Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Once Giles had pegged someone a thief, any protestation only served to inflame his sense of being questioned and challenged; the consequences then went far beyond a mere smashing and burning.

As Giles erupted in anger, the other maids knelt at once, prostrating on the ground, baring their vulnerable, pale necks.

They dared not exhibit any trace of selfhood; to live to the age of 25 under the hands of Master Giles was a wishful luxury. To plea for another was to court a speedier demise.

"The breakfast was specially requested by the lord to be augmented with a Thunderfruit; the flavor is somewhat pungent. May I ask if it is this taste you find disagreeable?" The scent of seared flesh began to rise, and though her voice shook incessantly, her expression remained one of respectful adoration.

Not foolish, having been selected from countless maids to serve intimately, she quickly identified the crux of the issue.

Yet, as the young master had just the day prior erupted over the new lord's name, she opted for circumspection, suggesting, "Master Giles, is it the beguiling scent in the air that vexes you? My sincerest apologies. I will see to its immediate removal and ensure you are not troubled with anything related to the lord again."

'Lord' had become a trigger word for Giles, his brows furrowing into a furious arch at the mere mention.

"Phelos? His doing?!" His voice spiked in pitch, a sharpness that could mislead one into believing they shared a bitter enmity steeped in history.

The maid was not privy to the intricacies of city affairs, but the town's distribution of honeyed buns was common knowledge, difficult as it was to remain ignorant.

"Indeed, the lord declared it a boon bestowed upon his subjects."

Phelos had not made such a declaration; never having appeared in public, he certainly had not uttered such words.

This narrative of the lord's 'boon' was propagated by Butler Blaise, Phelos' steward. His word, representing the lord to some extent, went unquestioned.

The personal maid relayed the events as articulately as possible, causing Giles' brows to arch even higher.

After her account, Giles realized his 'suspicion' was unfounded; the maid had not stolen, nor would she dare.

But how could the great Master Giles err? All fault lay with the damnable Phelos!

"Clothing." Giles stretched out his arms, and at once, a maid rose to fetch his garments—shirt, trousers, socks, shoes—and knelt by the bed to arrange them for him.

The garments of the nobility were resplendent, but their elaborate nature became an encumbrance. Clad in the full attire, the maid, scorched by flames, was nearly reduced to char, her fate unknown.

It was only then that Gis remembered, as if an afterthought, and said with a grace akin to bestowal, "Attend to that."

Supers had robust physiques, and while the maid was of low rank, as the young master's personal womb, she possessed talent. Yet, as a female slave with a 'shelf life' only until 25, she was denied ample resources, her diligent efforts capping her at a mere level 9 elemental mage.

"Thank you for your mercy, young master," came a voice, faint as a wisp, the resilient maid hanging on to her last breath.

Gis nonchalantly lifted his chin, and promptly, a new breakfast was brought to him.

The cost of nurturing a caster was steep, but raising a body-enhancer was scarcely cheaper.

Gis lacked the innate talent for spellcasting; body enhancement was his only path, yet he detested sweating and feared pain.

Fortunately, he was the Chitty family's sole progeny with talent, a rarity among the seed-sowing nobility, hence, he accessed the best resources among his peers.

To become a level 32 intermediate swordsman at 23 was nothing short of prodigious!

"The cook's skills are waning! Do they think becoming a cook elevates them? To dare serve me such unpalatable fare! They must remember the Chitty family spends no small sum on them!"

What was usually a delightful breakfast tasted like an egregious debuff against the backdrop of the sweet, honeyed rolls.

Yet, paradoxically, the less palatable the food in his mouth, the more he craved those "honeyed rolls."

So fragrant... so tantalizingly fragrant...

Gis could discern the scents of icing sugar, eggs, and flour—extravagances for the common folk, but trivialities for him.

He even disdained these trash that weren't even magical ingredients!

But oh, the fragrance... the irresistible fragrance...

Initially seeking a pretext for a quarrel, the closer Gis approached the lord's manor, the more the scent dazed him.

"Gurgle..." His swallowing was audible, though he seemed oblivious, preoccupied with the thought—if only Phyllos would gift him the cook of those rolls, he would forgive Phyllos's audacity and impudence!

Yet, after a day of anxious waiting at home, no delightful, exquisite gift box arrived from the other party.

"Has no one from the lord's manor come?!"

By the third day, Gis could no longer contain himself.

The air was always thick with that enchanting fragrance, inescapable, permeating even the dreams I had at night.

"Purify" the air? Block out the scents? Impossible, truly impossible. Had I never known that delightful aroma, perhaps I could accept the lavish dishes stacked high with expensive ingredients. But after having smelled such heavenly scents, these mere monstrosities built with money alone held no allure.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it! That cursed Phelos! A vulgar and stupid oaf!" Gibson's temper, already sour, was now intolerable, venting daily on anything within arm's reach with a smash or a throw.

The maids became silent as the grave, attempting to reduce their presence to the barest whisper.

Gibson was not a man of pleasant temperament; he favored and solely adored fragile and beautiful women under the age of 25, and his personal maids were selected to meet this exacting standard.

At 25, few maids lived to see beyond that age. He relished the sounds of their cries, and in the throes of his bedsport, he might sometimes push too far. The death of a few maids was nothing; after all, such commodities could always be replaced.

Gibson would vent his rage on women, but perhaps it was the ever-present scent that left him feeling a peculiar sense of ennui even as he began his foreplay.

Unbearable! Gibson kicked the table away and stood up with a leap: "I must go out. Prepare the carriage."

Bursting out in a whirlwind, Gibson collided with his father, Bok Chiti, whose complexion had also been grim these past few days, tormented by the scent, yet with years more to his life, he managed to keep his composure. With a stern face, he cautioned his son, who could not understand him better: "Gibson, some things are best yelled out at home, don't speak recklessly outside."

Bok was infuriated by Phelos's lack of tact, and not receiving a gift encased in an exquisite magical box as the first token was a clear slight.

"Everyone is entitled to two honey buns" – if that wasn't an insult to him!

Was this a mockery of his loss of noble status? Absurd!

Could this city possibly function without him, Bok Chiti? He would wait; it wouldn't take half a month before this vulgar lord would come begging. Then, he would return the humiliation tenfold, a hundredfold.

Gibson paid his father's words no heed; a lord was a lord in name only, after all.

This city, run by the Chiti family for fifty years, had not become a ghost town in all that time, entirely due to their family's efforts! To not be appreciated was one thing, but to be humiliated like this was quite another.

"I will make that crude fool who knows no decorum pay!" Gibson's eyes glinted with malicious intent.

"Lord Chiti, do you require my—"

Bok interrupted the captain of the city guard: "Let Gibson go and probe."

Although only those of high rank had the privilege of transcending class, Phelos exhibited none of the mystery befitting someone of that stature. Besides, why would a high-ranker come to this backwater town with little to offer?

Probably just some

The absence of a surname is proof enough.

Only the nobility stripped of their surnames are left with just a first name.

Despite his bad temper, Pok is confident in his son, who is, after all, an intermediate swordsman.

In a city devoid of high-level casters, being of intermediate skill is already at the pinnacle.

"Go on, continue packing. What of the lord? If he kneels before me in a few months, I might just reward you with a few gold coins," Pok sneered in the direction of the lord's mansion, full of contempt.

Pok looked around, a touch of reluctance in his gaze; these were possessions accumulated over many years, and his estate was much more luxurious and splendid than that of the lord's.

If not for the imminent beast tide, he would have liked to move everything.

But with the beast tide approaching, there was no way around it.

Although Dajack City lies close to the Never-Setting Mountain Range, it's not so close that one would encounter monsters right outside its gates. The beast tide would be drawn to the massive city of Ayavino, five hundred kilometers away, where five legendary beings of level 100 and above stand guard. The royal city and various churches would also send legendary warriors for support, minimizing the threat of the beast tide.

As for Dajack City, which hardly differs from a dead city, it has fortuitously evaded the beast tides over the years.

Thus, the most perilous predicament facing Dajack City is the encroachment of the Endless Plains.

But three months prior, Pok received word that the beast tide from the Never-Setting Mountains would spread to Dajack City.

Without any hesitation, Pok began preparations to leave Dajack City.

Though Dajack City was his, Pok's greatest sentiment towards it was — it served as an excellent tool for amassing wealth.

Regrettably, he would no longer be able to make money from this place, but this minor regret was inconsequential compared to his own life.

*

"Sister, the bread smells so good today!" Even after two consecutive days of satisfying meals, Roco still resembled a little skeleton, but his eyes were now spirited.

No longer contemplating "dying after eating this bread," he was instead looking forward to "whether he could still smell such deliciousness tomorrow."

"Yes, it smells wonderful!" Hailey took a deep breath, her face radiating happiness and bliss.

Eating the same food for three consecutive days might raise eyebrows among the nobility — wouldn't one tire of it?

Of course not! For the common folk struggling just to survive, the only hope they clung to was that they might meet their end in life being stuffed to death with honey bread.

To die from eating too many honey buns would be the happiest and most enviable ending to this life.

Just listen, "That xxx actually died from eating too many honey buns!" — "My God, how could they be so fortunate?" Even in death, to hear such a conversation would bring a blissful smile to one's face!!!

Having had their fill, the brother and sister found a bit of strength but neither the means nor the awareness to clean themselves up.

Perhaps fearful of being shunned and sent away, the siblings hid from others at first, sticking to the wall's edge, careful not to soil it or come too close to the crowd, cautiously minimizing their presence.

"1,2,3,4,5... 1,2,3..." Roco could only count to five, the number once representing the largest sum owned by their family. He tirelessly counted the repetitive numbers, and with each step closer to the honey cakes, his face lit up with an ever more blissful smile.

Roco said, "If I could have such a delicious thing, I'd be happy to die right after eating it!"

But it seems that even the most modest final wishes of the lowly are not to be granted.

"Boom—" The wall collapsed.

The heavy stones came crashing down, and the civilians standing beside the wall were extremely unlucky to be crushed beneath.

"Ahhh, it hurts so much—"

"Waaa, mommy—"

"My child, my child—"

“……”

The chaos of cries and screams of pain wove together, enveloping the entire street block.

"Annie— Oh no, my Annie is still under there!" A "fortunate" mother had her clothes grazed by the collapsing wall, remaining unharmed, but her daughter was not so lucky; a large rock had struck her, crushing her lower body beneath.

A stream of crimson liquid gushed forth, the vivid color piercing the eyes of her parents.

"Wuuu—" Agonizing pain rendered the girl's words unclear, her young and muddled speech breaking through the crying, "Mommy... it hurts so much..."

"Ahhhh—" The mother and father rushed over like mad, trying to lift the heavy stone off their daughter, but before they could even attempt to move it, a shadow cast down from above.

Accompanied by the neighing of a fiery steed, a luxurious carriage adorned with gems was almost instantly about to land on the platform made of walls.

"It's... it's Master Gis..." The family crest made of jewels glinted beautifully in the sunlight; in Dajack City, there was no one who did not recognize this emblem.

The combination of the gemstone family crest, the luxurious carriage, and the fiery steed had been monopolized under the orders of Gis, making it unmistakably clear who was approaching.

Upon the appearance of that emblem, all eyes lost their luster.

They could already envision what would serve as the next stepping stone for the flame horse's leap: themselves.

"Quick, run..."

But where could they possibly run to?

"A bunch of lowly creatures daring to block my path."