Chapter 155: House of Odofu

"Hahaha! Anya, no wonder I couldn't find you. You're here! You've got some nerve, sneaking into a party like this. But that's good, it saves me the trouble of taking you back," a somewhat roguish voice interrupted Anya just as she was about to speak.

Roland turned towards the voice and saw a young man, probably twenty-five or twenty-six, looking at them with a playful smirk. His face was pale, with sunken eyes that spoke of a life deep in indulgence, likely depleted by excessive revelry.

His attire was elegant, immaculate, and behind him were a few followers, clearly young scions from a prominent family.

"Damn girl, I told you not to run around. Now you can't escape! Boys, get him!" the wealthy young man ordered his entourage.

Upon receiving the command, the followers immediately moved forward, attempting to seize Anya.

"Stop! Who do you think you are, openly committing violence like this in broad daylight? You have some nerve," Roland demanded loudly.

"Don't you know who I am? You seriously don't recognize me?" Roland's words clearly surprised the dandy. Odofu Vuren was well-known in Parisian high society, and for some country bumpkin to claim ignorance of him felt like an insult.

"Who are you?" Roland asked, genuinely puzzled. He didn't have much contact with the upper echelons of French society, so he didn't recognize many people, and they didn't recognize him either.

"Should I know you?" Roland retorted. There were so many people in Paris; did Roland really have to know everyone? If so, he wouldn't have to do anything else every day except memorize names.

"You damn brat, you're too arrogant. You don't even recognize me, Vuren. I was thinking of letting you off the hook if you just stayed quiet and hid, but now, hmm!" Vuren said, humming twice in his mouth. The threat contained therein was naturally self-evident.

"I'd like to see what you're capable of. Dare to lay a hand on me?" Everyone has a temper, and being provoked like this was intolerable for anyone, especially in the presence of a beautiful woman. So, Roland immediately retorted.

"Go to hell, you arrogant brat! Let me teach you a lesson." Seeing Roland's arrogant demeanor, Vuren was infuriated. Without a word, he threw a punch straight at Roland's face.

If that punch landed, it would surely leave a mark, but Roland wasn't about to just stand there and take it. With a swift turn, he grabbed Vuren's fist and swiftly executed a shoulder throw, sending him flying a good distance away.

Although Roland wasn't skilled in combat, he had been trained in the military and was quite proficient in basic techniques. Moreover, dealing with someone like Vuren, whose body had been ravaged by indulgence, wasn't much of a challenge. Such individuals, when faced with a serious opponent, could easily be defeated.

With a loud thud, Vuren hit the ground hard, landing flat on his face.

"I didn't even use much force! And you're already down?" Roland chuckled, pointing at the fallen Vuren. Despite his bluster, Vuren was nothing more than a spoiled brat who relied on his family's influence to get by.

"Damn... How dare you, a commoner, hurt me! I... I won't spare you!" Vuren said angrily. Raised in the noble House of Odofu, he had lived a life of luxury since childhood and had never been on the receiving end of violence.

"A commoner? How do you know I'm a commoner? Maybe I'm someone you shouldn't mess with," Roland said mockingly.

Although he didn't know what kind of family the "House of Odofu" was, he was well aware of the power and influence of his own family, the "House of Bonaparte". With Napoleon's victories in Italy, the Bonapartes had firmly grasped power and become the de facto rulers of France. As long as Napoleon remained in power, the Bonapartes were the most prestigious family in all of France.

Roland didn't believe there was anyone in France he couldn't handle.

"You idiots, what are you standing around for? Hurry up and grab him!" Infuriated by Roland's casual demeanor and Vuren's humiliation, he shouted at his lackeys.

"Ah? Right! You dare to harm our young master, I won't let you off. You scoundrels! Take this!" After hearing Vuren's roar, his entourage finally reacted. They immediately raised their fists and rushed towards Roland.

"Hmph! Ignorant fools." Watching the oncoming group, Roland remained calm. In his eyes, these people were nothing but common thugs. Although there were many of them, could they outnumber the Hungarian Hussars in Florence?

Back then, he hadn't been afraid on the battlefield. Now, he wasn't about to be intimidated by these street ruffians.

"Hmph! Today, I'll teach you a lesson. Let you know that our battles on the front lines, fighting tooth and nail with the enemy, weren't for you to lord over the common folk." Roland raised his arm slowly, clenched his fist, and then punched the person in the front, sending him flying with a single blow.

Capture the leader first to capture the thieves. The momentum of both sides in a confrontation was crucial. Although Roland couldn't reach Vuren right now, he could knock down the person in the front, causing the others to hesitate.

"Ah!" As expected, after Roland knocked down the person in the front, the attack of the others weakened significantly.

Now, Roland, facing four opponents alone, had gained the upper hand.

"Hmph! A bunch of street thugs." Roland sneered at the group.

"Mr. Roland!" Anya exclaimed excitedly from the side.

"Don't worry, Anya. I can handle them," Roland said confidently, thinking that Anya was impressed by his formidable strength.

So Roland couldn't help but strike a pose, showing off his cool demeanor.

"No, be careful, Mr. Roland!" Anya shouted loudly, her voice filled with urgency.

"Careful?" Roland looked puzzled.

Immediately, Roland spun around to see Vuren, whom he had knocked down moments ago, wielding a large stick that seemed to have materialized from nowhere, swinging it towards him. Before Roland could react, the stick made intimate contact with his head.

There was a loud "thud," and Roland felt his head grow heavy. He touched it with his hand: hot and sticky...

Then, he collapsed, his consciousness fading. His last thought was, "I've been had! This is it. Instead of becoming a hero, I've landed myself in trouble."

Some time later, Roland slowly opened his eyes. He found himself surrounded by white.

"Am I in heaven? No way, I'm so unlucky. I've died young," Roland thought, feeling despondent.

He turned his head and looked around, noticing a blood-red cross-shaped mark on the wall nearby. It dawned on him that he was in a hospital.

He wondered who had been kind enough to bring him here. But where was Anya? Had he fallen victim to that guy's treachery? How was he going to explain this to Jobst?

Regret washed over Roland. If only he had been more clever and found some help or brought a gun, maybe this tragedy wouldn't have happened. He had always refused to carry such a crude weapon because pistols in this era were weak, had short range, were heavy, and were not even semi-automatic.