Each whip that hissed against his skin was euphoria.
High Lord Rashal took the whippings without letting out so much as a grunt.
Compared to the terrible things that he had already endured in order to be in the position he was in right now, what were a few lashes? What was a fleeting moment of pain? They were nothing but necessary sacrifices that paved the road forward.
Humiliation, pain, and strength—he's willing to sacrifice anything to reach the higher sky.
As a plebeian, a lowborn, someone who was born in poverty and rose through the power rankings, High Lord Rashal knew that people like him couldn't be stingy. Patricians, the highborn, could rise in power while maintaining dignity and pride.
But that's a privilege for their kind, one that High Lord Rashal was dying to have.
Yet the cards were already dealt, and he needed to play his.
Losing in a battle of wit against High Lord Ursa meant the end was near.
