be members of the legendary Crimson Covenant, Jean Vance found that, for once, he didn’t really mind their stares.

’After all, he knew their scorn wasn’t directed at *him*, but at the spoiled brat, Felix Ford.’

Glancing at the white gauze wrapped around his hand, Jean Vance narrowed his eyes.

’Felix Ford, is it? I’ll remember this.’

When Samuel Ford returned, he saw the boy looking like he was secretly plotting revenge. He faltered for a second, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding men. ’Did they provoke him? Since when does he just take note of a slight instead of retaliating on the spot?’

That strange sense of dissonance rose in him again.

Sensing his gaze, Jean Vance turned to look at him.

The familiar face made Samuel Ford push the strange thought from his mind. He rolled up his sleeves, stepped onto the fighting platform, and announced, "All of you, at once."

Jean Vance shot bolt upright, staring at him in astonishment.

’Is he insane?’

’Every single person here is an expert in their own right!’