It was clear to any seasoned observer that Lance Ford was a man of profound calculation—or perhaps, a man possessed by an ego so absolute it bordered on the divine. His display of gentle magnanimity and effortless grace was not born of genuine kindness, but from the dizzying height of his own perceived status. He viewed the world from a "God’s-eye perspective," looking down upon the masses as mere ants in a jar. Because he considered himself to be in an entirely different league from the common man, his emotions remained undisturbed; he could afford to be polite because the people beneath him simply didn't matter enough to provoke his anger.
In truth, his legendary "upbringing" was nothing more than a polished veneer for a staggering, systemic arrogance.
High above the monastery, the rhy
