The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 822: Original text: Chapter Three Hundred and Eighty-One From the New Century (5K6)_3 Revised: Chapter 381 From the New Century (5K6)_3

Bentham’s eyes widened slightly when he heard this, and the old man seemed to understand something.

He didn’t look surprised, just saddened and regretful.

The old man looked up at the sunlight outside the window and nodded slightly, saying, “You are right, Arthur has always been excellent in his studies. He must remember the words I once told him: Those who reach too eagerly for the stars often forget the flowers at their feet, and the highest principle of morality is to maximize happiness. Those who can endure pain often bear more than ordinary people, but I did not expect the water in the vase to be so much that it could drown him.”

Louis bowed his head, taking a deep breath, and said, “Mr. Bentham, it’s no use talking about this now. I believe, if Arthur were still here, his only wish would be for you to take care of your health, for you to go on living.”

Bentham looked at the glass on the windowsill, as if seeing his reflection in it: “How long has it been?”

“It was this morning.” Louis pursed his lips. “A few hours ago, while all of Britain was cheering, his heart stopped beating.”

Bentham shook his head slightly, his appearance a bit weary: “Though it’s rude to ask, young man, could you go downstairs and get me a glass of water?”

Louis nodded, he also wanted to get some fresh air. This room made him feel oppressed, almost driving him mad.

Bentham watched Louis exit the room and gently close the door. His gaze quickly shifted to the other side, to that bright, sunlit window, where a blood-red devil leaned, eating an apple.

Bentham gave a knowing smile and said, “Have you come to take me away? Is it true that unbelievers like me are destined for Hell?”

“Hell? It’s long been overcrowded.” Agares threw away the apple core and snorted, “I can’t even get in, and you think you can cut in line?”

Bentham observed the strange creature before him, thinking this was just a hallucination before death, and laughed cheerfully: “Hearing you say that, even devils have moved to Heaven now?”

“Devils? Devils are all walking the mortal world.”

Agares paced to Bentham, bending down to examine the old man: “Speaking of which, you seem very calm. Ordinary people either go mad with fright or fall to their knees in prayer when they see me. Of all the people I’ve met, you are the third strangest.”

Bentham smiled and asked, “Well then, may I have the honor of knowing who the first and second are?”

Agares placed a hand on Bentham’s shoulder.

“One was King Solomon, far too ancient for you. But the other, you know him, Arthur Hastings, your good student at the University of London. Old man, did you ever imagine your good student to be a Contractor of the Devil, an irredeemable demon in the mortal world?

Anyway, it’s your ten lifetimes’ fortune that I sent him to be nurtured among you. Regrettably, he’s now dead, dead like a humble insect crushed into the mud, with no chance of turning over posthumously.

You humans are always like this, putting all sins on a fallen dead man. It’s just so fitting. A truly pathetic race, which is why I despise you lot – constantly begging for protection, pretending to be resilient and principled when denied. You are indeed despicable and at the same time, exceedingly cowardly.”

Bentham listened quietly to the Red Devil’s sarcastic rant. He felt neither anger nor joy, just smiled and said, “So why did you come to me? I am a dying man. Are you here to take my soul?”

“You are smart, at least smarter than that cheering bunch outside.”

Agares paced around the room: “But you are wrong, old man. I’m not interested in ordinary souls. While your soul is slightly greater than common folk, I am after something nobler and purer. Let’s make a trade; I will give you five years of life in exchange for a promise unfulfilled in you.”

“A promise?” Bentham said in realization, “You mean Arthur?”

“Exactly.”

Agares sneered: “Five years of life, it’s quite a bargain. You just have to nod and hand over that, and you can bounce right off the bed, receive the mindless cheers outside, and continue as their opinion leader. Once the reform bill passes, your already soaring reputation will become even more prominent. Aren’t you a pioneer in the field of law? Maybe they’ll seize the chance to make you High Chancellor, Speaker of the House of Lords, positions untouched all your life. And all for the cost of a student’s promise. You have plenty of students after all.”

Bentham did not immediately agree with Agares’ offer but instead, questioned back: “I have many students, and you must have many Contractors. Why do you specifically seek this one? And what are you planning to do with him?”

Agares spread his hands and smirked: “Sorry, old man. Answering questions isn’t part of our deal. You can choose to refuse, but I assure you, if you do, there will never be another chance.”

“I refuse.” Almost the moment the Red Devil closed his mouth, Bentham blurted out without hesitation.

Agares’ smile froze; sparks roiled around, flames igniting around him as if about to burn down the book-filled study.

However, Bentham wasn’t frightened by such a reaction. To a dying man, he had long been fearless.

Agares stared intently into his eyes: “Why? I need a reason.”

“You should ask yourself that.”

Bentham remained unflinching, his smile as warm as the sun: “I love my students like the Devil loves his Contractors. A small, fleeting hope often arises from a purely natural environment. A strong and enduring hope only stems from law or principle. He already bears too much water, how can I not share some of his burden? Devil, you know, I am a utilitarian.”

Agares glanced at him and said nothing more, then suddenly snapped his fingers.

His figure began to gradually dissolve into the air along with the flames: “People say, only by knowing the end of the book can you truly understand its beginning. My biggest mistake was sending him to the University of London. Had I known, I should have sent him to Cambridge or Oxford.”

Bentham watched Agares’ figure gradually vanish, smiling as he asked, “If you had indeed sent him to Oxford or Cambridge, you wouldn’t so desperately want to acquire his promise. Forgive me, Devil. One last question, Arthur, your Contractor, what will his fate be?”

Agares’ body already disappeared, leaving only his voice echoing in the empty study.

“He will resurrect on the third day after his heart stopped.”

Click.

The study door was pushed open.

With a bang, the glass shattered, warm water spilled freely over the floor.

“Mr… Mr. Bentham…”

Jeremy Bentham, the courteous old man, a pioneer in Britain’s legal field, the spiritual father of the University of London, did not respond this time with his usual polite greetings to every friend who asked.

Instead, he reclined quietly in his chair, his arms hanging limply. What he presented to the incoming century was a satisfied, radiant smile.