Zenith's frost-cold command-"Shut your mouth."
It was like a blast of absolute-zero ice.
In an instant, it froze the lively atmosphere at dinner.
Paul Greyrat, who had been spouting off and holding forth just a second earlier, went rigid.
His smug smile froze into a comical expression.
Paul could sense it.
Beneath his wife's smiling face lurked a terrifying pressure that rivaled an S-rank monster.
Dead silence fell over the table.
Thoroughly subdued by Zenith, Paul wilted for quite a while.
He sulkily gulped down several mouthfuls of ale, looking like a rooster that had lost a fight.
Yet silence and restraint had never been part of Paul's vocabulary.
After less than five minutes of quiet, Paul's boundless, pent-up urge to complain and boast...
Broke through his wife's Pressure and found a new outlet.
Of course, Paul had clearly been frightened. He no longer dared touch anything involving women.
Paul cleared his throat and forcibly steered the conversation toward...
Another area he took great pride in-his strength.
"Ahem... Come to think of it, Rudeus, you might not know this."
Paul looked around the table, his gaze settling mainly on his son, Rudeus, as he tried to restore his authority as a father.
"Your old man might just be a humble knight, but my swordsmanship is the real deal!"
Paul puffed out his chest and proudly declared:
"I'm a swordsman who's reached the advanced rank in all three schools: Sword God Style, Water God Style, and North God Style."
"That makes me a match for any Saint-level swordsman who practices just one style."
"You should know that reaching the advanced rank in all three styles..."
"Is much harder than specializing in one and working your way up to Saint-level."
Seeing the flame of admiration rekindle in Rudeus's eyes, Paul grew enthusiastic