Van Gogh, Don't Cut Off Your Ear! Your Top Trader Is Here

Chapter 8 Gang Protection Order

Standing at the doorway was none other than Emily, the kind nurse from the Dupont clinic.

She was panting heavily, her delicate face flushed red from running and urgency, with several strands of chestnut hair disheveled and clinging to her sweat-dampened temples.

She still wore that gray nurse's dress, washed until it was nearly white, with only a thin, old cloak hastily thrown over it—clearly she had chased them all the way here.

"Sorel! My brother!" She threw herself desperately to her brother's side, using her frail body to shield him from Solang, like a mother bird protecting her chick.

She embraced Sorel, her trembling hands gently brushing away the blood and dirt from his face, her voice choked with tears: "My God... Sorel! Why did they bring you here and beat you?"

Seeing his sister, Sorel's eyes—swollen to mere slits—flashed with panic and shame. He struggled to push her away, his voice slurred: "Emily... go! Leave quickly! Don't worry about me!"

Armand slightly raised his chin, and Solang stopped his movements but still stood like an iron tower beside them, ready to execute orders at any moment.

Emily raised her head, looking at Armand through tear-filled eyes, mustering all her courage: "Sir! Please! Whatever he did wrong, please spare him! He's just a child! He... he was only doing it for the family..."

"For the family?" Armand's voice was low and steady, betraying neither joy nor anger, yet carrying a chilling sense of oppression. "For the family, he can rob my people and take my things?"

"Rob?" Emily was stunned, looking down at Sorel in disbelief. "Sorel? This... this is impossible! Tell me, is what this gentleman saying true? That money you brought home at night..."

She suddenly grabbed Sorel's shoulders, shaking him forcefully. "Where did that money really come from? Tell me! Didn't you say... didn't you say it was advance wages from a kind person?"

Sorel bit his lip, fresh blood seeping from his cracked mouth. He stubbornly turned his head away, not daring to meet his sister's eyes, making whimpering sounds in his throat but refusing to speak.

Seeing her brother like this, Emily already understood most of the truth.

Despair and heartbreak instantly overwhelmed her, tears rolling down her cheeks in large drops: "How... how could you do such a thing! What did father teach us? No matter how poor or difficult things get, we cannot lose our dignity and honesty! Have you forgotten what mother said on her deathbed? We Dupont family members would rather starve to death than steal or rob!"

Her voice was choked with emotion, full of disappointment and pain: "I know... I know you did it for father's clinic, to buy medicine, for this family... but that's no excuse! That's no reason for you to fall into crime! Sorel!"

She pounded her brother's shoulders forcefully, both reproaching and expressing endless heartache and self-blame: "It's sister's fault for not teaching you properly..."

Marcel stood to the side, watching Emily's heartbroken appearance, then looking at the young man on the ground who had taken the wrong path but whose intentions were for his family. His heart was filled with mixed emotions.

He remembered his own desperate poverty when he first transmigrated here, recalled landlord Louis's harsh face, and could better understand the helplessness of being driven to desperation by poverty.

He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and spoke respectfully to Armand: "Mr. Armand."

Armand's gray-blue eyes turned to him, indicating for him to continue.

"The money has been recovered in full." Marcel weighed the money pouch in his hand. "Miss Dupont treated my injury, and I'm all better now. Mr. Armand,thank you for your assistance. As for this child..."

He glanced at Emily, who was trembling but still protecting her brother, and at Sorel, whose face was covered in wounds and whose eyes showed despair.

"His robbery was certainly wrong, but there were reasons—he was trying to help with the family's financial difficulties. Moreover, it seems he has already received sufficient punishment and learned his lesson. Please... show mercy and spare him this once."

Armand's gaze swept back and forth between Marcel and the Dupont siblings.

He remained silent for several seconds.

Finally, he waved his hand at Sorel: "Get lost. For the sake of someone pleading for you and your sister's courage. Remember, your life won't be worth as much next time."

Emily quickly helped Sorel up, repeatedly expressing gratitude: "Thank you, sir! Thank you, Mr. Duval!"

Her eyes looking at Marcel were filled with endless gratitude.

With his sister's support, Sorel staggered to his feet. He stole a glance at Marcel, his expression complex, mixing shame, regret, and a trace of bewildered relief at having survived.

Emily bowed deeply to everyone in the room, then supported her brother as they slowly and difficultly walked outside.

Marcel watched them leave, a weight slightly lifting from his heart.

Just then, Armand's voice rang out again: "Wait."

Solang immediately stopped and bowed to listen for orders.

Armand paused, his voice low: "I don't want any more accidents disrupting Marcel's work on the sacred paintings. Whether it's petty theft or any other troubles."

"Spread my word—tell all the blind fools on Arles' streets that in Arles territory, Marcel," Armand's voice was unquestionable, "and that crazy Dutch redhead in the yellow house—I, Armand, am protecting them."

"Whoever touches them," Armand's voice suddenly turned cold, like a boning knife, "dies."

For the first time, Marcel felt so clearly who truly controlled the underground order of Arles.

He had never expected that this incident would not only recover his money but also earn him a gang's "personal protection order"!

With this protection, he could walk sideways through Arles from now on.

This was truly an unexpected gain!

A blessing in disguise!

Seeking out Armand—this risky move had been the right choice!

As he reached the door, he looked back.

Moro's eyes were evasive, not daring to look directly at him, filled with awe toward Marcel.

And Armand was leaning back in his chair like a predator, eyes closed in rest, as if nothing had happened at all.