Chapter 1822
Looking at Andrew, Zachary proactively explained, “Mr. Thornton might hold a powerful position and sit high on the Titan List, but he’s actually a pretty down-to-earth guy. Even outer disciples used to see him easily, and he’s never one to put on airs or show up late. So whatever’s going on today is definitely unusual.”
Andrew had also heard of Jerome’s reputation, knowing he was widely respected. This wasn't just because of his martial arts skills, but also his approachable nature and elder-like demeanor. There were even rumors that when Jerome was young and traveling the martial world, he was bullied by a brat. The kid, having climbed a tree, urinated on Jerome's head.
Not only did Jerome not get angry, but he wiped the urine from his face, gave the kid a thumbs-up, and praised the child's boldness and spirit, predicting great things for his future.
Just then, the noisy hall fell silent. Those seated near the front quickly moved aside. All eyes, including Andrew’s, turned toward the main staircase at the back of the hall.
A group emerged, led by a middle-aged man in a long robe, his face square-jawed and composed, with a warm and gentle smile.
Zachary's expression shifted to reverence. “Captain, that’s my mentor, Mr. Jerome Thornton, the leader of our entire Gabo Creek region’s Martial Union.”
Andrew remained calm while secretly observing the man.
Jerome reached the central main seat and raised his hands. “Apologies for the delay, everyone. I had some matters to handle and arrived a bit late.”
The martial artists who had been grumbling earlier responded with hearty laughs and respectful nods.
“No worries, Mr. Thornton! You’ve got a lot on your plate. We totally understand!”
Another said, “You’re the pillar of the Southern Martial Union! You could’ve shown up next year, and we’d still be waiting!”
“I even brought a tent, Mr. Thornton. I’ll camp out here for a week if necessary!”
Andrew broke into a sweat. These rough-around-the-edges fighters were unexpectedly entertaining. They rambled on without embarrassment, each one more effusive than the last, joking as if at a street fair instead of a formal gathering.
Once seated, Jerome smiled and addressed the crowd. “Today’s a good day. I’m opening my doors to take on a few inner disciples. There won’t be any long speeches. Let’s get straight to it.”
The entire hall perked up. Everyone knew how rare Jerome’s inner disciple spots were. The turnout proved that point without needing a speech.
For most families, getting their child into any martial school was a significant accomplishment, akin to sending a rural child to a good public high school. But landing a spot under Jerome? That was equivalent to getting into an elite private prep school with sky-high tuition. It guaranteed status, resources, and a promising future.
No wonder major families like the Pecks were practically clawing to get their descendants into his training hall.
However, just as Jerome was about to proceed, a voice rang out. “Hold on a moment!”
The interruption jolted everyone, and even Andrew turned to look. Who dared interrupt at such a moment?
Jerome was the host and leader of the Martial Union. Anyone attempting to steal the spotlight now was either incredibly fearless or simply asking for trouble.