The Ancestral Legacy Begins in the Wild West

Chapter 164 The Eastern Sage: The Sage's Iron Fist!

Julian glanced at Vulban, then at Zhang Chang'an, and frowned.

"Are you alright here all alone?" he asked, placing his hand on the longsword at his waist, and surprisingly offered, "How about I leave my equipment with you?"

Zhang Chang'an shook his head.

Julian wanted to say something, but Zhang Chang'an had already turned back to continue eating.

He opened his mouth, then swallowed his words and turned to walk towards the door. Several guards dragged the five men off the ground and shoved them out.

As the last one left, he glanced back at Zhang Chang'an, who waved at him to indicate that everything was alright.

The door closed.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded away down the corridor.

Vurban crouched in the corner, the blood on his face dried and formed a dark red crust. He kept his head down, his shoulders trembling slightly, looking utterly terrified.

However, if you look closely, you can see a slightly unnatural curve at the corner of his mouth, but Zhang Chang'an has his back to him and can't see it.

The footsteps disappeared completely.

A smile crept onto Vorban's lips.

Those guards are complete idiots. They really think a few simple knots can bind him.

His profession was assassin, unlike those street thugs. He was exceptionally skilled; whether it was killing or other operations, such as breaking free from ropes, it was all effortless for him.

Behind him, his wrists had quietly slipped out of the rope loops he had cut with a small knife he kept hidden. The ropes were still hanging loosely on his hands, ready to be shaken off at any moment.

"And this Asian man—he's a fool too." Vurban stared at Zhang Chang'an's back, his eyes turning cold and ruthless.

"What's wrong with this guy? Or does he have some weird hobby like those Englishmen, daring to leave me here alone?"

Now, René was gone, and the guards were gone too, leaving only the two of them. Whatever the oriental man's plans were, it all benefited him. Vurban decided that he had to teach this arrogant fellow a lesson today.

At this moment, Zhang Chang'an finished the last piece of bread, picked up the plate, stood up, walked to the sink, and politely placed the dirty plate inside. His movements were unhurried and natural, as if he were at home.

It was at this moment that Vlbourne made his move.

He sprang up from the corner with almost no sound.

With a flick of his wrist, the rope slipped off and fell to the ground without a sound. The small knife he had just taken out to cut the rope was immediately picked up by him.

The blade was narrow and gleaming, and his steps were quick and light, covering half the distance of the kitchen in just a few strides. The tip of the knife was aimed at Zhang Chang'an's nape and plunged straight down. In that spot, one cut would render a person unable to even scream.

Then, his knife stopped in mid-air, as did his body.

Then, it not only stopped, but also began to slowly fly backwards.

He didn't even see what happened. He only saw Zhang Chang'an's figure sway, and before he could see the specific action, a hand was pressed against his face.

"Bang!!"

The hand was enormous, its five fingers spread wide, almost covering half of his face. The knuckles pressed against his cheekbones, the palm against his nose and mouth, the five fingers completely enveloping his face. The force was unbelievable, as if it wanted to crush his skull.

Before Vurban could even struggle, he was pushed backward by the force. He stumbled a couple of steps, then was slammed face-first to the ground.

A muffled "bang!!!"

The floor tiles shook.

Vurban lay on the ground, his head buzzing, his vision blurring between white and black, as if he were about to faint. The hand was still pressed against his face, showing no sign of letting go. He felt as if his entire face was sinking into the floor tiles; he couldn't move his neck or shoulders, and even breathing was difficult.

The hand covered his mouth and nose, and also pinched many vital points on his head, so he could only breathe in a little thin air through the gaps between the fingers.

He was terrified, his eyes wide open, his gaze filled with utter confusion as he peered through the gaps between the fingers of that hand.

Zhang Chang'an squatted down next to him, with his other hand on his knee, looking down at him.

His expression was exactly the same as when he was eating earlier—unhurried, neither fierce nor harsh, as if he were looking at a child who didn't quite understand.

When René walked out of the prison gates, the sun was setting in the west.

He stood at the door for a while, squinting to adjust to the light outside.

There's always a peculiar smell in the air of Paris, not exactly pleasant, but certainly better than the musty, damp smell of prison.

gas.

The sounds of carriages rolling over cobblestones, vendors' cries, and distant church bells mingled together, filling his ears.

Although it was noisy, he had gotten used to it. Soon, he had crossed a small part of the city, turned into a narrow alley in the Bievl district, and stopped in front of a bakery.

The storefront wasn't large, and most of the lettering on the signboard had faded, but the aroma of bread wafting from inside was undeniably enticing. Behind the counter stood a young man wearing a dirty apron, taking several pieces of dark bread out of the oven.

The young man looked up and saw him, and paused in his work.

"Brother René! You're back!"

"Yeah, I just got out. I go in every few days, I'm used to it." René walked in and leaned against the counter. "Give me three loaves of bread, I need to go out of town."

The young man placed the bread on the cutting board, rubbed the flour on his hands, and while making the bread, he carefully considered his words before hesitantly asking, "I understand. By the way, how is the sage? Didn't I hear he was sentenced to death?"

René didn't respond.

"You came out early—he's not inside—shouldn't we do something?" the young man said in a low voice.

Because they maintained communication frequently inside, they could have a seamless conversation once René came out.

Both René and the young man hesitated: "He has helped us so much, and he is being bullied by those nobles. We can't just do nothing."

René sighed. He had been thinking about this problem all the way here, but the answer remained the same as before he set off.

"How could I not know that?" he said. "But the sage warned us not to act rashly. He already knew what you were thinking."

He picked up a piece of bread crumb from the counter, put it in his mouth, and chewed it.

"He said our lives were just getting back on track and there was no need to take this risk for him. The main thing is, relying on us, no matter what methods we use, it would be very difficult to get him out."

The young man stopped wrapping bread. He looked down at the few pieces of black bread in his hand, his expression gradually darkening.

René glanced at him and patted him on the shoulder.

"Alright. Although I don't know the specifics, I believe the wise man knows what he's doing. He's a noble person, and even more so, a wise one. He's not the kind of person who would sacrifice himself for his own ideas."

He doesn't need our help; he definitely already has a plan. Instead of worrying here, hurry up and pack the bread. I'm going out this time on the sage's orders—to do something for him.

Upon hearing this, the young man didn't say anything more, but simply nodded, quickly wrapped the bread in a coarse cloth, tied a knot, and handed it over.

René took it, turned, and walked into the street.

After he left, the young man stood behind the counter in a daze for a while.

Not long after, the curtain to the inner room was lifted, and an old woman peeked out. Her white hair was gathered behind her head, and her face was pale from illness.

"Has René come out? How is the Sage?" she asked.

The young man quickly went over to support her: "Grandma, you've just recovered from your illness, don't come out."

The old woman waved her hand, stopping him from helping her, and asked again, "How is the sage?"

The young man opened his mouth. He didn't know what had happened to the sage. But since it was a death sentence, he figured nothing much could happen.

But when he looked at his grandmother's wrinkled face, and then thought of the other people in the neighborhood, he swallowed the words he was about to say.

"The sage is a good man," he said. "As long as he's not dealing with those nobles, he'll definitely be doing well. You don't need to worry. I'll pack some more bread right away; I'm in charge of delivering today's supplies."

The old lady glanced at him, but didn't ask any further questions, and turned to go back into the inner room.

The young man then put his apron back on, counted all the remaining bread on the stove, added a few more pieces, and wrapped it in a clean cloth to make a large bundle.

Then he closed the shop, turned the sign to the "Closed" side, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked out along the alley.