Chapter 152: Father and Daughter

Chapter 152: Father and Daughter

The celebration inside the boys did not last long. A sharp shout ended the three girls’ clamor. The timing was perfect—right when the three girls had vented their frustration and just let out a long sigh. Their momentum was already spent, and that shout scattered their focus, making it impossible for them to say anything more.

The three children had grown up. It had been too long since they last tasted physical pain, and Vincent began to consider whether he should make them remember again. He glanced at his brother-in-law, who was pretending not to hear. No wonder he avoided meeting Bran so easily—unable to argue, unable to fight, that must be very frustrating. Fortunately, his own deterrent power still remained.

Vincent slightly adjusted his sitting posture, applying invisible pressure onto the three children. He believed this would keep them quiet for a while. Since they were young, this had been the prelude whenever he was about to discipline these three girls. After this meal, when people had dispersed a bit, he would let them relive the “warmth” of their childhood. First, let them stew in anxiety for a while; past experiences would slowly remind them of what fear meant. He only needed to maintain his authority as a father. When their excitement and anger subsided, everything would return to his control. It had always been this way; in the end, victory would only belong to him, the father.

Everyone thought the matter was over, and continuing like this would only make the atmosphere more awkward. Many could not help but look at their own children, seeing their undisguised excitement and admiration, and the eagerness they could not suppress. This was a warning bell. He had been a bit too busy lately, a bit neglectful of discipline. At that moment, who knows how many people were planning to give their children a little “lesson” after the meal…

But things did not develop in the expected direction. Dia spoke again, her voice a bit hoarse. “It has always been like this since I was little. You never liked me, never liked us.

I still remember your sigh after the three of us fought with Lily. You always wished for a daughter like Lily. Back then, we would go pick fights again out of defiance, each time getting more fierce, but never once were you satisfied. Your eyes were only on Lily! Every time we were called together for a scolding after a fight, your gaze only lingered on Lily.

We never satisfied you, did we?”

Vincent’s imposing manner diminished somewhat. He did indeed wish for a daughter like Lily—strong and brave. That was why he placed such hopes on Dia and the others.

Seeing her father’s almost default attitude, Dia could not help but raise her voice. “I knew it. You were never satisfied, even though we tried so hard.

I don’t want you ordering me around anymore! I’ve had enough, enough of every word from you. I am who I am!

I will prove it to you!”

This was a voice from the soul, filled with determination and fearlessness. She stared straight into her father’s eyes without backing down. Then her two sisters also stood up.

Vincent met his daughter’s angry gaze and retorted, “How will you prove it?”

“I challenge you.”

Vincent laughed in anger. “With what?”

“Yes, with me! I know I can’t compare to Bran, can’t compare to Lily, can’t compare to Danny, and there are many, many others I can’t compare to.

But you can’t compare to them either! I just want to defeat you, to prove I am stronger than you, to prove you don’t need to order me around.”

…

Father and daughter stood facing each other on the Training Ground. Only then did Vincent realize his daughter had truly grown up. She was no longer the little girl he could casually lift onto his shoulder, no longer the tomboy with mud streaks on her face.

Seeing the anger and hostility in his daughter’s eyes, Vincent secretly sighed. I did it all for your own good.

His daughter had grown up. She no longer needed him and saw him as a burden. With sadness and loss, Vincent said, “Be careful.”

Dia tapped her sword against her shield and grunted in acknowledgment.

Vincent took a simple step forward and was right in front of Dia, his Long Blade slashing down in one smooth motion. Dia did not back down, raising her shield to meet it.

During her time with Bran on the Fertile Plains Grassland, she had learned many things. She saw with her own eyes how Bran practiced, pursuing every detail through boring repetition.

At this age, she was naturally good at imitation. She had seen how Bran pursued speed and how he faced opponents. Attack! Constant attacking! Use speed to suppress the opponent’s strength, interrupt their rhythm before their power could fully erupt.

Back then, Bran could block the bugs not by passive defense, but by always maintaining the offense; otherwise, he couldn’t have held them off. Though they refused to admit defeat verbally, they secretly imitated and studied. After returning from the Trial, she gradually found that feeling—giving up some strength to pursue absolute speed.

So Dia successfully stepped in, blocking the strike in her father’s surprised gaze before his power fully erupted. She knew her father too well; her own martial skills were taught by him hand in hand. Perhaps she never recognized her father’s strengths, but she was crystal clear about his shortcomings.

Vincent could not help but praise, “Good!”

Dia looked serious. “Not good enough.”

She intended to counterattack immediately, but her father timely withdrew, first parrying her thrusting sword, then immediately kicking her shield to interrupt her assault.

Father and daughter faced off again.

Vincent sighed. His daughter had become a fine Warrior. He could no longer toy with her like before.

He reminded again, “Be careful!”

He had planned to spar for a while, but just as they clashed, he realized he couldn’t afford to hold back. He stepped forward again, bringing his Long Blade down with a mountain-like force.

The Long Blade collided with the shield. Dia staggered back, her short sword falling aside. Vincent followed like a shadow, his Long Blade flipping and sweeping down…

But would it really be good to cleanly defeat his own daughter in front of everyone? A flicker of reluctance made Vincent hesitate for an instant.

Dia seized this chance, charging headfirst into her father’s chest, just like she had done countless times as a child. Only this time, her father could no longer catch her and was knocked heavily to the ground.

…

She felt her father wrap his arms around her, shielding her.

She heard her father say, “Good, very good.”

She heard the joyful shouts of the young men around, the sighs of the uncles. Had she won?