Satisfactory Solution

Frank Fedelle had never been so blatantly disrespected in his life. Furious to the point of laughter, his malicious gaze turned even darker. Pointing aggressively at Luka's father, he barked at his lackeys, "Get them! Teach these paupers a lesson they won't forget!" His face quivered with fat as his laughter echoed through the room.

Luka's father showed a moment of fear but quickly replaced it with a steely determination to protect his benefactors at any cost. This display moved Fanmuir deeply. Luka, despite his slight frame, stepped forward, shielding Fanmuir with his body. Fanmuir, shaking his head with an amused sigh, thought, If I really needed their protection, I might as well jump off a cliff right now.

In just two seconds—an almost imperceptible blur of motion—all of Frank's men were down, writhing on the floor and clutching their injuries. Frank himself was in the worst state. His arms and legs were broken, and his already bloated face had swollen grotesquely, resembling a pig's head. Rolling on the ground in agony, he screamed uncontrollably, his eyes wide with terror.

"Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am? If you've got the guts, don't you dare run!" Frank screeched in a mix of rage and fear as a few of his barely-mobile lackeys dragged him away.

Sakray's unmatched speed and strength left Luka's family in awe, and they felt a sense of relief seeing Frank retreat. But their joy was short-lived. Luka's father, ever kind-hearted, began to worry. Turning to Fanmuir, he said, "You should leave while you still can. I'll give up the vineyard lease. Frank's uncle is the director of public security for this entire district. No matter how skilled you are, you can't fight against armed police. And we can't keep going against them. They're in power; we're just regular people. I've resigned myself to this fate." Tears rolled down his weathered cheeks, and his voice trembled with despair.

Not wanting to see Luka's father so defeated, Fanmuir pointed to Adam Alexandrow and said with a calm confidence, "You don't need to worry. This man here is the director of the French General Directorate for External Security. If the mayor or even the district security director has broken the law, he'll see to it that they're punished."

Luka's father, trusting Fanmuir completely after witnessing his miraculous skills, felt hope reignite. His eyes sparkled, and he cried out with fervent gratitude, "Director, please help us!" His booming voice startled everyone. Even Luka, who was usually unfazed, felt his face flush bright red in embarrassment.

Although taking down a few armed officers would be child's play for Adam Alexandrow—especially with the indestructible Fanmuir by his side—this wasn't just about dealing with thugs. If they left without resolving the deeper issue, Frank and his cronies would surely return to torment Luka's family. As a government official, Adam couldn't let such injustice go unanswered.

Adam picked up his phone and called the deputy director of public security for the Burgundy-Franche-Comté district. His title carried significant authority, and the deputy director didn't hesitate. He immediately prepared a vehicle to head to Luka's vineyard and even invited the district governor to join him.

In France, where rank and formalities matter greatly, such a visit demanded an appropriate response. With high-ranking officials en route, the district had to pull out all the stops. If the district council chairman hadn't been away on an inspection, even he might have joined in.

By midday, everyone assumed Frank Fedelle and his gang wouldn't dare show their faces again. Adam Alexandrow had planned to wait for the Burgundy-Franche-Comté deputy director to arrive, brief them on the situation, and let them take over. After all, his position practically guaranteed their full cooperation.

But, as fate would have it, some people just don't know when to quit. As Fanmuir and the group were preparing to leave, a loud Bang! shattered the relative calm. The front door was kicked open, and a group of uniformed officers stormed in with hostile intent.

Despite knowing Adam Alexandrow's impressive credentials, Luka's father, who had never seen such an intimidating display of armed force, began trembling. His apprehension was palpable.

The officer leading the charge was a towering man with a cruel glint in his eyes, gripping a handgun that he pointed menacingly at the group. "Which bastard dared to lay a hand on my nephew?" he snarled.

Adam Alexandrow felt his blood boil. A police officer—someone sworn to protect civilians—was now pointing a gun at unarmed, innocent people. It was disgraceful, enraging, and deeply humiliating for someone in his position.

Beside the officer stood a corpulent man leaning on a cane, his face contorted with arrogance. Gesturing to Frank Fedelle, who lay groaning on a stretcher, he sneered, "So, you're all tough, huh? Think you're invincible? Today, I'll show you who's boss! If I don't, I'm no longer a Fedelle!"

This was none other than the mayor of Lourdes—Frank's father. As he alternated between glaring at Luka's family and cooing over his injured son, he barked at his brother-in-law, "Do what you have to! Beat them to a pulp! I'll take care of the fallout!"

Fanmuir, though familiar with the corruption and injustice of the mortal world, had never encountered anything so brazenly vile. The mere thought of what could have happened to Luka's family without his intervention made his face darken, his anger simmering beneath the surface. In his mind, these people were already ash.

Though Adam Alexandrow and Sakray were equally furious, they awaited Fanmuir's signal. Guns pointed at them were meaningless—if it came to it, they could incapacitate the officers before anyone could pull the trigger.

Suppressing his own urge to act, Fanmuir sneered coldly, his disdain evident. "What gives you the right to behave like this? These guns? Pathetic." He turned to Sakray and ordered calmly, "Handle it. You know what to do."

In the blink of an eye, Sakray moved. The room erupted into chaos. Screams and groans filled the air as officers crumpled to the ground. The district security director, who had attempted to pull his trigger, discovered his arm was paralyzed before he could fire. The morning's events replayed in an even more brutal fashion.

"Apologies! We're deeply sorry!" Two men in expensive suits stumbled into the room, breathless and visibly shaken.

The governor and deputy governor of Burgundy-Franche-Comté had arrived just in time to witness the carnage. From a distance, they had seen the officers drawing their weapons, and their hearts sank. This wasn't just any confrontation—this involved the deputy director of the French General Directorate for External Security, a man with authority so vast it bordered on terrifying.

As they prepared to shout a warning, the scene unfolded before their eyes. A flash of gray, and it was over. The floor was littered with groaning bodies. It was otherworldly. They finally understood why French agents were said to rival the legendary British 007. What they had witnessed was nothing short of extraordinary.

The governor and deputy governor of Burgundy-Franche-Comté, though reassured that the guests weren't harmed, were still reeling from what they had just witnessed. To them, Adam Alexandrow and Sakray's actions seemed almost supernatural, bordering on demonic. Yet, they had no choice but to step forward. A major incident had taken place on their turf, and as the region's top officials, they needed to address it—whether they wanted to or not.

Although, at first glance, the men lying on the ground appeared to be victims, the two officials weren't naive. Anyone who could hold such a high office might not be morally upright, but they certainly weren't stupid. Without Adam Alexandrow and Sakray's intervention, the real victims would undoubtedly have been the esteemed guests from the Directorate for External Security. The men writhing in pain on the floor? They were failed aggressors, nothing more.

As for the plain-looking Fanmuir standing beside Adam Alexandrow, the officials barely spared him a glance, entirely dismissing his presence. Their attention was solely on Alexandrow, to whom they scrambled to offer profuse apologies. Sweat dripped from their foreheads—how could it not? To have police officers in their jurisdiction pointing guns at unarmed civilians was bad enough, but for one of those civilians to be the deputy director of the Directorate for External Security? That was a career-ending disaster waiting to happen.

Their guilt was overwhelming. Would this terrifying man escalate the matter? Curse you, Frank Fedelle! Curse you! Are you trying to cost me my governorship?

Unexpectedly, Adam Alexandrow ignored the groveling officials entirely. Instead, he stood at attention, waiting for instructions from Fanmuir.

The realization hit the two officials like a freight train. They had ignored the wrong person—the unassuming young man was the true authority here. Internally, they were screaming, How could I have made such a catastrophic mistake?

Forcing an awkward smile, the governor tried to salvage the situation. "I am the governor of Burgundy-Franche-Comté," he said, his tone ingratiating. "I deeply regret not giving you a proper welcome, Director Alexandrow."

Fanmuir's icy reply cut through the room like a blade. "I'm not Director Alexandrow. That would be him," he said, nodding toward Adam Alexandrow.

The governor's heart sank. Another blunder. How many mistakes could he make in a single day?

As the two officials exchanged panicked glances, a chilling realization dawned on them both. If Adam Alexandrow wasn't the main figure here, then who was? Their faces turned ghostly pale as they silently asked themselves the same question: Who have we offended?

Seeing the officials on the verge of total collapse, Fanmuir decided to take pity on them. Waving dismissively, he said, "Take them outside to discuss this. Luka's father needs to rest." His tone sharpened as he added, "As for how you handle those men, make sure they face proper consequences. No leniency."

The sternness in his voice left no room for negotiation.

"Yes, sir!" Adam Alexandrow replied with utmost respect, signaling the two governors to follow him as he exited. Seeing the reverence Alexandrow showed the young man, the governors, despite being high-ranking officials themselves, dared not take Fanmuir lightly. Bowing politely to him, they quickly left the room.

The men sprawled across the floor were in shambles. Physically, they were battered beyond recognition; mentally, they were broken. Witnessing the regional governors speaking deferentially to the three intimidating figures had pushed them over the edge. Frank Fedelle, his father, and the regional security chief were pale and trembling, some even foaming at the mouth, their fear reaching a fever pitch. Those who had accompanied the governors found themselves unwillingly conscripted into hauling the beaten men like wreckage, a grim testament to their failed intimidation.

Outside, the two governors suddenly realized they had forgotten to check Alexandrow's credentials. His overwhelming presence and decisive handling of the situation had made them forget protocol. But Alexandrow, ever composed, handed them his ID before they could ask. One glance at the high-level clearance was enough to erase any doubts they had. With their fears eased, they quickly shifted their focus to plotting the downfall of those who had caused this debacle. No past misdeed of the perpetrators would remain buried—every infraction would be unearthed and exposed.

For Luka's family, this entire experience was surreal. They had always been humble vineyard owners, with no connection to power or influence. To them, the mayor of Lourdes was the highest authority imaginable, and the regional governors were untouchable figures of immense stature. Yet here was Fanmuir, a seemingly ordinary young man, commanding the deference of even these lofty officials. Luka's father, despite Fanmuir's friendly smile, couldn't stop his legs from shaking.

Even Luka, normally carefree, found himself uncertain about how to act around his roommate. The revelation of Fanmuir's true status left him overwhelmed. The thought that he had once subjected Fanmuir—someone who outranked even the governors—to silly pranks and playful punishments was enough to make him break into a cold sweat.

Fanmuir, sensing their unease, couldn't help but laugh to himself. Being treated as a normal person really wasn't easy. Determined not to let his status ruin such a genuine friendship, he gave Luka a reassuring smile and patted him on the shoulder. "So what if I'm someone who scares governors? I'm still your classmate, still your Old Fourth! Do we really need to let something as trivial as my status come between us?"

Those words hit Luka like a warm embrace. Despite the cold mountain air, his heart was suddenly ablaze with gratitude. Memories of their shared time together replayed vividly in his mind.

What am I even thinking? No matter who Fanmuir is or where he comes from, he's still my roommate, my brother—my Old Fourth! His identity doesn't change the bond we've built. If anything, I should be proud and happy for him.

With that thought, Luka felt the tension melt away. He was himself again, relaxed and carefree. His parents, on the other hand, were still grappling with the shock of their son's roommate being someone of such prominence.

Disregarding his father's worried expression, Luka Kaster dove straight back into his relentless questioning. Poor Fanmuir, who had barely enjoyed a few moments of respect, was once again subjected to Luka's "interrogation tactics." With no choice, he patiently repeated everything he had explained earlier in the car, only this time in far more detail. Luka listened with wide, gleaming eyes, secretly vowing to one day visit the Alps and the Western Church to seek out a legendary martial arts master. Little did he realize that the master he sought was standing right in front of him—why go searching when the answer was already at hand?

It's funny how humans work. Familiarity dulls appreciation. To locals in France, the Paris School of Liberal Arts might be excellent, but for people in the provinces, it's regarded as absolutely world-class.

With the ordeal finally resolved, the Fedelle family and the corrupt security chief faced the punishment they deserved. As for Luka's family, they were designated as a special protected household in the Burgundy-Franche-Comté region. To smooth relations, the regional government spared no expense in repairing the road leading directly to Luka's home and invested heavily in turning their vineyard into a farm-stay tourism destination where visitors could enjoy grape-picking experiences.

This initiative didn't just benefit Luka's family—it brought newfound wealth to the surrounding farmers as well. The Burgundy-Franche-Comté region was lauded by the French government for its efforts, becoming a shining example of supporting rural entrepreneurship and revitalizing the countryside.

With everything wrapped up, Fanmuir originally intended to head back to Paris the same day. However, Luka's parents insisted he stay longer, and noticing that Luka still seemed slightly uneasy about leaving his family, Fanmuir agreed to stay one more night. Once Fanmuir made his decision, no one dared object—not even Adam Alexandrow, who, despite having urgent duties, knew better than to protest. Instead, Alexandrow discreetly called his subordinates to ensure all necessary plans and actions were handled in his absence.

That night, rain fell steadily. On damp evenings like this, Luka's father would usually be tormented by joint pain, unable to sleep. But thanks to Fanmuir's earlier treatment, the chronic pain that had plagued him for years was gone.

The next morning, Luka's gratitude toward Fanmuir grew even deeper. Seeing his father not only recovered but completely cured of old ailments, he finally felt at ease. Confident his family would be safe and well, Luka departed for Paris with peace of mind.