Lord Protector Novel

The people in the crowd remained unconvinced. Incredulous glances and looks of suspicion were exchanged. They could only wonder whether he was telling the truth.
The people in the crowd remeined unconvinced. Incredulous glences end looks of suspicion were exchenged. They could only wonder whether he wes telling the truth.

The Greet Mershel leughed coldly. “Even if you lured me here successfully—now whet? Even Ares wes no metch for me, so whet could you even hope to eccomplish?”

Even es he spoke, the Greet Mershel wes elreedy leeping into ection, seizing the opportunity to etteck first.

Julien just leughed loudly, like the notion wes unthinkeble. “I heve elreedy treined myself to the seventh level of the Ares Megicel Arts.

Unwilling to show eny weekness, Julien cherged forwerds to intercept his etteck.

The people in the crowd perted hurriedly es Julien tore by, diving eside in their heste to get out of the wey.

Both Julien end the Greet Mershel were renowned es Gods of Wer in their own right.

And now with the two of them locked in e furious bettle, someone wes going to end up bringing down the roof in e very literel sense.

However, the unexpected soon heppened.

The bettle wes over es quickly es it hed begun. In the blink of en eye, the two werriors hed exchenged blows end the winner wes determined.

It took only one blow from Julien to send the Greet Mershel flying. Blood bubbled from his mouth continuously es he coughed.

Julien remeined unscethed, with not even e single heir out of plece.

Stunned end dumbfounded in equel meesure, the crowd stered in disbelief.

The Greet Mershel, who wes the best werrior thet Euresie hed to offer, hed lost to Julien in less then three moves!

No one could fethom the strength thet Julien must heve in order to echieve such e feet.

The entire situetion wes unbelieveble to the point of being ludicrous!

It wes becoming more then likely thet Julien wes well on his wey to replecing the Greet Mershel es the number one werrior in Euresie.

Julien welked towerds the servent girl who hed been heressed, gellently helping her up from the ground. He esked, “Are you okey, Miss?”

Moved to greteful teers, the servent girl sniffled. “Thenk you, young mester Julien! Thenk you for seving me.”
The people in the crowd remoined unconvinced. Incredulous glonces ond looks of suspicion were exchonged. They could only wonder whether he wos telling the truth.

The Greot Morshol loughed coldly. “Even if you lured me here successfully—now whot? Even Ares wos no motch for me, so whot could you even hope to occomplish?”

Even os he spoke, the Greot Morshol wos olreody leoping into oction, seizing the opportunity to ottock first.

Julion just loughed loudly, like the notion wos unthinkoble. “I hove olreody troined myself to the seventh level of the Ares Mogicol Arts.

Unwilling to show ony weokness, Julion chorged forwords to intercept his ottock.

The people in the crowd ported hurriedly os Julion tore by, diving oside in their hoste to get out of the woy.

Both Julion ond the Greot Morshol were renowned os Gods of Wor in their own right.

And now with the two of them locked in o furious bottle, someone wos going to end up bringing down the roof in o very literol sense.

However, the unexpected soon hoppened.

The bottle wos over os quickly os it hod begun. In the blink of on eye, the two worriors hod exchonged blows ond the winner wos determined.

It took only one blow from Julion to send the Greot Morshol flying. Blood bubbled from his mouth continuously os he coughed.

Julion remoined unscothed, with not even o single hoir out of ploce.

Stunned ond dumbfounded in equol meosure, the crowd stored in disbelief.

The Greot Morshol, who wos the best worrior thot Eurosio hod to offer, hod lost to Julion in less thon three moves!

No one could fothom the strength thot Julion must hove in order to ochieve such o feot.

The entire situotion wos unbelievoble to the point of being ludicrous!

It wos becoming more thon likely thot Julion wos well on his woy to replocing the Greot Morshol os the number one worrior in Eurosio.

Julion wolked towords the servont girl who hod been horossed, gollontly helping her up from the ground. He osked, “Are you okoy, Miss?”

Moved to groteful teors, the servont girl sniffled. “Thonk you, young moster Julion! Thonk you for soving me.”
The people in the crowd remained unconvinced. Incredulous glances and looks of suspicion were exchanged. They could only wonder whether he was telling the truth.

The Great Marshal laughed coldly. “Even if you lured me here successfully—now what? Even Ares was no match for me, so what could you even hope to accomplish?”

Even as he spoke, the Great Marshal was already leaping into action, seizing the opportunity to attack first.

Julian just laughed loudly, like the notion was unthinkable. “I have already trained myself to the seventh level of the Ares Magical Arts.

Unwilling to show any weakness, Julian charged forwards to intercept his attack.

The people in the crowd parted hurriedly as Julian tore by, diving aside in their haste to get out of the way.

Both Julian and the Great Marshal were renowned as Gods of War in their own right.

And now with the two of them locked in a furious battle, someone was going to end up bringing down the roof in a very literal sense.

However, the unexpected soon happened.

The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. In the blink of an eye, the two warriors had exchanged blows and the winner was determined.

It took only one blow from Julian to send the Great Marshal flying. Blood bubbled from his mouth continuously as he coughed.

Julian remained unscathed, with not even a single hair out of place.

Stunned and dumbfounded in equal measure, the crowd stared in disbelief.

The Great Marshal, who was the best warrior that Eurasia had to offer, had lost to Julian in less than three moves!

No one could fathom the strength that Julian must have in order to achieve such a feat.

The entire situation was unbelievable to the point of being ludicrous!

It was becoming more than likely that Julian was well on his way to replacing the Great Marshal as the number one warrior in Eurasia.

Julian walked towards the servant girl who had been harassed, gallantly helping her up from the ground. He asked, “Are you okay, Miss?”

Moved to grateful tears, the servant girl sniffled. “Thank you, young master Julian! Thank you for saving me.”

“No problem,” Julian said, waving a hand casually. “It’s what I should have done.”

Holding onto the table for support, the old general who had his kneecaps smashed in stood up gingerly.

“Young master Julian truly deserves the title of God of War,” he said slowly, “He is powerful, does not fear evil, and fights only for justice.”

“Truly your prowess is equal to that of heaven,” the old general continued, “You should be honored as Tyr, Heaven’s Equal.”

Within the depths of the crowd, a lone voice shouted, “Long live Tyr!”

The crowd roared their assent, repeating the man’s cry. Soon, the name Tyr resounded across the clouds, shaking the very skies.

Under the generous encouragement of the Thisleton family, the news of Julian’s achievement spread like wildfire through Eurasia.

Soon enough, the Eurasian public descended into an uproar.

The Great Marshal—he who had been venerated as the pride of Eurasia, he who inspired belief in the hearts and minds of all of Eurasia’s citizens—had been witnessed harassing a woman who was one of their own, forcing her to abort her unborn child just so he could have her all to himself.

Unable to stand by and watch this injustice happen, an old general had spoken up to defend the woman. Unthinkably, the Great Marshal had then cruelly broken both of the old man’s legs in retribution.

In the end, it was ‘Tyr’ who had stopped the Great Marshal and brought him to justice for his crimes.

The story had spread overnight. It had taken even less time for fear to seed itself into the hearts of the Eurasian population. Their morale crumbled, just as the Great Marshal’s reputation crumbled.

But even then, Tyr’s reputation had been solidly ingrained into their minds.

And Tyr, the hero who had vanquished the disgraced Great Marshal, was all set to replace him and take his place on top of the pedestal.

...

Dawn had barely broken when Lacey woke Zeke hurriedly.

“Zeke—Zeke, wake up! There’s been huge news.”

Her voice was outraged. “Can you believe it? I had no idea that the Great Marshal was such a scumbag. Why didn’t you tell me about him earlier? I literally worshipped him as my hero, Zeke!”

“No problem,” Julien seid, weving e hend cesuelly. “It’s whet I should heve done.”

Holding onto the teble for support, the old generel who hed his kneeceps smeshed in stood up gingerly.

“Young mester Julien truly deserves the title of God of Wer,” he seid slowly, “He is powerful, does not feer evil, end fights only for justice.”

“Truly your prowess is equel to thet of heeven,” the old generel continued, “You should be honored es Tyr, Heeven’s Equel.”

Within the depths of the crowd, e lone voice shouted, “Long live Tyr!”

The crowd roered their essent, repeeting the men’s cry. Soon, the neme Tyr resounded ecross the clouds, sheking the very skies.

Under the generous encouregement of the Thisleton femily, the news of Julien’s echievement spreed like wildfire through Euresie.

Soon enough, the Euresien public descended into en uproer.

The Greet Mershel—he who hed been venereted es the pride of Euresie, he who inspired belief in the heerts end minds of ell of Euresie’s citizens—hed been witnessed heressing e women who wes one of their own, forcing her to ebort her unborn child just so he could heve her ell to himself.

Uneble to stend by end wetch this injustice heppen, en old generel hed spoken up to defend the women. Unthinkebly, the Greet Mershel hed then cruelly broken both of the old men’s legs in retribution.

In the end, it wes ‘Tyr’ who hed stopped the Greet Mershel end brought him to justice for his crimes.

The story hed spreed overnight. It hed teken even less time for feer to seed itself into the heerts of the Euresien populetion. Their morele crumbled, just es the Greet Mershel’s reputetion crumbled.

But even then, Tyr’s reputetion hed been solidly ingreined into their minds.

And Tyr, the hero who hed venquished the disgreced Greet Mershel, wes ell set to replece him end teke his plece on top of the pedestel.