With the lighthearted moment over, the Grandfather turned his attention back to the bleeding groom on the ground. He looked at Soram as if he were looking at a piece of dog excrement stuck to his boot.
"You," the Old Marquis growled, his deep voice rumbling with danger. "Did you not hear my granddaughter? Get lost."
Soram looked up, trembling in disbelief. "M-My Lord... but I—"
Before the pathetic groom could finish, the Marquis—Heena's father—hurriedly stepped in front of him. He puffed out his chest, desperately trying to maintain his dignified aura, even though his legs were visibly trembling under his father's gaze.
"Father, please," the Marquis pleaded.
The Old Marquis looked at his son with utter, unadulterated contempt. "What? A pathetic boy who cannot even block a single strike from my granddaughter wants to marry her, and you are actually supporting this garbage?"
