HTLCCBFT Chapter 165

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 165

TL PSA: Content trigger warning for this and the next chapter. Read with caution.

Spire was not a modern man, and thus could hardly comprehend Oliver’s sudden mischievous whim.

His lips parted slightly as he stared dazedly at that beautiful face for a long while. It was only when the furious roars of his old master, Gride, reached an unavoidable volume that he finally snapped out of it.

To Oliver’s surprise, the confusion and astonishment that had clouded Spire’s face vanished almost instantly.

“It seems I have been captured by Your Highness,” he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse yet remarkably composed.

After this quiet utterance, he let out a soft sigh, though his eyes held little regret. Instead, he swiftly brushed off the dust and smoothed the wrinkles from his clothes before bowing respectfully. “I hope Your Highness will permit me to rise and offer a proper greeting.”

Gride was still snarling in the background: “—Ken Spire, you damned scoundrel! Silver-tongued traitor!”

Throughout this, Spire never once glanced toward his loudly cursing master.

Like Fosse, Spire had served a great noble house for many years. Though slightly younger than Fosse and without battlefield experience, his face appeared far more weathered by time.

Yet they shared certain traits—perhaps the solemn steadiness unique to those long entrusted with managing a castle’s affairs. Even in realizing his utter defeat, Spire’s first instinct was to straighten his posture and maintain dignity and decorum.

Oliver blinked, a playful smile tugging at his lips. Frankly, this resemblance to Fosse in demeanor gave Spire a far better first impression than the cowardly, cruel Gride, who preyed on the weak.

For that alone, Oliver was willing to forgo having him bound.

He also harbored no fear that Spire might suddenly attack. Even with Fosse and other skilled knights absent, both he and the Cat God beside him possessed deceptively harmless appearances that belied their formidable natures.

Most importantly, Oliver knew well: had the Cat God not secretly used divine power to cheat on his behalf, Spire would have successfully escaped by now.

Acknowledging this unintentional injustice, Oliver felt a twinge of leniency and allowed his curiosity free rein.

Thus, he gave a slight nod to Spire’s reasonable request.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Spire rose unhurriedly, elegantly sweeping his robe aside before kneeling on one knee. His lean torso bent forward deeply in a flawless noble salute. “Your esteemed Highness, may God’s glory forever bless you. Ken Spire, your vanquished foe, awaits your judgment.”

Oliver smiled faintly, accepting the courtesy with ease before posing his first question: “If you would be honest, begin by telling me why you hold such hatred for your master.”

Seeing Spire momentarily stunned, Oliver thought for a moment before adding, “Since when?”

—This was undoubtedly what Gride most wanted to know as well.

While casting an intensely hateful gaze at Spire, he struggled to suppress his curses: For someone who hadn’t truly slept for days and had endured unprecedentedly poor food and drink, even lying on the ground and shouting would be no small burden.

Spire truly hadn’t expected that the first question from this young duke—whom he had never met but had indirectly implicated with his scheme that day—would be this.

But now that everything was settled, Spire didn’t hesitate for long before candidly speaking the truth: “It began two years ago, Your Grace. The person I despise most became this master I once thought I would serve with lifelong loyalty.”

These words were like oil dripping onto a candle flame, instantly igniting Gride’s barely suppressed rage and causing it to surge abruptly: “Aha! So you finally admit it, you bastard born in the filthiest brothel, you despicable, lowly swindler, you damned scoundrel—”

Before the nobleman could spew more vulgar obscenities, Oliver merely uttered two calm words: “Be silent.”

Though spoken softly, this command was enough to make Gride—who had witnessed the tremendous power of those peculiar “Bomb Eggs” exploding—value his life enough to clamp his mouth shut.

Though lying on the land of Gregor City, which nominally still belonged to his family, and even within the castle his lineage had inhabited for generations, he was about to… no, had already lost the power to rule this territory.

And the culprit who had reduced him from a life where his only worries were the exorbitant hunting expenses or whether the prey was fresh enough, to becoming a captive at others’ mercy, was this viper-like Spire before him!

Gride completely forgot that the one truly responsible for his “miserable” treatment was Oliver, who undeniably held the authority to command.

He directed all his hatred solely toward Spire, and even when forced into silence, he persistently glared at him with resentful eyes.

Yet neither his scorching gaze nor the earlier insults—which no noble could tolerate—elicited any change in Spire’s impassive expression.

—Not even the slightest twitch of an eyebrow.

Having received confirmation and verified his inner suspicions, Oliver didn’t rush to press Spire for reasons.

His intuition told him that this restrained butler of Gregor City—who had lain in wait for two full years and executed a flawless, lethal strike—would reveal it himself.

Sure enough.

Without making Oliver wait long, Spire—who had seemed lost in thought—finally moved his lips again: “It was because of your filthy ‘little hobbies,’ Gride.”

His deep brown eyes were profound, faintly reflecting Gride’s unsettled, suspicious face as he slowly continued: “Two years ago, on the morning of Summer Third Day. While I was diligently preparing your hunting gear, do you remember what you did?”

—What madness is this shameless traitor spewing?

Gride cursed inwardly.

When Spire spoke, Oliver couldn’t help but follow his words into reminiscence.

But that was two years ago… a full two years had passed! How could he possibly remember what exactly he had done on one ordinary summer morning?

“Whatever I did, it shouldn’t be your reason for betraying my trust and turning against me, Spire.”

Gride stared at him with a sinister gaze, practically forcing the anger-suppressed words through clenched teeth: “All these years, I’ve consistently valued you, never even laid a whip on you once! Betraying your master who trusted you—these foolish crimes you’ve committed will bring shame upon the entire Spire family, dragging it into the filthiest gutters until it becomes as foul-smelling as your reputation—”

“So you’ve truly forgotten.”

The corners of Spire’s lips curled into an unmistakably sarcastic smile.

He slowly straightened his back, subtly taking two steps toward Gride until the tips of his boots came extremely close to Gride’s neck—so close they nearly touched the greasy, fat-laden skin.

Oliver immediately noticed this.

He couldn’t help glancing at the seemingly serious Cat God beside him. Though he couldn’t possibly expect any advice from the golden-haired deity’s eyes, he inexplicably chose to allow Spire to approach Gride.

Even though…

He vaguely guessed that Spire might be planning something.

Almost from the moment he made this audacious move, Spire’s tone completely shed its layer of feigned respect, and his eyes turned icy cold.

Looking down at Gride, whose face was a mixture of venom and rage, he said in a deep voice: “It seems I must remind you, Gride. On that day—likely on a whim—you went to the garden looking for your son Calward. Perhaps only the omniscient God knows why, or perhaps you simply wanted to scold the consistently timid boy? But along the way, you suddenly saw something that changed your mind.”

Hearing this, Oliver felt a stir in his heart, vaguely forming a conjecture.

“Yes.”

As if completely immersed in memory, Spire’s voice grew increasingly deep as he slowly narrated: “What ‘saved’ Calward from being scolded was a knight attendant serving him that day.”

Gride’s eyes gradually shifted to suspicion, as if vaguely recalling something.

“Since your memory is so poor, I’ve decided to give you more hints.”

Spire stated expressionlessly: “Though that knight attendant was only 12 at the time, according to his teacher, he was exceptionally talented. By 12, he had already become a formal attendant qualified for advanced knight training. After his 13th birthday, he was supposed to go to Riche City to his grandfather’s house for further training…”

Unfortunately, he was a rather beautiful and adorable child: inheriting his father’s tall nose bridge and slender build, along with his mother’s fair skin and those moist, deer-like delicate eyes.

One could imagine how particularly striking he must have appeared while training seriously with his knight instructor in the garden, illuminated by sunlight.

So striking that he could attract the gaze of evil hunters.

Thus, that destined brilliant future was utterly destroyed by a single “peculiar hobby” of Lord Gregor that drew widespread criticism.

As a member of the Spire family who had served the McKenna family for generations, he neither had the right nor ever intended to comment excessively on his master’s widely condemned indulgences.

Yet he would never actively “capture” young boys for his master. If the poor boys survived after being ravaged, he would—driven by that flicker of compassion within—summon physicians to treat them without awaiting his master’s orders and provide the survivors with enough money to live comfortably for many years as compensation.

He believed he had done enough to earn God’s forgiveness for his passive role in the tragic fates of those boys.

Until one day, after completing his daily duties and returning home, he was met with the lifeless, wide-open eyes and tear-streaked face of the son which whom he had pinned all his hopes.

The body was cold and stiff.

Most striking were the naked lower limbs, long dried of blood.

Like a flower bud carelessly trampled by a boot of lavish make, it had become a mass of red and white mush emitting a faint, fishy stench.

“And his name was Viktim.”

Spire slightly lowered his gaze, ending his account in a murmur.

“Remember, his name was—Viktim Spire.”[mfn]威克提姆·斯拜尔(wēi kè tí mǔ · sī bài ěr)[/mfn]

If it were merely about killing Gride simply, as the butler, he undoubtedly had the convenience of his position to do so almost anytime.

But he did not.

—He would never grant such an easy end to the mortal enemy who had severed the Spire family line.

“I waited so long, just for this chance to let you stumble into my trap like an ignorant swine, to watch you lose everything before I pierce your heart amidst unbearable agony.”

He looked down on Gride with a sneer, “I just never imagined you’d be so incompetent… but no matter, you’ve merely hastened your own demise. It saves me the trouble of further schemes.”

“You’re absolutely mad, damn devil, wicked hypocrite!”

Finally recalling some relevant details, the resentment on Gride’s face faded slightly.

As if sensing the intensifying murderous aura from Spire, his expression shifted to one of panic, fear, and humiliated fury.

Struggling violently to distance himself from Spire, whose boot was close enough to press against his vulnerable neck, he shouted in self-defense: “Ha! You betray me, all for that insignificant bastard! Damn it, didn’t you receive more than enough compensation back then?! I bestowed upon you an entire year’s tax revenue from Gregor City! You greedy villain!”

It was just a bastard, after all. Had it not been for the Spire family’s long service to him, he would never have been so generous as to offer that much compensation!

And at the time, Ken had accepted it all with a smile, yet now he held it against him, blaming him.

“Dear master, he was the only bastard worthy of bearing my surname.”

Spire mocked with a scornful smile.

“If only you had shown the slightest regard for the Spire family……”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, growling low like an enraged lion: “Then you would easily discover that this means Viktim—is my only son!”

Before his words faded, intense killing intent suddenly erupted from the depths of his pupils!

Not good!

Gride, who had been secretly guarding against him all along, felt all his hairs stand on end. Without thinking, he tried to dodge to the side and loudly call for Duke Oliver’s help!

But it was already too late.

From the moment Spire saw that he was still miraculously alive, he had never considered begging for mercy from the victor.

Even at all costs, he would end this demon’s life before dying himself.

“Come to hell with me, Gride!”

In the split second before Gride could react, Spire lifted his right foot. The sole of his boot, embedded with countless sharp iron fragments, glinted with a chilling light that made Gride’s heart tremble in fear.

“You madman—! No—! Get away!!”

Gride screamed shrilly.

But those densely packed iron fragments had already descended with unstoppable force, ruthlessly stomping toward the most vulnerable part of his throat that he was desperately trying to protect!

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