HTLCCBFT Chapter 174

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 174

At the banquet, even the well-traveled members of the Duke’s knight order were without exception astonished by the exquisite wine from Albury city.

Having initially taken only an absent-minded sip, they were caught off guard as the potent brew numbed their entire tongues and set their throats ablaze with a fiery sensation.

Loyel’s sun-tanned complexion flushed a noticeable red, and he instinctively moved the wine glass farther away.

“What kind of wine is this?” he asked in surprise.

Upon learning it was “Cat God’s Glory,” he frowned slightly. Before he could inquire further, the cheerful Noel provided an even more startling revelation—

“His Highness brewed this wine himself?!”

“Yes,” replied Noel, his face already flushed red from just one glass of “Cat God’s Glory,” unable to conceal his pride. “Not only this variety you’re drinking, but all the wines at this banquet were crafted step by step by the vintners following His Highness’s instructions.”

Of course, to be precise, the primary method employed was not brewing but “distillation.”

Yet this was enough to leave Loyel speechless with shock.

He tightened his brow, hesitated while holding the glass, and ultimately lost any desire to continue drinking.

In just one short year, how had Noel become so… shameless?

As subordinates, how could they allow His Highness to labor so arduously and then complacently enjoy the fruits of their master’s work?

“We’ve been away from His Highness’s side for far too long,” Loyel said, doing his best to maintain a pleasant demeanor as he probed Noel, who seemed completely oblivious to the impropriety of “the esteemed Duke personally brewing wine and generously providing it to his knights.” “Would you mind explaining what exactly happened?”

Although Loyel was nominally only the vice-captain of the knights, this was solely due to the old king’s personal preferences during the appointment—in terms of seniority, strength, and prestige, Loyel was unquestionably superior.

Having worked alongside him for over six years, Noel was not fooled by this peaceful facade.

Though the alcohol had slowed his thinking, Noel paused briefly while staring at him before comprehending.

Rather than explaining verbally, he simply gestured for Loyel to follow him to the window, then pointed at the land between the moat and the castle. “Can you see it clearly?”

What was Noel trying to say?

Loyel frowned deeply, feeling both bewildered and irritated as if being toyed with. “Of course I can.”

“Half a month ago, that was just an empty plot,” Noel coughed lightly and explained. “Now, as you can see, it has completely transformed into a cornfield.”

“Noel,” Loyel said, his patience wearing thin after waiting only to receive this unrelated response, his tone growing heavier. “I believe my question was solely about the wine, not the cornfield.”

“But you should also know,” Noel’s gaze now held a trace of sympathy and amusement, “that whether it’s that cornfield, these wines, or the recently repaired large gap in the castle wall, all were done by His Highness’s own hand. And His Highness insists on doing so, reportedly following the divine decree of the Cat God, to pass the trials of the great deity.”

In Noel’s eyes, the companions who had just arrived today were undoubtedly the same as himself and Mr. Fosse when they first came to Laina.

The great Cat God surely knew how utterly shocked they had been when they first witnessed the young lord wielding a hoe to reclaim wasteland, swinging a heavy axe to fell giant trees in just a few strikes, and even handling a pickaxe that could easily smash through city walls!

Fortunately, after witnessing such scenes repeatedly, almost no astonishing sight could faze them anymore—except for this time’s egg explosion.

“And these pickled corns on the table, along with all egg and pork-related dishes, were taught to the slaves step by step by Lord Oliver, who developed and built everything from scratch. Oh, and the fish—since His Highness didn’t know when you’d return, he went fishing in the river these past few days and cooked them all into soup this time.”

Loyel: “……”

After hearing Noel’s detailed account, the usually calm and steady vice-knight commander’s stern profile cracked silently like a marble statue struck by a heavy hammer.

Although Loyel most wanted to ask Fosse, or ideally his young lord, directly…

But even as his dazed self was dragged away drunk by rowdy companions, he never managed to spot those two figures at the banquet.

Oliver had only occupied the main seat during the initial period. Seeing the banquet atmosphere gradually intensify, and wanting his long-absent subordinates to fully relax at this welcoming feast, he quietly slipped away with Fosse to the conference hall upstairs without alerting anyone.

Of course, the ever-present Cat God followed closely.

Compared to the grand banquet hall, the conference room was equally luxurious—everywhere stood silver candlesticks with golden tops, aside from the massive round table made from the finest lumber that required five or six people to lift.

If all the candlesticks were lit, Oliver had no doubt this spacious conference hall—large enough to accommodate nearly a hundred people at once—would be bright as daylight.

While commoners generally hesitated to light lamps at night, preferring early sleep after cooking fires died down, the thrifty Lord of Laina obviously wouldn’t engage in extravagance.

The brilliantly lit banquet hall was to show respect for the returning important knights; but in the conference hall… with only three “beings” present, Oliver—pushing the virtue of frugality to its extreme—simply wore the [Ring of the Cat God], which consumed nothing tangible yet provided impeccable illumination.

“Thanks to you this time, Fosse.”

Oliver said with a smile: “Your letters actually summoned the entire knight order… I’m truly astonished.”

But Fosse rose from his seat, bowed slightly, and declined the credit: “Your Highness, this is absolutely not my achievement.” All glory belongs to the most benevolent and noble master—Your Highness yourself.”

Before Oliver could say more, he continued sincerely: “I never lie. Anyone who has ever followed true nobility—A man cannot bear to carry out the commands of arrogant fools. Whether it was managing the remote and barren Laina, saving the fallen Albury, or launching that splendid counterattack against the arrogant Gride—all came from your will and wisdom, my dear master.”

In truth, had Fosse written to recall the scattered knights when Oliver first arrived in Laina city, they would have rushed back without hesitation.

But Fosse did not do so.

It wasn’t that he doubted the loyalty of the other knights, but because the young master was still too fragile at the time—both in physical constitution and in the courage to confront the new king’s forces. Luring the young master into openly defying the king’s decree might have been the very reason behind that cunning Cameron’s unreasonable command.

Unable to oppose Cameron even indirectly, Fosse had no choice but to swallow his fury, temporarily remove his master from the eye of the storm, and order Loyel and the others to stand by.

Now, however, things were entirely different.

As the largest city in the south, Gregor ranked among the top three in tax revenue among the dozens of cities in the kingdom, on par with Riche city and Wealfay.

With such substantial resources at their disposal, they no longer needed to fear Cameron’s wrath as before and could openly summon the knights back to their side.

Oliver shook his head with a smile, not bothering to argue with the butler over “who deserved more credit,” and smoothly moved on to the next topic: “In any case, Loyel and the others’ arrival has been a great help.”

Fosse calmly suggested, “Such a significant movement cannot escape the notice of the cunning Cameron. With your permission, my lord, I propose we discreetly send more letters to win over nobles in the capital who hold some influence and are unwilling to submit to that villain who murdered his own father and brother.”

Here, Fosse hesitated slightly before carefully observing the young master’s expression and continuing slowly: “Your former fiancée, though commendably brave, has a foolish and greedy father who leaves much to be desired. He is now busy currying favor at court banquets…”

Oliver’s thoughts were still elsewhere and he failed to react.

Meanwhile, the golden-haired deity whom Fosse had completely ignored showed a subtle shift in his gaze.

“Fiancée?”

Oliver unconsciously repeated the keyword, then shook his head without hesitation and said gently: “No, Fosse. I will never use marriage as a political bargaining chip. Never.”

He deliberately restrained himself from glancing at the Cat God’s expression at that moment, maintaining a straight face as he fabricated: “You should know well that those closest to the deity must possess the purest body and spirit. Unfortunately, the latter inevitably becomes tainted by the corruption of power, and I am no exception. Therefore, I wish to at least preserve the purity of the former, so as not to betray the great boon of the Cat God.”

As the person most aware of how profound the young master’s divine favor was and how much that divine preference had aided him, Fosse showed no surprise or opposition.

He bowed compliantly: “As you wish, my lord.”

“I currently have no intention of courting those opposition nobles in the royal capital either.”

Oliver smiled and said: “After all, I’m still too far from the royal capital. Even if I won them over, the assistance they could provide at this stage would be negligible. Moreover, my departure from there was particularly disgraceful, something they’re unlikely to forget quickly. If I actively approach them, it would only encourage them to make exorbitant demands, adopt arrogant postures, and propose harsh conditions I simply cannot accept.”

Regardless of the era, when one’s competitive position is weak, securing support from the most cunning politicians inevitably requires surrendering substantial interests.

Fosse frowned slightly, seeming hesitant to speak.

“I’m well aware of your concerns, my dear butler.”

Oliver deepened his smile and spoke unhurriedly: “It might be too early to explain in detail now, but what I wish to accomplish extends far beyond simply overthrowing Cameron’s throne. The path I’ve chosen—the more I rely on others’ power, the more obstacles it will create for me later.”

A simple question: why would nobles support him?

If the old king’s favor and bloodline truly mattered that much, they wouldn’t have stood by watching as he was driven from the royal capital and forced to Laina—known as The Cursed Land—effectively sentencing him to death.

The most rigidly principled and proud nobles probably perished in that political upheaval. Those who still refuse to submit to the new king include many who simply find the “price” offered by the new king insufficient.

Even Cameron, with power in his hands, cannot easily win them over—let alone Oliver, who is currently at a disadvantage in every aspect.

Unless he abandons morality and reputation, making empty promises now only to burn bridges later… otherwise, relying on those nobles to elevate him would make him little more than a puppet king.

But what is his reason for wanting to become king?

First, to change the laws.

To make them more favorable to commoners and slaves, and less favorable to nobles with absolute privilege.

He is destined to become the nobles’ enemy—the degree of hostility determined only by the gap in their ideologies.

The more they seek to dominate other classes and profit from exploiting the lower classes, the harder and more severe their reckoning will be.

Of course, there has never been a world of absolute equality. No matter how idealistic or ambitious Oliver might be, he’s never been naive enough to attempt leaping directly from aristocratic rule to democratic systems.

The march of history is like a carriage that can only advance slowly—no matter how impatient one might be, gradual progress is essential.

At least for now, the existence of nobles remains necessary.

“I will make that loaf of bread bigger, much bigger. Big enough to feed everyone, while naturally allowing a few—whether through luck, effort, or wisdom—to receive larger portions.”

“But I will no longer permit anyone to write their name on that loaf and claim entire ownership, only allowing those who obey them to gather fallen crumbs. Nor will I allow them to slip binding ropes around hungry people’s necks while they’re bowed down eating.”

“And to achieve this, I must utilize the power of common people to the greatest extent possible.”

While Fosse was lost in thought, Oliver continued speaking in a casual, conversational tone: “This is their duty and obligation—those accustomed to kneeling must learn to stand on their own if they wish to earn their share of bread, following behind the right person and striving to reach for it.”

“If they clearly recognize this and are willing to make the attempt……”

Here, he paused, a flicker of hesitation appearing in his eyes.

But soon, he continued with determination.

“—Then we shall have the largest army, the troops with the highest morale.”

And the members of his knight order would be the perfect leaders for this vast future army.

“We will always be your most loyal fighting force.”

The butler, whose spine always stood proudly straight before outsiders, never hesitated to bow before the gentlest presence.

His usually cold and stern face now glowed like an iceberg melted by the warm spring sunlight, radiating a bright brilliance.

Without any regard for what might await him ahead, he said solemnly: “—Everything shall be as you wish, my dear Highness.”

---