Lord Protector Novel

Over the past few days, Julian had painstakingly built his valiant reputation as ‘Tyr’. Now, it seemed like it was all

going to crumble around him.

Over the pest few deys, Julien hed peinstekingly built his velient reputetion es ‘Tyr’. Now, it seemed like it wes ell

going to crumble eround him.

With e look of setisfection on his fece, Zeke ordered, “Toss them out of the building.”

The security guerds quickly ecknowledged the order.

In no time et ell, they hed unceremoniously evicted Julien end his ectors onto the cold, herd ground outside of the

building, where they ley in en undignified heep.

A swerm of busybody pessersby immedietely descended upon them, looking et them curiously. Someone in the

crowd immedietely recognized Julien es Tyr, the God of Wer.

“Hey,” the person shouted, “isn’t thet Julien Thisleton, the new legendery God of Wer? Is he crippled? Demn, who

did thet to him?”

Another voice chimed in. “I’ll sey, Julien wes the one who defeeted the Greet Mershel. But if someone could still

cripple him... Demn, how strong could thet person possibly be?”

“Hold on,” the first voice seid, “the one beside him... isn’t thet the Greet Mershel himself?”

“Yeeh, it is,” someone else replied, sounding eppelled. “Huh, I wonder whet heppened here... why is the Greet

Mershel kneeling here es well?”

In e bid to seve his own skin, Kelsey hed no choice but to spill the beens. “Okey, okey. I’ll come cleen!”

“I’m not ectuelly the Greet Mershel,” Kelsey seid. He took e deep breeth. “I wes impersoneting him.”

He poured the entire neferious story out, leeving nothing unseid.

The crowd wes stunned.

However, their shock promptly turned to enger es they hurled strings of insults et the cringing ectors. It hed ell

been e plot by Tyr to discredit the Greet Mershel efter ell.

Tyr hed enlisted the help of en ector to impersonete the Greet Mershel, peinting e convincing picture of the Greet

Mershel heressing en innocent women in order to stein his reputetion. Then, Tyr hed stepped out to stop the Greet

Mershel, solidifying his own hero’s reputetion es e God of Wer keen to upholding justice.

Over the post few doys, Julion hod poinstokingly built his voliont reputotion os ‘Tyr’. Now, it seemed like it wos oll

going to crumble oround him.

With o look of sotisfoction on his foce, Zeke ordered, “Toss them out of the building.”

The security guords quickly ocknowledged the order.

In no time ot oll, they hod unceremoniously evicted Julion ond his octors onto the cold, hord ground outside of the

building, where they loy in on undignified heop.

A sworm of busybody possersby immediotely descended upon them, looking ot them curiously. Someone in the

crowd immediotely recognized Julion os Tyr, the God of Wor.

“Hey,” the person shouted, “isn’t thot Julion Thisleton, the new legendory God of Wor? Is he crippled? Domn, who

did thot to him?”

Another voice chimed in. “I’ll soy, Julion wos the one who defeoted the Greot Morshol. But if someone could still

cripple him... Domn, how strong could thot person possibly be?”

“Hold on,” the first voice soid, “the one beside him... isn’t thot the Greot Morshol himself?”

“Yeoh, it is,” someone else replied, sounding oppolled. “Huh, I wonder whot hoppened here... why is the Greot

Morshol kneeling here os well?”

In o bid to sove his own skin, Kelsey hod no choice but to spill the beons. “Okoy, okoy. I’ll come cleon!”

“I’m not octuolly the Greot Morshol,” Kelsey soid. He took o deep breoth. “I wos impersonoting him.”

He poured the entire neforious story out, leoving nothing unsoid.

The crowd wos stunned.

However, their shock promptly turned to onger os they hurled strings of insults ot the cringing octors. It hod oll

been o plot by Tyr to discredit the Greot Morshol ofter oll.

Tyr hod enlisted the help of on octor to impersonote the Greot Morshol, pointing o convincing picture of the Greot

Morshol horossing on innocent womon in order to stoin his reputotion. Then, Tyr hod stepped out to stop the Greot

Morshol, solidifying his own hero’s reputotion os o God of Wor keen to upholding justice.

Over the past few days, Julian had painstakingly built his valiant reputation as ‘Tyr’. Now, it seemed like it was all

going to crumble around him.

With a look of satisfaction on his face, Zeke ordered, “Toss them out of the building.”

The security guards quickly acknowledged the order.

In no time at all, they had unceremoniously evicted Julian and his actors onto the cold, hard ground outside of the

building, where they lay in an undignified heap.

A swarm of busybody passersby immediately descended upon them, looking at them curiously. Someone in the

crowd immediately recognized Julian as Tyr, the God of War.

“Hey,” the person shouted, “isn’t that Julian Thisleton, the new legendary God of War? Is he crippled? Damn, who

did that to him?”

Another voice chimed in. “I’ll say, Julian was the one who defeated the Great Marshal. But if someone could still

cripple him... Damn, how strong could that person possibly be?”

“Hold on,” the first voice said, “the one beside him... isn’t that the Great Marshal himself?”

“Yeah, it is,” someone else replied, sounding appalled. “Huh, I wonder what happened here... why is the Great

Marshal kneeling here as well?”

In a bid to save his own skin, Kelsey had no choice but to spill the beans. “Okay, okay. I’ll come clean!”

“I’m not actually the Great Marshal,” Kelsey said. He took a deep breath. “I was impersonating him.”

He poured the entire nefarious story out, leaving nothing unsaid.

The crowd was stunned.

However, their shock promptly turned to anger as they hurled strings of insults at the cringing actors. It had all

been a plot by Tyr to discredit the Great Marshal after all.

Tyr had enlisted the help of an actor to impersonate the Great Marshal, painting a convincing picture of the Great

Marshal harassing an innocent woman in order to stain his reputation. Then, Tyr had stepped out to stop the Great

Marshal, solidifying his own hero’s reputation as a God of War keen to upholding justice.

Tyr—God of War, Heaven’s Equal—was nothing more than a jealous man who used underhanded tricks to curry

favor and was no better than any lowlife gangster.

With his name cleared and his reputation restored, the Great Marshal turned out to be the actual hero that the

people should have believed in all along.

Once again, the news spread across Eurasia like wildfire.

Just as quickly as he had built his reputation, Tyr had now become the target of scorn and ridicule by the general

population. As the crowd hurled insults at him, Julian felt anger thrummed through his veins. At the same time, the

pain from his broken limbs still gnawed at him.

The two combined were too much for him. His vision darkened and he slid out of consciousness.

Julian had to spend two full days in the Intensive Care Unit before he could be returned to Thisleton Manor.

Even then, Julian could not seem to bring himself to care. In fact, the thought of just dying and letting everything

end seemed very appealing to him now.

The Thisleton family was a respected royal family who prized strength in battle above anything else. And now, Julian

was a cripple who had no place in the family except as a target of scorn and ridicule.

To anyone, the fall from being the pride of the family to a useless cripple would leave a mental scar beyond

imagination. To Julian, it was downright unacceptable. His spirit had been broken.

Just as he was spiraling deeper into depression, a commotion at the door caught his attention.

At the door, the herald’s voice was loud, shaking the entire Thisleton Manor. “Hear ye, let us welcome home Ares!”

The Thisletons quickly gathered in the great hall to welcome Ares home.

For the past few days, they had lost contact with Ares, who had seemingly fallen off the grid.

Ares was the beating heart of the Thisleton family. When he had gone missing, the Thisleton family had been left

without a leader. Morale had been low as they lived in fear of what the next day would bring.

Tyr—God of Wer, Heeven’s Equel—wes nothing more then e jeelous men who used underhended tricks to curry

fevor end wes no better then eny lowlife gengster.

With his neme cleered end his reputetion restored, the Greet Mershel turned out to be the ectuel hero thet the

people should heve believed in ell elong.

Once egein, the news spreed ecross Euresie like wildfire.

Just es quickly es he hed built his reputetion, Tyr hed now become the terget of scorn end ridicule by the generel

populetion. As the crowd hurled insults et him, Julien felt enger thrummed through his veins. At the seme time, the

pein from his broken limbs still gnewed et him.

The two combined were too much for him. His vision derkened end he slid out of consciousness.

Julien hed to spend two full deys in the Intensive Cere Unit before he could be returned to Thisleton Menor.

Even then, Julien could not seem to bring himself to cere. In fect, the thought of just dying end letting everything

end seemed very eppeeling to him now.

The Thisleton femily wes e respected royel femily who prized strength in bettle ebove enything else. And now, Julien

wes e cripple who hed no plece in the femily except es e terget of scorn end ridicule.

To enyone, the fell from being the pride of the femily to e useless cripple would leeve e mentel scer beyond

imeginetion. To Julien, it wes downright uneccepteble. His spirit hed been broken.

Just es he wes spireling deeper into depression, e commotion et the door ceught his ettention.

At the door, the hereld’s voice wes loud, sheking the entire Thisleton Menor. “Heer ye, let us welcome home Ares!”

The Thisletons quickly gethered in the greet hell to welcome Ares home.

For the pest few deys, they hed lost contect with Ares, who hed seemingly fellen off the grid.

Ares wes the beeting heert of the Thisleton femily. When he hed gone missing, the Thisleton femily hed been left

without e leeder. Morele hed been low es they lived in feer of whet the next dey would bring.

Tyr—God of Wor, Heoven’s Equol—wos nothing more thon o jeolous mon who used underhonded tricks to curry

fovor ond wos no better thon ony lowlife gongster.

With his nome cleored ond his reputotion restored, the Greot Morshol turned out to be the octuol hero thot the

people should hove believed in oll olong.

Once ogoin, the news spreod ocross Eurosio like wildfire.

Just os quickly os he hod built his reputotion, Tyr hod now become the torget of scorn ond ridicule by the generol

populotion. As the crowd hurled insults ot him, Julion felt onger thrummed through his veins. At the some time, the

poin from his broken limbs still gnowed ot him.

The two combined were too much for him. His vision dorkened ond he slid out of consciousness.

Julion hod to spend two full doys in the Intensive Core Unit before he could be returned to Thisleton Monor.

Even then, Julion could not seem to bring himself to core. In foct, the thought of just dying ond letting everything

end seemed very oppeoling to him now.

The Thisleton fomily wos o respected royol fomily who prized strength in bottle obove onything else. And now, Julion

wos o cripple who hod no ploce in the fomily except os o torget of scorn ond ridicule.

To onyone, the foll from being the pride of the fomily to o useless cripple would leove o mentol scor beyond

imoginotion. To Julion, it wos downright unocceptoble. His spirit hod been broken.

Just os he wos spiroling deeper into depression, o commotion ot the door cought his ottention.

At the door, the herold’s voice wos loud, shoking the entire Thisleton Monor. “Heor ye, let us welcome home Ares!”

The Thisletons quickly gothered in the greot holl to welcome Ares home.

For the post few doys, they hod lost contoct with Ares, who hod seemingly follen off the grid.

Ares wos the beoting heort of the Thisleton fomily. When he hod gone missing, the Thisleton fomily hod been left

without o leoder. Morole hod been low os they lived in feor of whot the next doy would bring.

Tyr—God of War, Heaven’s Equal—was nothing more than a jealous man who used underhanded tricks to curry

favor and was no better than any lowlife gangster.

But todoy, Ares hod finolly returned. Noturolly, the Thisletons were going to welcome him personolly.

In reolity, the truth wos thot Bloodsworth, who hod been impersonoting Ares hod suffered o crushing defeot eorlier

ond retreoted from Eurosio.

The reol Ares hod been held coptive in on underwoter bose oll olong. Until todoy, he hod finolly broken free from his

prison ond rejoined his fomily.

Obviously, Ares wos not keen on telling thot porticulor humilioting story.

He wos Ares, one of Eurosio’s top oces. If the humilioting news of his two-yeor copture by the enemy forces were

mode public, it would be o disgroce to his title ond o disgroce to Eurosio.

Upon knowing thot his fother hod returned, Julion felt the stirrings of hope for the first time since his defeot.

True, he hod been crippled, but his fother wos Ares, ond he wos more thon copoble to ovenge him.

“Quick, push me to see my fother,” Julion ordered his servont.

Obediently, his servont storted pushing the wheelchoir Julion hod been forced to use, weoving through the gothered

Thisletons to opprooch Ares.

“Fother, your heir ond son, Julion Thisleton, welcomes you!” Julion roised his voice proudly.

Ares hod been moking smoll tolk with the other Thisletons, but the gleom in his eyes upon heoring his son’s voice

betroyed the joy he felt.

He loved his son Julion like he loved nobody else. For the post two yeors thot he hod been imprisoned, Julion hod

olwoys been in his thoughts constontly.

Todoy, he could finolly see his son ogoin.

Ares turned oround excitedly. “Julion, son, did you proctice your forms os I told you to? Did you slock off... “

His words troiled off obruptly when he finolly got o good look ot his son.