Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 143
Although there was no immediate response from the Cat God, after a brief moment of surprise, Oliver quickly shifted his attention away from Him.
Of course, cats shouldn’t drink alcohol—but the Cat God wasn’t an actual cat. He was a genuine deity possessing feline features like cat ears and a tail, along with certain adorable little habits.
Fruit wines brewed with rice wine as the base—which had an alcohol content of at most 20-30%—could hardly harm a divine body.
Having tasted some strong liquors in modern times, Oliver believed that unless someone had particularly poor alcohol tolerance… these drinks didn’t even possess the ability to intoxicate an ordinary human.
Naturally, there was no need to worry about anything happening to the Cat God.
What surprised Oliver, however, was that these beverages—which he considered barely satisfactory, almost like alcoholic drinks—were actually receiving enthusiastic welcome from others.
“This is incredible.”
Having unconsciously finished all four small cups, Oakwood couldn’t help licking his lower lip, savoring the lingering taste: “I never knew you could make wine not just from grapes, but also from cherries, dried dates, and wild berries too!”
The sweet aroma of dates perfectly intertwined with the mellow fragrance of glutinous rice wine, while the brew from slightly warmer climates naturally carried a tartness that was perfectly balanced by the added rock sugar.
The crystal-clear liquid offered a sweet-and-sour flavor, leaving an endlessly memorable richness on the tongue.
Completely unlike the pale ale with its somewhat unpleasant pale yellow color and rather pungent aroma—this was truly… delicious!
Though Oakwood still cherished wine as a symbol of nobility, he wouldn’t mind spending a few gold coins just to taste a cup or two of this.
Moreover, those wines that only flourished in neighboring countries were far too expensive.
During the peak grape season, locally produced wine sold for less than 10 gold coins per barrel, but after being transported over mountains and rivers by cunning merchants, they could command astronomical prices of at least 50 gold coins per barrel!
In most cases, however, nobles who disdained drinking “cheap stuff” like pale ale would willingly have their butlers pay that amount.
Wines from certain specific regions were even more astonishingly expensive. According to the foreign noble who owned that particular vineyard, his grapes grew up listening to bards singing every day.
Though Oliver considered this marketing approach utterly crude, it satisfied the nobles’ vanity of wanting to be distinctive.
Combined with the carefully tended vines producing superior tasting wine, it naturally attracted acclaim from nobles across various countries, once reaching a point where prices soared beyond availability.
Oliver vaguely remembered that the old king—who had been quite fond of him—was one of the most famous victims among this group: during a court banquet celebrating Oliver’s 16th birthday, to flaunt his wealth and status, the king extravagantly opened a full 10 barrels of premium wine worth 1,000 gold coins each before guests from various nations.
This so excited the few bards fortunate enough to taste them that they danced about, composing poetry about “rivers of golden blood flowing through the feast,” deeply astonishing the foreign nobles in attendance.
“And that’s not all?” Oliver observed everyone’s reactions with a smile, speaking deliberately: “Other types of alcohol have also begun brewing, though they require a longer time—about two to three months.”
They wouldn’t make it in time for the Spring Market, but would certainly be ready before the Summer Market.
Beyond seasonal fruit wines, certain vegetables and flowers could also be fermented into alcohol.
However, unlike most fruit wines that only require rice wine as a base, these required higher-proof white alcohol as their foundation.
What Oliver lacked wasn’t the raw materials like sorghum and wheat needed for brewing white alcohol: sorghum itself was one of the most suitable spring crops for herbaceous cultivation, and he’d already had the slaves plant large areas of it in the wild fields outside the city walls.
As a green manure plant, it enhanced soil fertility; when its roots extended deep into the soil layer, it also helped with tilling; moreover, sorghum could grow quite tall and, with proper wind direction, could serve as a natural windbreak.
While weakening wind force, it could also help block some flying pests from the crops “inside the walls.”
Oliver still remembered the principles and general steps for making distilled spirits.
Currently, all he lacked was brewing time and, most importantly, distillation equipment.
Fortunately, glassmaking techniques had already emerged… He guessed custom-ordering a set shouldn’t be too difficult.
Though he’d likely need to consult the chemists of this era—the Alchemists.
At Oliver’s initiative, his subordinates quickly shed their restraint and enthusiastically had servants continue pouring them more drinks.
After taking a small sip of each type of alcohol, Oliver lost interest.
He played with the slender stem of his silver cup while smilingly observing everyone.
He certainly didn’t miss an interesting scene: even the usually reserved and stern butler Fosse showed rare favor for cherry wine, discreetly pouring himself an extra cup.
Oliver couldn’t help a slight smile, thoughtfully pretending not to notice the butler’s unusually revealed preference.
He’d already decided: once the distillation equipment was ready, the first batch of distilled spirits produced in Albury must be given to Fosse to taste first.
This was just the beginning.
Ever since confirming the cost price of these alcohols, Oliver had already set their selling prices in his mind.
He planned to use the more troublesome—yet currently unique for this era—distilled spirits with unprecedented alcohol content as future premium products, setting higher prices; for the fruit wines that only required rice wine as base and followed seasonal fruit availability, he intended to target the mid-range market with affordable pricing.
Of course, these were still reprocessed alcohols.
Most fruits that would rot within ten days of picking were difficult to preserve and transport unless dried, so their prices wouldn’t be particularly high; however, once brewed into wine, they wouldn’t depreciate.
Moreover, when having these alcohols brewed, the materials were all natural products from the forests owned by the lord, making this aspect of cost almost negligible.
But reprocessed alcohols were based on glutinous rice wine and wheat beer, with added small amounts of expensive sugar, and their production process was more complicated than regular beer, so they naturally should be priced slightly higher than pale ale brewed with hops.After final calculations, the cost per barrel fell within the range of 3-10 gold coins, which was 1.5 times the price of medium-quality pale ale during this season.
Due to deteriorating brewing conditions and the fact that drinking helped with warmth, the price of pale ale would be much higher in winter.
Oliver’s final pricing was simply adding a fixed 2 gold coins to the cost per barrel.
This was a price that commoner families with medium or slightly above-average living standards could afford by tightening their belts just a bit.
Meanwhile, lower-grade wheat beer and rice wine, similar to pale ale, could also be launched simultaneously. Priced similarly to pale ale, they became the miners’ favorites.
This was practically a business that could be conducted year-round.
The more Oliver saw how everyone cherished and praised the simply crafted fruit wine, the more eager he became to have someone quickly find an Alchemist or glass artisan to create the distillation equipment he needed.
For now…
The blond lord smiled, casually taking the hand of the ever-silent Cat God. Seizing the moment when everyone was slightly tipsy, he quietly left the hall and headed toward the bedroom upstairs.
…Let his hardworking subordinates first indulge unreservedly in the revelry brought by the fruit wine.
It wasn’t until he returned to the bedroom in good spirits and prepared to bathe in the adjacent bathroom that Oliver belatedly realized something.
The Cat God seemed… truly unwell.
As soon as they entered the room, He eagerly released his cat ears and tail. The long tail fluffed up, excitedly raised high, while the furry triangular ears folded and perked alternately.
His usually clear and bright golden eyes were now hazy with mist, his handsome face flushed with an unmistakable rosy hue that trailed down his slender neck and disappeared into his collar.
“Dear Cat God.”
Oliver’s eyes widened slightly as he marveled in disbelief. “With such low-alcohol fruit wine… you’re actually drunk?”
The silver cup was exquisitely small – by his estimation, even when full, it held less than 40ml, let alone being only half-filled.
After all, his intention had merely been to let everyone taste it.
Even though rice wine had a slightly higher alcohol content than pale ale, others who had consumed two or three times that amount were only slightly tipsy!
Upon hearing Oliver’s words, the deity experiencing drunkenness for the first time merely gazed at him with confused golden eyes.
At first glance, He appeared to be watching him calmly as usual.
But upon closer observation, it was clear his gaze wasn’t truly focused – it was scattered and dazed.
His thin lips sometimes pressed tightly together, sometimes parted slightly.
Those restless ears moved just as erratically, mirroring his disordered heartbeat and the fluctuating divine power within Him.
“Are you alright?”
Oliver frowned.
Feeling somewhat at a loss, he murmured to himself, “…… I don’t know how to care for a drunk deity.”
When in doubt, take a bath first.
When he noticed the Cat God silently following him in, wearing an expression of utmost seriousness while watching him undress… Oliver, after a brief moment of awkwardness, easily convinced himself and continued bathing.
A big cat with a pure heart—whether out of worry that its owner might disappear or due to drunken loss of control—when it insists on opening the bathroom door, would any owner truly feel offended?
At least Oliver wouldn’t.
Johan, who had officially become his only personal valet, had once again prepared water at the perfect temperature—this was certainly not heated on the spot. Instead, whenever Oliver returned to the castle, Johan would periodically come to reheat the unused water until it was fortunate enough to be used by his master.
Under normal circumstances, Oliver would linger in the bath a while longer, using the time to ponder his plans for the coming days.
But now, with the tall cat-eared youth watching him intently like a “cat on the prowl,” even if he didn’t mind its presence, he couldn’t stay for too long.
After a hasty wash, he brought the Cat God to bed.
No sooner had he lain down than the increasingly clingy big cat deity deftly rolled over and pressed directly on top of him.
First came sticky kisses on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and his lips.
Then, naturally, they trailed down to his neck, collarbone, and shoulders.
Next, while nuzzling against him, it pushed aside his loose sleepwear, exposing his chest, waist, and abdomen…
Just as Oliver was about to resign himself to letting it do as it pleased and escape into sleep, he suddenly felt uneasy.
“Wait.”
Frowning slightly, he decided to intervene a little with this big cat acting strangely after drinking and gently pushed it away.
“Oliver?”
It remained in the pushed-back position, staring blankly as it asked.
Meeting those golden eyes filled with confusion and deep grievance, Oliver, after a brief, inexplicably guilty silence, spoke as tactfully as possible to the drunken cat: “I just took a bath and don’t want to feel sticky.”
Of course, he was lying—or rather, offering a casual excuse.
Although he could clearly feel each of those “kisses” that left him feeling odd, they didn’t bring any unpleasant stickiness; everything still felt refreshing.
There couldn’t be any unpleasant odor either.
Whether it was his imagination or not, Oliver faintly sensed that the rose fragrance he carried seemed… to have grown stronger after being licked by it.
After all, wasn’t that divine saliva?
Oliver’s thoughts wandered.
After quietly staring at his beloved believer for a while, the Cat God—especially clumsy yet straightforward and instinct-driven when drunk—finally figured out what to do.
The next moment, the blond lord’s vision suddenly went dark.
When his sight returned, he found himself in that long-unseen golden temple.
Oliver: “……”
