A Scumbag Always Gets What He Deserves

10: Throwing myself in your arms

Jian Qiao struggled to keep his brain alert, but the image of Hall's shoulder stained with blood and his cracked-open skull was firmly entrenched like a demon in his memory.

The bright red blood terrified him and made him lightheaded.

He opened his mouth to ask the manservant to hurry and take him away, but he couldn't make a sound, and the gift box in his hand fell to the ground.

He wanted to bend down and pick it up, but was afraid he wouldn't be able to stand up again if he dove after it. The street was full of people, he couldn't lose face for Desolette.

During this struggle, Rege strode over to him.

The original passersby who were clustered at the gate scattered in all directions, including high and powerful nobles. No one dared to cross Rege's path. Even though the old Duke was still alive, in a practical sense Rege had already become the ruler of Grande.

"You seem very weak," Rege's low, mellow voice reverberated in Jian Qiao's ears.

"No, I'm fine, I'm perfectly all right." Jian Qiao managed to straighten up and responded in a muted voice.

"Liar." Rege stared at the beads of sweat on the tip of his nose and the face that was so pale it was almost transparent, and let out a snort of laughter.

When Jian Qiao tried to retort, the sudden urge to vomit surged into his throat, because Rege's body was covered with the strong odor of blood, and this odor was like a key that unlocked the enchanted box hidden deep inside in his heart.

Those terrifying and hopeless memories were like a deep spring in the ground, and once they found a fissure they'd gush out.

Although he'd only been standing upright for a short time, Jian Qiao's body couldn't help but sway. Originally his lips still had a bit of color in them, but now they were completely ashen.

Rege looked up and down at this Earl of Flowervale and spoke with certainty, "You're afraid of blood."

After years of experience in the killing fields he'd seen too many of these cowards.

"No, I'm not!" Jian Qiao shook his head and resolutely denied it.

Assassination was a major cause of death for nobles, and if people with ulterior motives were to learn of this failing, his situation would become extremely dangerous. He couldn't count how many people wanted to put him to death for the sake of Desolette's wealth.

Rege's low laughter resounded through the heavy fog. Obviously, once he grasped his prey's weak point he would bite them to death.

He took out a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and slowly unfolded it under Jian Qiao's eyes. This handkerchief was the same one he'd used to wipe the blood from his fist before. It was stained with bright red splotches and exuded a strong fishy smell.

"What do you think this is?" he teased, leaning over to stare directly at Jian Qiao's cold, sweating face.

Jian Qiao closed his eyes tightly, not daring to look at the blood-soaked handkerchief. He'd only caught a fleeting glimpse, but the scarlet color was deeply engraved in his mind, and he couldn't fight the dizziness. He finally lost control of his body, staggered, and fell.

And Rege was standing in front of him.

When he fell, he fell into Rege's arms, and his forehead hit the other man's hard chest.

Rege was dumbfounded.

He obviously hadn't expected this Earl of Flowervale to pass out all of a sudden.