Eugene was not moved by his obedience.
According to the game guide provided by the system, this butler NPC was no good guy. He would decisively backstab the player in the late game, becoming the leader of the rebel army and bringing endless trouble.
In fact, one of the branches of the game’s failure endings involved the lord being hanged by Abel at the castle tower’s spire.
In a daze, Eugene could already feel the suffocating sensation of a throat being gripped. He silently released his collar and pinged the system: Is there pain shielding for the death process?
The system was quite supportive: Rest assured, Host, you will go home comfortably! All you need to do now is trust the butler, value him, and give him enough authority. Once he rebels, your country will soon collapse!
Eugene deeply agreed: System, you are right. Without your help, I truly wouldn’t know how to ruin my country so well!
Thus, as soon as he was welcomed into the castle, instead of sparing a glance at the four or five servants lined up on both sides to welcome him, he looked up at the butler with pure, innocent trust in his eyes: “Butler Abel, from now on, everything in the territory will follow your established old customs. There is no need to discuss every little thing with me.”
The butler lowered his head even further: “This…”
“Could it be that they would defy my will?” Eugene finally let out a trace of arrogance belonging to his royal bloodline, speaking with righteous confidence.
The servants waiting in line in the hall lowered their heads one after another, frantically declaring that they wouldn’t dare.
Eugene’s gaze swept over them, taking the opportunity to evaluate them: Clearly, these servants had it even worse than the butler. Their clothes were ragged, their bodies emaciated, and many bore chilblains and other scars.
“Dwarves and goblins?” He noticed two non-human servants. Aristocrats with even a shred of wealth and power would disdain having such dirty, lowly slave races as attendants, preferring to have beautiful non-human races like elves and merfolk serve them.
It was clear just how barren the territory chosen by his good brother was.
Without waiting for Abel’s explanation, Eugene nodded and accepted the arrangement: “The people chosen by the butler can’t be wrong. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I’m tired, too.” He yawned, a layer of mist welling up at the corners of his eyes as he looked thoroughly sleepy.
“Your room has been cleaned up, and the newly hired cook has already prepared dinner for you,” Abel bowed slightly. “How should the knights who came from the Holy See be arranged?”
Eugene said offhandedly: “Arrange them however you like.”
An apologetic look immediately appeared on Butler Abel’s face: “There aren’t many rooms cleaned out on the second floor, so the knights will have to stay on the first floor.”
The captain of the knights frowned: This butler in a small place was actually eager to replace the knights’ status and become the lord’s confidant.
He had merely seen the young lord being escorted and looking noble, and had been blinded by it. What a truly ignorant fool seeking his own death.
The captain flashed a cold, haughty smile: “Then when will the second floor be cleaned out?”
Abel smiled slightly: “That’s hard to say.”
The two sides exchanged glances, an undercurrent of gunpowder smoke already filling the air.
Only the young lord, oblivious to the atmosphere, broke the silence: “Where is the staircase leading to the second floor?”
“Please follow me.” Abel looked away and bowed, gesturing for the lord to follow him.
The rotted wooden stairs let out a creaking sound. The dirty stone walls had cracks, and the all-pervading wind and snow forced their way through with biting chill.
Walking along, Eugene also caught sight of the servants’ quarters. To be precise, it was merely a place to sleep, huddled in the thicker-walled corridors and around the kitchen where the hearth fire never went out.
In comparison, his own room could be described as luxurious:
It had a sufficiently large space, a hard bed, a wooden desk with a chair, a large rug that might or might not have been made of bear skin, and, most precious of all, the holy seals from the Holy See.
Eugene’s gaze fell upon that small patch of holy seals.
Abel explained to him, his tone not lacking in pride: “As a territory belonging to the royal family, we also obtained the heating holy seals of the Holy See. Every half year, the most pious priests come to bless the seals, ensuring that your room remains warm all year round.”
Although the butler was extremely proud, Eugene knew that this small patch of heating holy seals was utterly mediocre in aristocratic circles. According to the game’s lore, every single inch of the walls in the royal palace the lord had left behind was covered in holy seals.
And relying on transcendental powers bestowed by deities, such as the holy seals, the Holy See had also acquired a status superior to the crown.
In his mind, Eugene dug up as much information as he could remember searching for before downloading the game: In this world’s supernatural powers, besides deities, there was also a kind of…
“What would you like for dinner?” Abel’s inquiry interrupted his train of thought.
“No rush. Tell me about the situation in the territory first.” The young lord sat down in the chair, his fingertips tapping unconsciously on the armrests like a restless, sharp blade.
Abel’s eyelid twitched, and when he looked up, he met the lord’s innocent expression.
Clearly, those were black eyes symbolizing sin, but at that moment, they radiated a pure clarity as if washed by water.
Abel put aside his doubts and began his introduction in an orderly manner.
Eugene gained a general understanding of his barren territory:
It was 100 square kilometers in size, which sounded large, yet the arable land area was less than 200 mu.
The territory had no mineral resources, few plants and animals, a harsh climate, and winter lasted for nearly half the year.
The personnel under his command included one elderly butler, one newly hired cook, five old servants, and thirty serfs of all ages included.
“What about food?” Eugene asked. Pausing, as he listened to the howling wind and snow outside the window, he added another question: “And firewood?”
Aside from hunger, the cold was also fatal.
Abel’s eyes flickered: “Enough to last you until the harvest festival next year.”
Eugene pressed further: “What about the serfs?”
“They only need a little bit of beans and hay to survive,” Abel lowered his head, concealing the sneer on his face. “Anyway, those fellows hated by the deities will be taken away by the Winter God, who symbolizes death.”
The butler’s tone was extremely sincere: “Rest assured, these dirty, lowly creatures will always keep appearing in endless streams. Next year, you can even use them to exchange with merchants for the things you need: furs, spices, wine, pottery…”
“Stop,” Eugene interrupted him helplessly, “I have an idea.”
The system suddenly chimed in: Make them find their own food! Force a slave revolt!
Eugene silently dragged the dialogue box away and gestured grandiosely: “Let them eat a bit more. Add beans, potatoes, and flour to their recipes. Let them eat one normal meal a day, preferably two.”
It would be even better if some meat and vegetables could be added.
However, looking at the black-and-white world devoid of green outside, that was probably impossible.
Abel was somewhat surprised and at a loss: “But all of this should be for you! If we eat like this, there won’t be anything left in the territory by the harvest festival!”
Eugene did not allow him to question it: “I think it’s fine.”
Little System, he explained to the system in his heart, what kind of lethality does a half-starved slave riot have? I just want to stuff their bellies, feed their ambitions, and squander the territory’s food reserves at the same time. By then, the territory’s economy will be dragged into a deficit, and strong, robust slaves will riot, causing my country to collapse in a split second, right?
The system had an epiphany and grew excited: Right! Host, who can tell the difference between you and a genius now?
“Also,” a trace of a smile flashed in the depths of Eugene’s eyes as his fingertips resumed their unconscious tapping on the armrest, “when it’s cold, let the serfs move into the castle to live.”
The slaves will be right inside the castle, and the moment they rebel, they can kill me! System, what do you think?
The system hurried to applaud its little genius host.
With the system’s support, without waiting for Butler Abel to persuade him, Eugene gave a grand wave of his hand and finalized the decision: “Just arrange it like that. Have someone bring dinner to my room.”
Abel could only agree, retreating with a belly full of doubts.
The wooden room door closed behind him, bringing with it a nauseating, rotted odor.
Was this lord truly innocent, foolish, and genuinely kind out of ignorance, or had he already discovered something?
All the serfs were convinced they had already heard the footsteps of winter. No one could mishear it, because the rustling, falling wind and snow were as bright and sharp as the Grim Reaper’s scythe.
A goblin and his family members huddled together.
The previous butler had not allowed them to build houses, nor would he ever allow dirty, lowly slaves like them to approach the castle. Therefore, only by huddling together like little wild animals in the wilderness could they barely maintain some warmth and find a glimmer of a chance to survive this winter.
“Brother, will they succeed?” His younger brother, the only surviving one from their family in recent years, crawled over to ask, his green skin wrinkled and covered in whip marks.
“They will,” the goblin older brother replied. “The new lord’s carriage has already entered the castle, and there’s no new smell of blood. They should all have been kept on as servants.”
The goblin younger brother pressed his flat belly and swallowed hard: “That’s great. In the future, I want to be the lord’s manservant, too. Then I won’t be cold anymore, and I can eat my fill.”
“Since Abel has become the butler, we’ll have a good life, right?” The goblin older brother didn’t dare dream of such good fortune, pinning all his hopes entirely on that capable human slave.
“Abel will only help the lord bully you all.” An aged voice rang out, shattering the young people’s dream.
This was an elderly female goblin whose organs, having nurtured too many children, sagged all the way down to the ground, and she impatiently flicked them over her shoulder.
She had been sold from the south to the far north and had seen far too many lords: “The lord is the heaven of the territory, not to mention he brought so many knights with him. It would be fine if Abel could kill him; otherwise, just wait and see!”
Heavy footsteps sounded, and the tall, thin silhouette they were familiar with emerged from the wind and snow.
The clustered group stirred: “Abel, it’s Abel back.”
He had come along with the plump cook.
Abel’s hoarse voice sounded like heavenly music in the wind and snow: “You can go into the castle to take shelter from the wind and snow this winter.”
“What?”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Really?”
Eager voices rang out one after another.
The old female goblin froze, her hands trembling slightly.
“Look, Abel really is going to bring us a good life.” The goblin older brother cheered up.
“This is the lord’s order! From now on, you must all be loyal to the lord and thank him!” The cook’s booming voice pierced through everything: “Our lord is a noble person who came straight from the royal palace!”
She crossed her hands in front of her chest, casting a sideways glance at Abel.
As a newly appointed cook, by the time she arrived, Abel had already led people to clean up the castle, so she had no idea what earth-shattering deeds these people had pulled off previously.
The cook hailed from a neighboring, more prosperous territory, which was why she looked down on the humble slaves of this rural backwater. Naturally, she was fiercely loyal to the lord and made it her mission to broadcast his nobility and greatness.
Abel did not deny it.
Consequently, the originally jubilant atmosphere stagnated for a split second.
“Hurry up and get into the castle! You can only stay in the very back corridor, and you aren’t allowed to appear before my lord ordinarily,” the cook bossed them around. But this attitude was precisely what made the slaves feel at ease.
They picked up their belongings one after another, perhaps a wooden bowl they had carved themselves or a wisp or two of hay, and closely followed behind the cook and the butler as they swarmed into the castle.
As soon as the goblin older brother stepped into the castle, he felt his frozen blood begin to flow and gurgle once again.
There was neither wind nor snow here; it was so warm and magnificent that he instinctively walked on tiptoe, wishing he could curl his entire body up to avoid drawing any disgusted glances.
“Can we really enter a place like this?”
“Gods, I must be dreaming.”
Many whispered conversations broke out.
The good things waiting for them today went far beyond just this.
Abel quickly led the servants to place heavy wooden barrels in front of them.
That was an entire barrel of gruel made from the lowest-grade beans!
A surging fragrance rolled over them, instantly overwhelming the goblin older brother’s nose and leaving him dizzy, as if he had stepped straight into the divine realm.
Am I dead? Otherwise, how could I possibly see such wonderful things!
“This is your food,” the cook said, looking with disgust at the group of dirty slaves. If not for the lord’s order, she would rather dump it out than give such things to slaves to eat!
Abel directed them to line up: “Come up one by one and receive a bowl.”
The goblin older brother tremblingly clutched his bowl of bean gruel. With a single gulp, his withered stomach was filled, and warmth spread all the way from his abdomen to his limbs.
Plop.
His tears fell down.
“Brother, eat.” The goblin younger brother had already wolfed down the majority of his gruel, and seeing his older brother start to cry, he hurriedly handed over the tiny bit of beans left in his bowl.
“It’s fine,” the goblin older brother choked out, tilting the edge of the bowl to give a bit back to his brother. “You need to eat well and live well.”
Behind them, the old female goblin slowly savored her bowl of bean gruel: “The new lord is a good man.”
Abel’s gaze swept over the slaves who were eating with eager haste, and various discussions continuously entered his ears.
“If only we could keep eating like this in the future.”
“The new lord must be a holy child blessed by the gods!”
“I hope the lord lives a long life.”
The bearded man also finished slurping up his bean gruel, flicking his tongue to lick the bowl completely clean, and sidled up to him: “Abel, this lord, should we?”
Abel saw hesitation in his eyes. Rather than risking the death penalty to kill their master, they were much happier to toil away until death within slightly loosened shackles.
The bearded man was still smacking his lips: “Actually, I think those servants before were just bad. The lord is never wrong, and we shouldn’t have been so impulsive back then. Now that the lord has come, he’ll surely help us.”
Abel’s heart sank.
The commotion in several parts of the castle alarmed the knights.
“What is the lord doing?” The captain of the knights wiped the golden emblem symbolizing glory as he questioned the subordinate who had pushed the door open and entered.
“He let all those slaves in,” the knight said, disgust evident on his face. “They’re just a bunch of outcasts ignored by the gods.”
The captain of the knights shook his head dismissively: “The little lord doesn’t feel secure sharing a residence with us.”
He snapped the emblem back into its original position and stood up like a rising mountain, exuding massive oppression: “He’s using that sycophantic butler to disperse our authority, separating our rooms from his, and letting these slaves into the castle. Does he really think these low-born scum can protect him?”
The knight nodded: “Are we really not going to make a move?”
A fanatical look finally surfaced on the captain’s normally icy face: “No need. The ill-fated child will perish by his own hand. We only need to stand on the sidelines and watch him walk toward his end.”
He warned his subordinate once more: “Don’t do anything extra.”
The bishop had already peered into fate, and if they took matters into their own hands, they would only end up helping the ill-fated child.
What a truly cunning enemy indeed.
“Achoo!”
Eugene rubbed his nose and pushed away the soup, which had an extremely pungent odor.
The new cook’s masterpiece had large quantities of spices and salt dumped into it. The flavor was bizarre, simultaneously salty and bitter, and a single sip felt like having one’s soul leave the body.
Eugene gave up on the hot soup helplessly and opted for the cold-looking pan-fried meat.
He took a big bite.
The long-spoiled cured meat gave off a sour, stinky odor, which the cook had masked with spices, blending it into a horrific, ultimate flavor profile that was both fragrant and foul.
Not to mention the bread, which was as hard to bite into as stone!
Eugene looked pitiful: System, can you block my sense of taste?
The system was apologetic: Dear, the system does not offer this service.
Grieving and furious, Eugene pushed the dinner plate away and collapsed face-first onto the cold, hard bed.
Recalling the feces scattered everywhere in the castle, grief welled up within him as he rolled around on the bed and wailed: System, I don’t want to live anymore!
The system cheered him on: That’s right, so please keep up the good work and drive the country to collapse sooner!
Eugene deeply agreed: Right! Our goal is national collapse! No dog would want to live in medieval times!