They Turned Marshal into Canine Fondue, I Reborn to End Their Feast

It wasn't the kind of pressure that comes from power; instead, it was an aura of iron and blood, forged from a mountain of corpses and a sea of suffering.

"W-Who are you looking for?"

Darius's voice faltered unconsciously.

Alaric ignored him and strode inside.

His military boots struck the polished marble floor with heavy, rhythmic thuds. Each step was like a weight pressed down on Darius and Nicolette's hearts.

His gaze locked onto the pot of meat.

"Where is Marshal?"

Alaric's voice was hoarse, yet calm in a way that felt like the calm before a storm.

I stood and walked over to him, speaking softly, "Uncle Alaric ... this is Marshal."

His body stiffened violently.

Behind him, the two officers turned ashen.

The younger one clenched his fists so hard they cracked, his eyes burning red.

"Bastards!"

He snarled, lunging forward.

Alaric raised a hand, stopping him.

Then, he slowly approached the dining table. He reached out as if to touch the pot, but froze halfway.

His fingers trembled violently in the air.

Darius finally snapped out of his shock.

He glanced at the stars on Alaric's shoulder, then at me. There was a flicker of unease in his eyes, but it was soon drowned out by resentment at being disrespected.

"So, you're Astrid's relatives."

He immediately straightened up, adopting the aloof yet polite demeanor of the Flint Family's heir.

"Just a simple misunderstanding. Astrid threw a fit over a dog and we never meant to trouble you."

With a few careless words, he made it sound like I was the unreasonable one.

"Perhaps you could talk some sense into her. There's no need for this fuss. Whatever the damages are, the Flint Family will cover them."

His tone was light, as if he were discussing some trivial business deal.

Alaric slowly turned, his sharp, tiger-like eyes locking onto him.

"A misunderstanding?"

"You call this a misunderstanding?"

Though his voice wasn't loud, the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

"A dog?"

Alaric repeated the word, each syllable gritted out between his teeth.

He reached into his coat and pulled out something carefully wrapped in layers of handkerchiefs.

He unfolded them, revealing a heavy, gleaming medal.

A First-Class Service Medal.

"Open your damn eyes and look!"

"Six years ago, at the southwest border. Marshal drew away over thirty armed drug traffickers on its own to protect a special ops team. He even took seven bullets."

"He cleared a path through a minefield with his mouth, leading soldiers to safety and lost a leg in the process!"

"He's a registered war hero! A savior who rescued hundreds of my men!"

"And you dare stand there and call it just a dog?"

Alaric's voice rose with every word, sharp and furious, until it was nearly a roar.

Behind him, the two officers stood rigid. Their bloodshot eyes fixed on Darius and Nicolette. Darius's face went from pale to ashen and then it deepened into a nasty shade of purple. He was utterly stunned. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

Nicolette was even more terrified. She huddled behind Darius, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"I … I didn't know. I swear I didn't know … "

Her sobbing sounded so weak and futile at that moment.

Still, Alaric's gaze cut through her like a knife.

"You didn't know?"

"When Astrid funded your education, did she never mention Marshal's background? Did you miss the ID tag on his collar?"

"When you tricked it out of the Valehart Family, didn't the housekeeper try to stop you? Didn't she tell you that Marshal couldn't just run off with anyone?"