Percival’s Weak Spot

The butler was in the house, shaking so hard he was afraid the brothers would seriously hurt each other—one wrong move and someone could die. He was freaking out on the side while the grandfather just chilled, sipping his coffee like he didn’t care at all. After about twenty minutes, the butler glanced at the clock.

“Sir, if we don’t intervene, I’m afraid something bad might happen…”

The old man lifted his cloudy eyes. “Don’t worry, they won’t die.”

He said it as casually as if he was deciding what to have for dinner, then put his cup down and stood up.

“Go get some more people, and call the family doctor.” To him, it wasn’t serious; at worst, they’d be bedridden for a few days with a sprain or something.

At the Dunraven house, brothers fighting was normal, even seen as a form of toughening up.

The butler immediately sent people to the backyard.

Percival had Trent by the neck, slapping him across the head.

“Trying to threaten me? I’ll give you a chance to negotiate.”

Trent wasn’t havi