HTLCCBFT Chapter 166

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 166

Pierced through the throat by countless sharp iron fragments, then mechanically suffocated by blood flooding the trachea…

It was undoubtedly an excruciating way to die.

Moreover, after the iron shards had fully embedded into flesh, Spire—fearing he might survive—pressed his entire body weight onto his right foot, straining so hard that veins bulged on his forehead, nearly crushing the windpipe flat.

Gride’s mouth gaped wide, his face contorted, but only a series of incomprehensible, muffled gurgling sounds emerged.

Spire watched him unblinkingly.

Yet the more violently Gride struggled, the greater the force Spire applied.

As Gride’s short, thick limbs flailed wildly, like a fish tossed into boiling water, Spire showed no mercy.

Instead, he deliberately twisted the ball of his foot, grinding the iron fragments to shred the surrounding flesh.

A sickening squelching sound followed.

“Gah!”

After a sharp, bizarre cry, Gride’s head lolled limply to one side, the ferocious expression on his face gradually slackening into a twisted, half-sobbing grimace.

Spire still did not lessen the pressure under his foot.

He continued to stomp relentlessly on Gride’s neck, even as a pool of crimson blood spread wide and no further resistance came from the other man.

He maintained this until the two knight attendants dragged him away, forced his head down, and made him kneel once more before Oliver.

“My deepest apologies for exposing Your Grace to such a vile and unsightly spectacle.”

Though thoroughly disheveled, Spire still managed to draw a deep breath and offer a courteous apology.

His voice trembled almost imperceptibly, yet anyone could see that the tightly wound, invisible thread within him had snapped completely.

After Oliver signaled the knights to release him, allowing Spire to lift his head again, he even curved his lips into a genuinely heartfelt smile: “And I am profoundly grateful for Your Grace’s magnanimous mercy—permitting this offense against your enemy and allowing him to fulfill his final wish.”

Spire faintly suspected that the young Duke had not been entirely unaware of his earlier intention in approaching Gride, yet had silently allowed it.

Whatever the Duke’s motive might be… Spire felt sincere gratitude for this tacit mercy, which had enabled him to realize his greatest desire in two years—indeed, in his entire life.

After all, though Gride had been defeated, the substantial ransom he represented would typically have ensured him a degree of leniency.

Both he and Gride were captives of Duke Oliver, yet Spire had suddenly risen up and killed Gride, directly causing the Duke to suffer a significant financial loss—a loss Spire could never hope to repay.

Oliver gazed at him calmly and stated, “You are well aware that, under the kingdom’s law, killing a high noble is a capital offense.”

“Yes.”

Spire bowed obediently and replied methodically, “And as the kingdom’s sole Duke, you are fully entitled to pass judgment.”

The Spire family’s hereditary title was only that of baron. As a noble of exalted standing second only to the king, however, a duke—though unable to directly try an earl, whose rank was just one step below his own—could, on the king’s behalf, preside over court judgments concerning offenses committed by lesser nobles against great nobles of viscount rank and above.

Moreover, Spire had killed his former master, a count, right before Oliver’s eyes while being a captive: no matter who presided over the trial, he was undoubtedly facing death.

Death?

He couldn’t care less.

Although he regretted failing to escape, he had gained the satisfaction of personally avenging Viktim by killing his enemy, Gride.

That was something nothing could ever replace.

To crush Gride—who had tormented poor Viktim to death—like a filthy bug… No matter how severe the punishment he would face, he was willing to accept it.

“You have learned a profound lesson.” Instead of immediately ordering his imprisonment, Oliver surprised Spire by speaking to him as if in conversation: “If you had tried to admonish him rather than indirectly condoning his abuse of other boys, Viktim might not have suffered such a tragic fate.”

Spire closed his eyes and nodded slightly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He had once believed himself sufficiently compassionate.

Yet the harsh truth proved he had fallen far short.

Thus, he lost his beloved son.

But then Oliver shifted his tone: “However, even if you had done so, the change you could have effected in Gride would undoubtedly have been extremely limited.”

Crimes stemming from innate depraved inclinations remain rampant even in modern times with relatively comprehensive and strict laws, let alone in this era where nobles could practically do as they pleased.

Upper-class nobles held absolute dominance over lower nobles, freemen, and slaves, yet faced minimal punishment and restraint.

Unbound by law or morality, with no one daring to challenge their authority, they could freely indulge their desires.

How could Spire, as a butler, possibly alter McKenna’s nature?

Even if Spire had chosen to exhaust all means to stop him, the consequence would likely have been—an irritated Gride simply replacing him with another butler.

Oliver: “Even if you were at fault and have been punished for it, what wrong did the twelve-year-old Viktim commit? Why should he have endured all this?”

Spire was stunned.

Hearing this, he finally couldn’t help but lift his gaze to meet the young duke’s eyes.

He expected to see coldness, arrogance, or disgust…

But within those azure depths lay the softest light, like bright stars reflected in blue seawater.

The golden-haired duke’s indescribably beautiful face was now serene as still water, unusually devoid of the smile familiar to all people of Laina.

In Spire’s eyes, however, he seemed to emanate a faint radiance capable of soothing all wounds.

At this moment, Duke Oliver, though looking at him, seemed to be speaking past him to others: “I do not encourage vigilante justice, and even despise it, yet I must admit that under the current flawed and distorted laws, true villains cannot be properly tried or receive the punishment they deserve.”

If the establishment of laws merely allows the powerful to exploit the weak more easily, serving as a plaything for nobles to manipulate at will…

Then it holds no authority whatsoever, nor any reason to exist.

Oliver gazed steadily at the stunned Spire, speaking slowly: “Before the glory of the great Cat God, what I witnessed was not a Baron’s assault upon a Count, but a grieving father avenging his unfortunate only son—finally delivering belated punishment to a villain whom the King’s laws could never judge.”

“I have heard it… This is an act recognized by the merciful Cat God.”

The golden-haired lord gently closed his eyes, his tone as reverent as prayer: “As His most devout follower, I too must obey His will.”

“Your Grace.”

After being overwhelmed by disbelief, Spire’s eyes shimmered with trembling moisture as he murmured repeatedly: “Your Grace…”

Oliver finally showed a trace of coldness as he frowned: “You have indeed caused me significant trouble. Cleaning up after a Count’s murder will be far more difficult than originally planned.”

For it was customary at this time to treat surrendering prisoners well, even if they were the ones who initiated the provocation and declared war.

This convention was upheld by all nobles because none dared guarantee they wouldn’t find themselves in similar circumstances someday—should that day come, they could still preserve their lives by paying ransom.

Oliver certainly had another “better” and more convenient option, which Spire had previously believed he would inevitably choose: publicly presiding over a trial, declaring Spire the true murderer of the Count, and executing him with severe punishment.

Given that Spire was also nobility (though merely the lowest rank of Baron), he could at least die with some dignity.

If Spire still couldn’t discern Oliver’s decision by now, he would be an utter fool.

—And he clearly wasn’t.

But why would Duke Oliver choose to protect him?

Even at the cost of bearing the cruel reputation of “killing a Count who had already surrendered”—this would mean that if he were ever defeated in the future, opponents unafraid of his ducal status might refuse his ransom offers to spare his life!

For a prisoner like him who served no purpose, who wasn’t even the mastermind behind Gride’s campaign against Albury… how could this be possible?

Spire instinctively held his breath, completely unable to believe his eyes and ears.

Was he dreaming?

“Your Grace,” he finally found his voice after a long pause, “I am not worthy of this.”

He genuinely believed this.

“From the current perspective, it does seem like a losing bargain.”

Oliver showed a somewhat helpless smile, looking at the utterly stunned Spire as he whispered: “Therefore, as your atonement and compensation, I command you to pass the test of my most loyal butler Fosse—to work tirelessly in handling the aftermath until… the day you are truly permitted to stop breathing.”

Spire’s ears were buzzing, and it took him a long time to react.

For the third time, he bent his knee, letting his kneecap strike the hard ground with a heavy thud.

“From this moment on, please allow me, Ken Spire, to dedicate my life, soul, and faith entirely to you. May you dominate all that I am, my benevolent Lord Oliver.”

Word by word, with the utmost sincerity, he made his vow while submissively exposing the nape of his neck, relaxed as much as possible.

He closed his eyes: “Please, My Lord.”

Even though there was still a large pool of Gride’s warm blood on the ground, it did not stop him from pressing his forehead against it.

His soul had been cleansed, and the blood of his enemy no longer seemed filthy.

Oliver tilted his head slightly in surprise.

Of course, he recognized that what Spire was performing was the grandest ceremony a young noble would ever undertake in his life—the ritual performed upon being promoted to knight and presenting himself to the lord who conferred the knighthood.

Back then, Spire had been filled with fervor, proud of the Spire blood flowing in his veins, and wholeheartedly loyal to the McKenna family.

The McKenna patriarch—Gride’s father, Aekholic[mfn]艾克霍里克(ài kè huò lǐ kè) – Alcoholic[/mfn] —was an outright debauchee. When conferring the knighthood, he was drunk and slurring his words, yet the strike with the flat of his sword was delivered with full force, so vicious it nearly made Spire cry out in pain.

Even so, it had not diminished his excitement.

Now, not only had his fervor returned, but it surged even more intensely than it had in his younger days.

“Ken Spire. I accept your allegiance.”

After a brief silence, amidst Spire’s frantic heartbeat, that clear and melodious voice spoke again.

Accompanying this voice, more enchanting than a nightingale’s song, was a slender, pale hand.

“Do not disappoint me.”

That noble and benevolent master encouraged him with a hint of laughter.

…Incredible.

Ken Spire thought in a daze.

That hand had merely touched his shoulder gently, tenderly completing the ritual that acknowledged his allegiance.

Yet, such a light touch was enough to make scalding tears unexpectedly roll from eyes that had been dry for so many years.

“Thank you, my master.”

He blinked hard, took a deep breath, and slowly spoke.

Even in his greediest dreams of the past, he had never dared to fantasize about this…

That he would be fortunate enough to be reborn.

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