Kennard's POV
But the moment Jefferson said those words, everything changed.
They kept calling Jefferson "Jeff" and stopped calling me “Kenn.” Worse, they even called me a bastard.
I couldn’t understand how people could change so drastically.
This time around, I swear I’ll find out the truth.
Jefferson soon brought in the old widow, speaking in the local dialect. “As long as you cripple him, he’s yours.”
My blood ran cold. I clenched the muscle near my thigh until it hurt, rage burning in my eyes.
No wonder she came at me last time like I’d killed her family. Turned out, Jefferson was behind it all.
That nightmare of a woman crept closer again, her greedy eyes lingering on me. Her body laso reeked so bad it made me want to gag.
As she lunged toward me, I kicked her square in the chest with everything I had.
She crashed to the ground, howling in pain. But it was nothing compared to what she’d done to me in my previous life. This was just a fraction of the interest she owed.
“Help! Somebody help me!”
I bolted out of the yurt, screaming for help.
By the time my so-called parents and Jefferson caught up, a group of concerned herders had already surrounded me.
“Please, you have to help me! The three of them are trying to sell me to that woman!”
When I spoke fluently in the local dialect, Jefferson’s eyes widened in shock.
He quickly translated it for my parents, and their faces darkened in an instant.
“It’s just a misunderstanding,” Jefferson tried to cover it up with a forced smile using the local dialect. “He’s… not well. He gets paranoid and thinks people are out to get him. And now he’s having an episode. We were just about to take him for treatment, and this happened.”
As Jefferson said that, my parents grabbed one of my arms, trying to drag me away.
Desperate, I clung to a herder’s leg and pleaded, “I’m not crazy! They’re really trying to hurt me. Please, please don’t let them take me!”
Seeing how terrified and helpless I looked, the herders didn’t want to let me go so easily.
But just then, the old widow came stumbling out of the yurt, clutching her chest and shouting, “That lunatic nearly kicked me to death!”
Seizing the opportunity, Jefferson jumped in, “See? I told you he’s violent. You all better stay away before he hurts someone else.”
The herders looked at the bruised, pale-faced widow and backed off nervously.
Even the man I was clinging to shook me off like I was a plague.
Seconds later, my parents dragged me back into the yurt.
“You didn’t drink the wine? And how the hell do you speak their language?” my dad growled. “You must have a death wish!”
“I knew you wouldn’t give the company to Jefferson so easily,” my mom hissed. “Doesn’t matter. Tonight’s your funeral.”
I struggled against them, but Jefferson just laughed. “It’s no use. One word from me, and no one will believe anything you say.”
At his signal, the old widow stormed in holding a rock.
“You kicked me? Let’s see which is tougher. Your foot or this stone!”
In my past life, she used that very rock to crush both of my legs until they were nothing but shattered bones.
The memory slammed into me, so I panicked and tried to break free. But my parents pinned me down.
“Do it,” my dad ordered. “Break his legs so he can never run again!”
“Smash them good,” my mom added. “Make sure he never gets the chance to compete with Jeff ever again!”
Their faces twisted into something monstrous, and the widow raised the stone.
Just when I thought it was over, a voice cut through the chaos.
“Stop! Don’t you dare touch Kenn!”
Lorelei burst in like a storm, shoved the widow aside, and rushed to my side.
She helped me up, her hands trembling as she checked me for injuries.
“Kenn, are you hurt?” she asked, her voice thick with concern. Then she turned sharply to my parents. “Uncle, Auntie. Weren’t you supposed to be on vacation? How could you let something like this happen to him? I need an explanation. Right now.”
