TB

CHAPTER 142

“Jimmy, it’s the army!”

A voice urgently called him from outside. Grace casually followed Jimmy as he ran inside the hall.

‘Leon Winston, that b*stard… He will be my useful avenger.’

Jimmy entered a conference room where an old round table stood. He lifted the carpet, retrieved a key, and opened a hidden compartment in the floor, revealing stairs leading downward. He descended and came back up with several rifles and magazines.

“You stay here.”

He still seemed not to fully grasp the situation as he left her behind and dashed out of the hall.

‘James Blanchard Jr., I wish you luck. You will endure the pain I did.’

She watched the departing figure with a cold gaze before glancing down at the secret door he had left unlocked.

º º º

The resistance was quickly suppressed.

Leon stepped out of his car into the center of the square, twisting his mouth into a smirk.

“How boring.”

It was his own doing, after all. The more perfectly planned the operation, the more boring the actual combat felt.

“It was perfect, but too perfect, even.”

He looked around. Soldiers herded prisoners, who were raising their hands, into military trucks like cattle to a barn.

His gaze then shifted from the trucks to a church, from whose broken windows smoke was billowing. The church, expected to be a site of stubborn resistance, had fallen easily to a few grenades thrown through its stained-glass windows.

Leon turned towards the sounds of groans from the injured and the sobbing of a coward.

At one side of the square, in front of a building that looked like the town hall, a makeshift barricade had been poorly erected. Around it, those who had resisted until the end were either kneeling or lying face down on the ground, their heads pressed under gun barrels.

As the sound of boots leisurely hitting the stone grew closer, the people raised their heads. In their eyes, the tall man approaching in a swirling black trench coat, whip in hand, looked like the angel of death.

Leon furrowed his brow as he looked down at the people before him. They all looked like ordinary country folk.

He sighed.

All these years, his father suffered and died miserably because of such trivial people? Still, it was not a time for reflection.

Holding a riding crop in one hand, he pointed at them and asked.

“Where is your commander-in-chief? I would like to see his face.”

A young man who had been kneeling behind the barricades gritted his teeth and slowly stood up.

“James, Blanchard, Junior.”

Leon spread his arms wide, raising his gloved hands in astonishment as if he had met a celebrity, while Blanchard glared back at him with eyes full of contempt and rage.

“I’ve always been curious about what you looked like.”

Leon chuckled upon seeing his face.

It seemed he had brainwashed that woman, too.

“Cambell.”

As he gestured, Cambell led a soldier who was restraining Little Jimmy to bring him forward.