Chapter 9:Kneel and Sing

Under Dustin's orders, the three men swung their clubs and charged at Francis simultaneously. Francis' eyes turned cold, and he decided to take the initiative. He rushed forward, quickly identifying his target. He grabbed one of the men by the wrist and twisted it sharply. "Ah!" The man screamed in pain, unable to hold onto his club, which fell to the ground. Francis, moving swiftly, caught the club with his other hand and blocked an incoming strike from another man. However, at that moment, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as a club landed a blow. Francis hissed in pain, but thankfully, his bones weren't injured. Ever since receiving his ancestral inheritance, his body had become incredibly resilient, almost as if he had been reborn. This was the source of his confidence. "Get lost!" Francis kicked the man whose club he had taken, sending him sprawling to the ground, clutching his chest and unable to get up. Francis then turned to the remaining two market administrators, swiftly bringing them down as well. "Now it's your turn!" Francis said calmly, holding the club and pointing it at Dustin. "I... you..." Dustin's arm trembled as he held his club. He couldn't believe how quickly Francis, who didn't look particularly strong, had taken down his three companions. "Stop stalling. If you've got guts, come at me," Francis taunted, gesturing for Dustin to approach. "Didn't you say you'd make me kneel and sing 'Conquer'? Come on, I'm waiting." "You... kid, you better not get too cocky," Dustin stammered, his bravado faltering. "The only one being cocky here is you," Francis said coldly, advancing step by step. "You're just a small-time market administrator, yet you're acting like you own the place. Do you think no one can stop you? Today, I'll teach you a lesson. Being arrogant will only bring you trouble." As Francis approached, Dustin gritted his teeth and, with a fierce glint in his eyes, swung his club at Francis's head, shouting. "Do you think shouting makes you tough?" Francis sneered. To him, Dustin's movements seemed slow. He easily dodged the attack and struck Dustin's hand with his club. "Ow!" Dustin screamed, dropping his club as pain shot through his hand. "Kneel!" Francis commanded, kicking Dustin behind the knee. Dustin's legs buckled, and he fell to his knees involuntarily. "You three, over here. Kneel," Francis ordered the other three men. Although he hadn't caused them any serious injuries, the pain was enough to keep them in check. Fearful, the three men shuffled over and knelt beside Dustin. "Sing 'Conquer'!" Francis demanded coldly. "I... I don't know the words," Dustin stammered through gritted teeth. "Don't know the words?" Francis struck Dustin's back with the club, eliciting another scream. "Do you know them now?" "I... I do, I do!" Dustin quickly changed his tune, seeing Francis raise the club again. "Start singing, then," Francis ordered, feeling a surge of satisfaction. This scoundrel, who had bullied the townspeople under the guise of market authority, was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. "Just like that, I'm conquered by you..." Dustin started, his voice a pitiful wail, and the other three joined in, creating a cacophony of terrible singing. "Stop, stop, that's enough. It's awful," Francis said, waving his hand in disgust. Their singing was torture to the ears. "Do you dare to bully farmers selling their produce again?" Francis asked sternly. "No, we don't." The four men shook their heads vigorously, terrified by Francis's fierce demeanor. "You'd better not," Francis warned. "If I catch you harassing farmers again, I'll make you regret it. Now, get out of here." The four men, feeling as if they had been granted a reprieve, scrambled to their feet and helped each other back to the market, looking like whipped dogs. As soon as they left, the surrounding crowd burst into applause, praising Francis for standing up for the farmers. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn't have judged you," the old man selling apples apologized, smiling awkwardly. "Seeing you handle those bullies was satisfying. They've been making our lives miserable for a long time." "Don't worry about it," Francis said loudly. "These market administrators are just bullies. If you stand up to them, they'll back down. We farmers are not beneath anyone. We work hard and live honestly. We should respect ourselves first, and others will respect us." "Well said, well said," the crowd cheered. Their spirits lifted, and their posture straightened with newfound pride. "Alright, back to selling oranges!" Francis laughed, surveying the crowd. He had an idea. "Folks, I know you're wary about my oranges," he said loudly. "So here's the deal: you can taste them first. If you like them, you can buy them. If not, no hard feelings." He began handing out oranges to everyone around the truck, a simple but effective promotion tactic. Although it cost him some oranges, he knew it would pay off. "Wow! These oranges are amazing!" "The best I've ever tasted!" "They make me feel so happy," the crowd exclaimed as they tasted the fruit. Francis smiled, knowing his efforts were paying off. "I'll buy some! These oranges are so delicious, I need to get some for my grandson," said the elderly woman who had earlier complained about the price. "Me too! My daughter loves oranges," another person added, and soon, everyone was clamoring to buy. "Don't rush. There's enough for everyone," Francis said, trying to maintain order. He busily weighed oranges, collected money, and made change as people eagerly bought his produce. More and more people joined the crowd, drawn by the commotion and the rave reviews. At that moment, a red sports car pulled up by the roadside, and a stunning woman stepped out. Maya Su scanned the scene and, upon spotting Francis, broke into a smile and hurried over. Francis was almost out of oranges, with only a few pounds left, and the crowd was beginning to disperse. He looked up instinctively as a fragrant breeze wafted over him and saw a beautiful girl standing in front of him. She was about twenty-two or twenty-three years old, with bright eyes and delicate features. She wore a white off-the-shoulder top, her long black hair cascading over her fair shoulders. A pair of black denim shorts highlighted her long, slender legs, and she wore high-heeled sandals. Her beauty was enough to make anyone's heart race at first sight.