Chapter 12: Raising Hell at Marquis of Brocade's Manor

Quentin Luet chimed in, "Old Bastard, either pay up or take your daughter away. Dylan gets first crack at her, then I'll take my turn. Once we're tired of her, we'll sell her to the Music Bureau…" Grand Tutor Winlow's old face flushed red with fury. "How much do you want?" Dylan Weedy held up two fingers. "Two hundred thousand taels of silver!" "Bullshit! Why don't you go rob a bank?" "Robbing a bank wouldn't make money as fast as robbing you…" Dylan finished with a shameless grin, then turned to Quentin. "Quentin, do you think our little Diana would fetch a high price if we sent her to the Music Bureau?" "That Little Bastard Troy Warburton has made plenty of enemies by relying on the Warburton family's strength and numbers," Quentin replied. "As his fiancée and the Grand Tutor's daughter, she'd surely attract some young lords willing to pay a fortune for one night with Diana." "Dylan, Clearwater Court belongs to us now. Why send such a valuable asset to the Music Bureau? We could auction Diana right here at our own establishment." "Quentin makes an excellent point. I have much to learn from you!" "You're too kind, Dylan…" Grand Tutor Winlow frowned as he listened to the two good-for-nothing, pampered Young Masters flatter each other over their business acumen. He was angry that they had insulted his daughter, but what shocked him even more was that Clearwater Court had changed hands. "Did you really take Clearwater Court?" "More genuine than a pearl!" Dylan flashed the house deed and land deed before the Grand Tutor, then produced several other IOUs signed by Troy Warburton. With a meaningful smile, he said, "For two hundred thousand taels of silver, I'll give you a receipt." After a long hesitation, Grand Tutor Winlow turned to the old butler. "Go to the accounting office and get the money." "Master, this is extortion. You…" Before the butler could finish, Grand Tutor Winlow snapped impatiently, "I told you to get the money, so stop dawdling and go! I can't stand looking at these two idiots for another second!" The old butler dared not waste another word. He hurried to the accounting office. A sack stuffed with silver notes was brought out, and Quentin slung it over his back without complaint. After signing the receipt, Dylan gave Grand Tutor Winlow a faint smile. The two men exchanged cupped-fist salutes and parted with all the courtesy of old friends. Once they were inside the sedan, Quentin asked in confusion, "Dylan, what's with that Old Bastard? He gave in to our outrageous demand so easily, and he didn't even haggle over the price." Dylan smiled. "That's what you call an open stratagem." "What does that mean?" "Unless something unexpected happens, Grand Tutor Winlow has already seen what a useless piece of trash that Little Bastard Troy is. After this mess, Troy will be pushed far from the center of the family's power." "Grand Tutor Winlow arranged the marriage for a political alliance. But with a useless husband, what kind of alliance is left?" Quentin stroked his chubby cheeks. "Then why doesn't he break off the engagement?" "Grand Tutor Winlow is a First-Rank official, but compared with the Warburton family, whose power has been passed down for three generations among the Eight Marquises and Four Dukes, he still falls far short. Does he dare break the engagement and slap the Warburton family in the face?" "However, with a receipt for two hundred thousand taels of silver in his hands, things become different. He'll have right on his side." "So the Warburton family will certainly reimburse Grand Tutor Winlow for the money. Then he can naturally propose breaking off the engagement. Whether he still wants to arrange a marriage with another Warburton heir will be up to him." Quentin gave Dylan a thumbs-up. "Dylan, you're incredible! I feel like ever since you almost died in a woman's bed last time, you've had some kind of epiphany. You've gotten smarter!" "Everyone grows, Quentin. You're no slouch yourself." "Of course. My sister and I are practically complete talents in both the literary and martial arts. With the two of us, how could the Luet family fail to prosper?" Quentin finished boasting and turned to Dylan. "Where are we going?" "Of course, to collect from the Warburton family!" Marquis of Brocade's Manor, the Warburton family. Dylan Weedy leaped from the sedan with the swagger of a petty man who had finally gotten his way. He pointed at the manor gates. "Men, surround Marquis Manor! Don't let a single fly out!" Before the gate guards could react, the Luet Family Guards seized them. Dylan charged forward and kicked the heavy vermilion gate, which was covered in rows of iron studs. Unfortunately, his body was thin and frail, while his kick had been far too forceful. The gate knocked him backward two or three meters, and he rolled across the ground several times. Quentin, Shaun Sinjen, and the two thousand guards wanted to laugh, but none of them dared. They clapped their hands over their mouths, their faces burning red as they struggled to hold it in. "What the hell are you standing around for, watching the show?" Dylan roared. "If you want to laugh, then laugh! Don't choke yourselves to death! Get over there and open the gate!" Several guards rammed the heavy vermilion gate open. While the rest surrounded the manor, Dylan led several hundred men inside in an orderly stream. The servants and household guards had never seen such a force before. They ran about in panic, shouting, "Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" Troy Warburton's father, Colin Warburton, emerged with more than a hundred Warburton heirs. He wore a loose robe meant for a ritualist. Colin Warburton served in the imperial court as the Deputy Director of the Bureau of Astronomy. He held only a third-rank position, and many Warburton elders outranked him. However, the Bureau of Astronomy was a special institution, and his position gave him considerable real power. More importantly, the Warburton family had descended from tomb raiders, so some of their ancestral rules remained unchanged. For example, the head of the family was not chosen simply by giving the position to whoever held the highest official rank. According to their ancestral teachings, the candidate had to be proficient in Geomancy and the Eight Trigrams and Mechanisms and Mystic Arts, then pass a special Tomb Chamber Trial. "Dylan Weedy? Quentin Luet? Why did the two of you bring soldiers to my family's manor?" Dylan did not bother answering. He pointed into the crowd at Troy Warburton's younger sister, Skye Warburton. "Seize her!" Several guards rushed forward. A thunderous roar suddenly rang out. "Vance Thurbie, the Invincible Iron Palm, is here! Which of you dares cause trouble?" A burly man in his forties charged over. He had a leopard-like head, round eyes, a swallow's chin, and tiger whiskers, and stood nearly nine feet tall. He thrust out his heavily callused palms and struck the guards reaching for Skye Warburton. The Luet Family Guards had all seen battle and reacted with astonishing speed. They drew their sabers and raised them to block. Crack! The saber snapped against the man's bare palm. The force carried through without slowing, smashing into the guard's body and sending him flying with shattered bones and torn tendons. "An expert!" Dylan recognized the man's ability at a glance. His temples bulged, and his hands were covered in thick calluses. He clearly focused on External Martial Arts and practiced a style similar to Iron Sand Palm. He had reached at least the Master Realm. Dylan nodded toward Jade Jauncy. "That Vance Thurbie is tough, so don't hold back. Hit him with everything you've got." "Understood!" Jade Jauncy strode forward like a Titan, then charged at Vance with a punch. Vance did not take her seriously. He casually raised his palm to meet her fist head-on. "Being big doesn't mean you can fight. Today, I'll teach you, you big fat woman, the true essence of martial arts is…" Before he could finish, Jade's fist slammed into his callused palm, which gleamed with a metallic sheen. Crack! His bones snapped and his tendons tore. His entire palm was crushed into a bloody mess. Even the bones of his upper arm burst through the flesh behind his shoulder. Vance Thurbie flew more than twenty meters before crashing into a decorative rockery in the courtyard. His body embedded itself in the stone. Ptooey! He spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with bits of viscera, then passed out. Jade ran back to Dylan with a frightened expression, suddenly looking like a helpless young woman. "Young Master, I… I hit him too hard. Did I kill him? Am I going to prison?" "With me here, you're safe," Dylan assured her, patting her arm. "You did well this time." He glanced at the unconscious Vance and spat on the ground. "So much for the Invincible Iron Palm. What a grand nickname. In the end, you're nothing but a useless showpiece." "Seize Skye Warburton for me!" Even the Warburton retainer with the highest cultivation could not withstand a single punch from Jade. The other Martial Artists lowered their heads and refused to come forward. They worked at the Warburton Manor for a salary and a chance to make money. They were not about to volunteer for certain death. Quinn Cadden, one shoulder wrapped in bandages, stepped in front of Skye Warburton and shouted at the guards, "I'd like to see which of you dares use force! I'm a Top Scholar, one of the Emperor's personally‑honoured examination graduates. If you lay a hand on me, you'll be insulting imperial authority. That's a crime punishable by beheading!" Dylan charged over and kicked Quinn to the ground. He followed up by planting his foot squarely on the pretty boy's carefully groomed face. "I already slept with the Emperor's own daughter. What the hell do you think one of the Emperor's personally‑honoured examination graduates amounts to?" "Uh…" Those treasonous words were enough to warrant Nine-Generation Extermination. Dylan was probably the only man in the world who dared shout them in public. Dylan grabbed Skye Warburton by the hair and pulled her forward. "We got cheated. She's not much to look at, yet Troy put up a hundred thousand taels of silver as collateral for her. What a terrible deal." He turned to Quentin. "I'll give her to you. Want to play with her?" "Dylan, I may be a lecher, but I have standards. I wouldn't touch this one even if she were free." "Then we have no choice. Brothers, don't let all this work go to waste. Two thousand troops, form a line and take turns with her." Quentin hesitated. "Wouldn't two thousand men take too long?" "Men? Listen carefully. I said troops and mounts. That means not just men. There are horses, too…"