A Scumbag Always Gets What He Deserves

27: Rege the sheep

After watching Jian Qiao depart, Rege rushed back to the gallery, stabbed a finger at the paintings hanging on the wall and said urgently, "Take them down and send them to the storage room!"

The servants looked at each other but didn't dare to move. They were suspicious of what they heard because these paintings were the master's treasures. Every day the master would walk through the gallery, inspecting one by one the peerless beauties frozen in time, and sigh with satisfaction.

He carefully depicted their beautiful faces with his brush, glossed their clear eyes and delicate lips with bright colors, and praised their lovely temperaments with romantic poetry.

But now he wanted to lock up these precious paintings in a dark and musty storeroom. Was that really possible?

No one obeyed Rege's order, which made him feel irritated. "Are all of you deaf?" He pointed to the servants, then to the paintings on the wall, enunciating clearly, "I said, for you, to take them, and send them, to storage. All of them. Right now!"

He'd already arranged to meet the gentleman Earl frequently in private in the future. He didn't need a moment's thought to know the place they'd meet would certainly be the ducal residence. If these things weren't taken down, sooner or later the gentleman Earl would find out.

For some unaccountable reason, when Rege thought of this scenario he felt both tense and ashamed.

"Why do you intend to remove them?" the old Duke walked into the long corridor and asked in a hoarse voice.

His hair was wet from the fine rain and stuck messily to his head, which made him look even more haggard than usual. When his son stood in the rain for a long time, he'd waited silently not far away. He really wanted to know what his son was thinking. Why didn't he go back inside? Wasn't he cold?

And more than anything, he wanted to know what his son was thinking right now.

"It's none of your business!" Rege said coldly.

The old Duke opened his mouth, momentarily dumb. He wanted to understand his son's heart but the opportunity had slipped away forever.

The servants finally realized their master was serious. They hurried forward in single file, carefully removing each of the paintings.

The butler arrived after hearing the news and asked seriously, "My lord, is the gallery going to be left empty like this? Do you want to hang up something else?"

Rege immediately said, "Hang them up, of course. Hang up all my real medals and trophies."

The butler looked at the pictures of beauties.

Weren't the trophies right here?

Rege realized the man's confusion and quickly added, "I'm talking about real trophies, spoils won from the battlefield, understand? The crown of King Darley, the sword of King Ziegler, the scepter of Ellison...."

He recounted all his battle achievements in one breath.

It was no exaggeration to say that the nations crushed under his horses' hooves and the enemies beheaded by his sword were too numerous to count.

Gloria was able to occupy the largest area in Tortus because of the Grande family's militant and combative genes. And Rege was the best Grande in hundreds of years.

Charles III, that useless coward, could lie securely in his luxurious bed serviced by one beauty after another because of Rege's bravery and skill.

Of course, Queen Moen's strategic planning was another major cause. But this reason was never admitted by Charles III.

The butler immediately dispatched servants to bring these war trophies and medals over. There were enough to fill the wide corridor from end to end.