Chapter 165: You Won’t Get Angry... So Kill Yourself

Old Man Daren was utterly defeated. Every time he attempted to conjure a fresh demand that might finally succeed in driving Neil to rage, he became increasingly certain it would be useless.

Dozens of ideas had crossed his mind, but the problem was that most of them were capable of getting him killed before he even had the chance to see Neil enraged. Perhaps Neil would fly into a fury and then kill him afterward, but in the end, it made little difference to Daren—he would end up dead in either scenario.

He had thought of numerous other requests as well.

Yet compared to every idea that had occurred to him throughout the entire day, what this man, Neil, had already done made those thoughts seem entirely trivial.

When Neil halted his performance of the worm dance, Old Man Daren momentarily considered scolding him for stopping, then ordering him to perform a far more humiliating dance. But before the words could escape his throat, he suddenly felt that it was simply no longer worth the effort.

If he were to command him, for instance: "Neil, get angry!"

It was highly probable that Neil would merely gaze back at him with the very same cold expression, then proceed to feign anger with such absolute professionalism that he might actually reach a point where he became genuinely enraged.

At that point, Daren would have officially declared intellectual bankruptcy.

That anger wouldn’t even be real in the first place; it would be nothing more than a compliance with his request, failing to achieve Daren’s desired objective in any way, shape, or form. Rather, it would be akin to an outright declaration of surrender before a man who seemingly lacked a single psychological breaking point.

Old Man Daren continued mulling over other possibilities.

Perhaps he could demand that Neil praise this world’s tax system?

He paused briefly at that thought, feeling that, for some reason, the tax system here might actually be merciful.

Though that possibility was exceedingly slim.

Taxes, by their very nature, knew no mercy.

Perhaps he could demand that Neil proclaim himself the biggest failure the world had ever known?

No, that wouldn’t work either.

Daren was almost certain Neil would utter it with the exact same expressionless face, as though stating a mere statistical fact that didn’t even warrant an arched eyebrow.

Perhaps he could demand something far more provocative, like declaring this world’s governments to be the absolute finest humanity had ever seen?

Daren pondered the idea for a moment, then backed off.

That wouldn’t work either.

The governments of this world might not even resemble the governments he had known on Earth, and praising them might be completely normal to Neil, hardly something worth getting angry over.

Daren began to realize that the problem wasn’t his failure to find the right demand...

Rather, it was that this man appeared capable of executing any order, no matter how absurd, without ever allowing Daren to wring the reaction he sought out of him.

And for a man who had spent his entire life analyzing and testing human beings like Daren had, this was immensely frustrating.

After several minutes of that heavy silence, Neil stood behind Daren’s wheelchair without moving or uttering a single word, as if standing behind an old man’s chair in the middle of a garden at night was the most routine assignment of his life.

It was easy to notice that Daren’s wheelchair was entirely different from before—it was brand new. In fact, it was hardly ordinary at all; it was adorned with an exquisitely breathtaking piece of artistic artwork, and it was glaringly obvious that the artist who painted it had placed his signature in an elegant script along one of its edges.

Yes, this had been one of Daren’s countless demands.

He had simply requested that one of the most famous artists in the nation be brought over, then tasked with painting upon the newest wheelchair freshly manufactured in a factory—demanding that the chair itself be one of the most expensive and opulent models available.

And Neil had executed the request to perfection.

Nor did it stop there.

Five plates could also be seen tossed onto the grass near Daren, having ended up there in a manner that was certainly unfitting for the cost of the food served within them.

In the first dish, whose contents were completely scattered across the ground, were cuts of one of the rarest, most luxurious fresh seafood delicacies in this world.

As for the second dish, it contained an extraordinarily bizarre soup whose ingredients Daren had invented on the spot while seated in his chair, before demanding Neil prepare it through near-impossible means.

He hadn’t merely asked him to cook it differently; he had demanded a boiling hot soup prepared entirely without the use of fire.

Yet a short while later, a steaming bowl of hot soup materialized before him, exactly as ordered.

When Daren inquired in utter shock about how he had managed to pull it off, Neil had simply replied that he utilized an instant magical culinary artifact.

That answer had not been part of Daren’s calculations.

Well... fine.

As for the remaining dishes, they were no less lavish by any means—every single one comprised exorbitant delicacies Daren had selected with extreme care, only to later treat them as though they were mere props in a drawn-out psychological experiment.

The old man had done all of this deliberately.

He wanted to provoke this ironclad butler by any means necessary—to make him feel that everything he did was completely worthless, or at the very least drive him to blow up in his face after a full day of infuriating demands.

Yet Neil didn’t budge.

He didn’t scream.

He didn’t complain.

Not a single clear sign appeared on his face to indicate he was anywhere near the brink of his endurance.

He simply stood behind Daren’s wheelchair with his usual professional composure.

It was then that Daren felt compelled to finally deploy his absolute final weapon.

He hadn’t wanted to resort to it.

Yet he saw no other option left.

He raised his head slightly, speaking in a deliberately provocative tone:

"You... you are truly useless."

Neil remained silent.

Daren swallowed hard, then delivered the final strike:

"I order you to kill yourself."

Daren had no idea how Neil would react to such a command, but he was certain of at least one thing: if Neil actually attempted to execute the order, he would stop him immediately.

Because of this, he watched him with intense anticipation, waiting for any shift to manifest across his features.

One second.

Two seconds.

Then came Neil’s response in absolute tranquility:

"If I do that... won’t you just kill yourself right after me so your soul can catch up to mine and finish giving me your orders?"

Daren froze.

Silence fell over the courtyard.

He stared back at Neil for a long, agonizing moment.

Then he muttered inwardly:

Dammit...

It seems he’s completely lost his mind.

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Dear readers, I would like to ask you for a quick favor. Truth be told, I have only received a gift for this novel once so far. Of course, I am not asking for anything huge... but if you are enjoying the story, please consider supporting me with at least a Coke!

Thank you so much to everyone following the novel!

Also... I promise that if a gift is sent by any of you today, I will release five extra Chapters today!

Update: I... I am truly, deeply sorry... A mistake occurred in the Chapter release order, and one Chapter was accidentally skipped. I sincerely apologize if the plot suddenly felt like it jumped completely out of nowhere... You can head back now to read the previous Chapter. I am so sorry!

Have you forgiven me or not...?