“I’m just having a chat with my dear Oda, what’s wrong with that? Stand aside, you lot!” Grennan roughly shoved them away.
“Lord Grennan, she is still just a child...”
A maidservant attempted to speak up, only to be met with a slap from Grennan. “Did I give you permission to talk?”
The other dancers were about to rebel when the Protégés of Cobalt Strike surrounding the courtyard stepped forward. “Are you thinking of defying us? Think about the slaves toiling in the mines.”
Their words struck a chord, and the women lowered their heads, tears welling in their eyes. The Mallister family was already indebted to the people of Stormcast, and they could not bear to see them suffer more because of this senseless incident.
Alavin snuck into the manor, watching silently with clenched fists, barely containing his sorrow and rage.
Lucan had never told him that the Mallister family were serving as serfs in the manor and enduring such humiliation!
Nor had his sister mentioned that she was working here as a maidservant!
This so-called young lord was nothing more than an Elite Protégé of the Cobalt Strike, the grandson of the sinister Elder Vandill, who had recently been dispatched here. With limited talent and weak strength, he was nothing noteworthy within Cobalt Strike, yet he acted high and mighty here by Vandill’s side.
“Move!” Grennan scoffed.
None of the women moved; it was Oda herself who stepped forward. “Let them rest; I’ll stay.”
“My lady,” they grasped Oda’s hands, shaking their heads.
“He wouldn’t dare harm me. You’re all exhausted. You should go back.”
“Guards, take them away,” Grennan ordered as he reclined lazily on the couch. “Oda, come rub my legs.”
Oda persuaded the Mallister women to leave, remaining behind.
“Didn’t you hear me? Come and rub my legs,” Grennan said, lounging comfortably.
Biting back her humiliation, Oda approached hesitantly.
“Pour me a drink first,” he said, handing her a wine jug.
As Oda reached for it, Grennan suddenly grasped her hand. “What are you doing!” Oda jerked back, and the jug shattered.
Grennan raised an eyebrow at her, glanced at the broken pieces on the ground, and casually picked one up. “Do you know how much this jug costs? At least worth ten advanced magical ores.”
“Nonsense!”
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