HTLCCBFT Chapter 225

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 225

Lost in the euphoria of his subjects’ fervent praise for his prestige, King Cameron could never have imagined that these ships from a neighboring nation—seemingly symbolizing the goodwill of a ruler who had once made his father deeply wary—would insidiously and despicably plunge his kingdom into a terrifying abyss.

Heavy treasure chests adorned with golden locks and silver were carried out of the cargo holds, lowered from the decks, and brought into the palace, where they were opened one by one. As court officials recited the lengthy inventory in resonant voices, nobles bedecked in jewels and finery gathered around the piles of chests, some with genuine interest, others with indifference. Male nobles cast occasional dignified glances, while noblewomen concealed their lips behind expensive silk fans, whispering and laughing among themselves.

While everyone’s attention was captivated by the exotic gifts, Edir seized the opportunity decisively, ordering her maids to escort her away. She wasn’t overly concerned about the king’s whimsical malice; even without this unexpected turn, her sole ally in the Royal City—the white-haired, red-eyed Grand High Priest—would surely find a way to extricate her. Her composure was so natural that even the palace maids were fooled, allowing her to slip away in confusion.

After admiring the lavish gifts from the dozen or so large chests, King Cameron, feeling his honor greatly enhanced, had completely forgotten his earlier intentions. In high spirits, he readily agreed to the neighboring envoys’ respectful requests—especially their mention of merely wanting to sell some “ordinary goods unworthy of His Majesty’s attention” from their ships and purchase novel trinkets to bring back for their master.

No one noticed that among these unremarkable goods was an entire chest of seemingly exquisite silk pajamas, their corners stained with faint brown spots, clearly having been worn before. The affordable foreign commodities were not only sought after by nobles but also coveted by the wealthy and those with some authority who aspired to aristocratic extravagance and styled themselves as “high society.” These slightly flawed goods were quickly snapped up, including the chest of clothing.

The neighboring visitors did not linger long; after fulfilling the king’s assigned mission, they politely declined his invitation to a banquet the following evening and swiftly set sail. Whether they were privy to the details or not, their prompt departure was undoubtedly the wisest course of action.

For in just ten short days, the capital—a bustling, gold-flowing metropolis that had thrived for centuries—underwent a drastic and dramatic transformation.

A plague had broken out.

“A plague?” Oliver frowned, disbelieving. “In the Royal City? Why?”

Thanks to Spire’s efforts, the Royal City was not entirely covered but had successfully been infiltrated by many of his master’s agents. Almost as soon as the plague began to erupt sporadically across the city, a spy keenly detected it and relayed the news immediately. Even so, with messages relying solely on fast horses, they were inevitably severely delayed.

Oliver could imagine that by the time the letter reached him, the disease—spreading at an incalculably fast rate—had likely already wrought devastation in the royal capital, the villages, and the territories along the way.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Spire replied respectfully. “However, even facing the threat of plague, Cameron likely wouldn’t willingly abandon the royal capital… What are your hopes?”

“What does this have to do with Cameron?” Though the plague shows no discrimination, the King residing in the palace undoubtedly faces the lowest risk.

After responding casually, Oliver’s frown deepened, and he quickly posed his most pressing question: “What countermeasures has he implemented?”

Spire: “After confirming it was a dreadful plague that could kill a strong serf in just three days, rather than mere coughing and runny nose, Cameron ordered the closure of the second and first city gates.”

Oliver was slightly taken aback.

He knew well that the royal capital—the King’s direct domain—had five imposing high walls just in the urban area. Within the first wall centered around the palace were core structures including the armory and granaries, along with residences of nobles ranked Count or higher. Beyond their elegant mansions stood the magnificent divine temple and the few high-ranking Priests qualified to reside there, “constantly bathed in the god’s glory.”

Inside the second wall lived lower-ranking but influential nobles; the rare merchants with wealth so astounding it could tempt even the King, who were sufficiently “generous”; members of the King’s Knight Order who answered only to the King; and the remaining fragmented spaces housed relatively small yet tidy and attractive homes—residences for servants serving the high nobles and their families.

The third wall enclosed those similar to what Piggs once was: though far from affluent enough to barely mingle with low-ranking nobles and still needing to work for their livelihood, they earned substantial rewards and lived comfortably.

Ordinary vendors and farmers dwelling inside the fourth wall had just enough income for basic sustenance; little differentiated the areas inside and outside the fifth wall, where countless foul-smelling slums hid in inconspicuous corners.

More wretched than Gregor city’s slums, the homeless here scrambled for the dirtiest and most laborious jobs, constantly at risk of failing to pay poll taxes and becoming slaves—they dared not even walk the streets by day.

Even if they paid taxes, with street guards often being down-and-out knights, they could be arbitrarily killed for absurd reasons like “offending their sight” or “defiling their eyes” by someone in a foul mood, without arousing anyone’s concern.

“Closing the gates isn’t wrong. “

After all, without knowing the transmission route, isolation is always the most effective method.

After brief consideration, Oliver found a relatively reasonable explanation for Cameron’s approach and continued, “Then what?”

This time, it was Spire’s turn to question.

He looked uncharacteristically bewildered: “…Then?”

The two shared a puzzled glance before Oliver’s heart sank slightly, and he inquired in detail: “Aside from closing the city gates, what other arrangements has Cameron made?”

He certainly knew that without antibiotics, the doctors of this era could do very little—likely serving as nothing more than placebos.

Placebos who would just die for nothing.

But distributing disaster relief supplies, isolating and observing asymptomatic individuals, promptly burning and burying the bodies of deceased patients… Among these were experiences gained from previous plagues through trial and error. Shouldn’t the King have issued orders to find suitable people to carry them out as soon as possible?

Spire hesitated slightly.

He finally realized what the young lord was truly concerned about—but this also meant that the answer he was about to give would inevitably hurt this exceedingly kind-hearted Duke.

“He did nothing,” Spire said with some difficulty, “except order the guards to drive away the infected and their families.”

But the guards were nobles themselves, and they were naturally unwilling to take such great risks to carry out the task—in their eyes, it was tantamount to throwing their lives away.

Thus, the King’s command was never executed from start to finish.

“Even the guards stationed at the city gates secretly chose to abandon their posts. The ordinary soldiers training in the camps outside the city, who had temporarily escaped this disaster, had long since closed the gates of their barracks, vigilantly killing any civilians who dared to approach. They clearly had no intention of taking on such duties.”

After all, no one would be foolish enough to bring about their own destruction by attacking a plague-ridden city at the worst possible time, when the risk of infection was highest.

And the high nobles, whom the guards cared about most, would never appear at the city gates during such dangerous times.

This might have been fortunate for the infected and their relatives, but it was a misfortune for everyone outside the second gate.

The plague, like a river flowing into the sea, spread unimpeded, rampaging freely and swiftly among the defenseless people. The city’s infrastructure collapsed entirely, and those most in need of help could only watch helplessly as the nobles—the only ones who could provide assistance—heartlessly shut their doors. They were even regarded as the source of the dreadful plague, cursed with disgust.

Oliver fell silent.

“They call this disease the Five-Day Fever, Your Grace,” Spire succinctly described the symptoms: “Fever on the first day, dark red pustules under the armpits on the second; the pustules enlarge and spread across the body on the third, causing pain; they rupture on the fourth, with the patient bleeding profusely; and on the fifth, they die in high fever.”

The so-called Five-Day Fever was merely because the vast majority of patients never lived to see the sixth day—only a very few fortunate ones miraculously recovered.

The stench of death was everywhere, and the despairing people had never yearned so desperately for the protection of the divine temple. Yet the temple, located inside the second gate, was utterly beyond their reach.

Easily imagining the hellish scene of helpless people becoming infected, dying, and suffering from hunger… Oliver felt a tightness in his chest, his heart heavy and suffocated.

“Oliver.”

The golden-haired youth, who had been closely watching his young companion, could no longer hold back.

Under Spire’s slightly astonished gaze, He very naturally embraced the lord who seemed particularly fragile at this moment, golden eyes filled with concern.

“Oliver.”

The deity, unskilled at comforting others, clumsily repeated the name like a wild cat staring helplessly at an injured companion, only able to carefully lick the other’s wounds.

As the deity governing wealth, He could easily bestow followers with fortunes they could never exhaust in a lifetime, just as easily take the lives of fragile humans, and even more effortlessly destroy human souls.

Yet although He possessed divine power so formidable that even Deyth, the God of Death, had repeatedly suffered defeat, He was ultimately not Plage, the God of Plague, and couldn’t freely wield divine power to summon or dispel epidemics.

“I’m alright.”

Feeling the cat god’s concern, Oliver gradually felt the icy coldness that had momentarily coursed through his limbs beginning to fade.

“I simply overestimated his humanity and underestimated his malice.” He gradually calmed down, gently pushing away the large cat who was reluctant to let go, but secretly holding the other’s hand: “Regardless, we cannot stand by and do nothing—Johan.”

He suddenly called out the name of the manservant standing respectfully nearby.

Though he had served Duke Oliver for over three years, because butler Fosse insisted on handling all matters concerning the duke personally regardless of importance, he rarely had opportunities to be directly addressed or given orders by his master.

In that moment, the manservant nearly cried out in excitement, taking a long while to suppress his pounding heart before managing to appear composed: “At your service at any time, Your Highness!”

“Please ask Fosse, Noel, and Loyel to come. I have important matters to discuss.” No sooner had he finished speaking than Oliver turned to Spire, who wore a hesitant expression, and smiled faintly: “You of course will stay as well.”

Spire’s heart skipped a beat.

Fully aware of how precious this trust—bestowed upon someone of his awkward position—truly was, when he grasped the weight of these words, he nearly couldn’t suppress the trembling throughout his body.

He deeply bowed his head: “Yes, Your Highness.”

---