Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 235
From the moment he received the King’s personal summons and stepped into the palace, Kembesh felt as if he had entered another world.
Compared to the devastation and widespread suffering outside, the palace—always a symbol of extravagance and elegance—remained magnificent, and the King’s robes were still resplendent.
Kembesh dared not look around, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead as he entered the opulent hall he had never been privileged to set foot in before. He then respectfully knelt about ten meters away from the throne, which was inlaid with displays of wealth and glory. “Your Majesty, please allow your humble servant to report on the situation beyond the second wall.”
Only after receiving the King’s permission did he raise his eyes, adhering to etiquette by looking directly into the eyes of the kingdom’s most revered figure. Yet, the tightly wound tension within him eased slightly.
For some reason, the first time he clearly saw the King’s face, the irreverent thought, “So this is His Majesty,” inexplicably surfaced.
His complexion was pale, as if from long-term lack of sunlight. His features could have been considered handsome, but against the backdrop of his gloomy demeanor and the dark circles under his eyes, what stood out most was his apparent frailty.
The hem of his robe, a newly crafted masterpiece by the most skilled tailor and the subject of lavish praise from nobles attending court balls, was densely adorned with gems from the deep sea, shimmering like fish scales.
Yet the King, clad in this dazzlingly luxurious robe, seemed more like an empty skeleton, barely propping up its angular form.
Cameron, of course, could not discern the true thoughts of this seemingly reverent low-ranking knight. After listening expressionlessly to the report, he sneered coldly, “The elite soldiers on the Second Wall couldn’t even stop a mob? And what of Modelle? Has he ‘heroically fallen’ at the hands of unarmed rioters, allowing them to march in unimpeded?”
—Mob.
More than the reprimand, Kembesh fixated on the word he had just caught.
Realizing that this esteemed King truly cared nothing for the desperate and frantic pleas of the common people, his heart tightened once more.
“…My deepest apologies, please forgive me, Your Majesty.”
Suppressing his disillusionment, he bowed deeply, uttering words even he himself paid no heed to.
Cameron, likewise, paid no attention to the subtle expressions of a mere low-ranking knight.
His face darkened, and after a moment of silence, the displeasure in his eyes nearly overflowed. His final words seemed squeezed through gritted teeth: “Summon Ahmi [mfn]阿密(Ā mì)[/mfn]—you may withdraw.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Permitted to leave, Kembesh felt neither the relief of a narrow escape nor the excitement of his first audience with the King.
He knew exactly who Ahmi was—the current knight captain of the King’s Knight Order, directly under the King’s command and personally promoted by His Majesty.
Ahmi, fiercely loyal to the King, would soon lead the elite members of the King’s Knight Order beyond the Second Wall and mercilessly slaughter those desperate commoners, wouldn’t he?
Just imagining the twisted faces of those who had been driven to desperation, only to meet a gruesome end, made his heart feel like a stone being carelessly crushed in the hands of a mischievous child.
Among them were his former neighbors, childhood playmates, the bakery owner who could bake delicious bread, and the cook from the biscuit shop who kindly gave broken cookies to mischievous children.
He could do nothing.
He could only numbly be like a stone, thrown by children into the center of the lake, enduring the sharp pain of hitting the water’s surface before sinking into the cold depths.
“God.”
Before leaving the palace, he turned one last time, glancing in the direction of the hall, and gave a silent, bitter smile.
God, if you truly exist, please save them—
The moment this thought emerged, hurried yet strangely familiar footsteps sounded nearby.
Startled, he turned toward the sound and actually saw Nate’s face!
The expression on Nate’s face was one he had never seen before—complex and layered: there was tension and fear, confusion and bewilderment, and even a trace of barely suppressed joy that was still discernible…
“Nate,” he called out to his friend, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to resist asking, “Why are you here too? What happened ahead?”
Nate abruptly stopped.
He stared blankly at Kembesh, his eyes vacant, as if unsure of what to do, and murmured, “Kembesh, do you know? It’s Duke Oliver!”
Duke Oliver!
Even Kembesh, a low-ranking knight who had never been this close to the palace before today, had undoubtedly heard that name.
No, to be precise, whether it was the late king’s boundless favor toward the Duke or his unearthly, mesmerizing beauty—said to be too extraordinary for this world—that drove the entire capital into a frenzy, his reputation was enough to make his name thunderous in this most prosperous and proud city.
Recently, however, his name had become shrouded in secrecy due to his miraculous and unstoppable rise, leaving even the King helpless, gnashing his teeth in regret over his past foolishness.
But… but?
It took Kembesh a long moment to regain his composure, but before he could ask more questions, his friend, tasked with delivering the news, had already run far ahead.
Wasn’t Duke Oliver in Gregor, the largest city in the south? Why was he here?!
“What did you say?!”
The one who reacted with equal disbelief and intense agitation was undoubtedly the King, whom Kembesh had just met.
As if pricked by a sharp needle, the King leaped up from his throne and shouted, “How could it be Oliver?! When did his army enter the capital?! Damn Welph! He must have conspired with Oliver long ago! How dare he let his troops pass—”
Faced with the King’s furious outburst, Nate hardly dared to breathe, keeping his head deeply bowed.
Only when Cameron’s roaring subsided did Nate timidly raise his head, after receiving permission, and finish his report: “…No, I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Duke Oliver has no army with him—not a single soldier. Only commoners from the outer city are following him—”
“Then what are we waiting for?!”
After a momentary daze, Cameron quickly snapped back to reality, a wild glint flashing in his eyes as he immediately turned to the silent knight commander beside him and ordered: “Ahmi, take all the soldiers and tightly surround every exit of the royal capital! No matter the cost, you absolutely must not let Oliver escape!”
Though he didn’t believe Oliver could be foolish enough to come without any soldiers, nor did he trust that the other could truly bring a large army into the city undetected.
If they really had been brought in, it might not even be a bad thing—the outer city was full of plague-stricken commoners! Perhaps plague had already been running rampant in Gregor’s army!
Nate opened his mouth, not even daring to breathe heavily.
Only after knight captain Ahmi accepted the order and left, and the excited King expressed his intention to reward him, did Nate finally get the chance to painfully finish his remaining words.
“Duke Oliver says he wishes to see you, Your Majesty.” He licked his chapped lower lip, feeling he might be killed by the King’s sudden wrath at any moment, but still emphasized to the frowning, suspicious monarch: “He said… he must see you….”
Meanwhile, outside the second gate, Oliver waited patiently for the inner city soldiers to relay his message to the King while chatting with the cat god who had wrapped around him in the form of golden mist.
Though before coming here, he had purely intended to temporarily establish something like a civilian disaster relief organization through the white-haired, red-eyed Grand High Priest, while also donating some supplies…
But since things had progressed this far, it seemed he had no reason not to go with the flow.
In this tense standoff where both sides faced each other from a distance, Oliver’s mindset was undoubtedly the most relaxed.
In a volume only the cat god could hear, he quietly asked: “Is the Priest alright?”
At the time, he had only managed to tell the cat god “Put him in Gregor” before watching him instantly disappear.
He didn’t know exactly where the cat god had tossed him, or whether he had been injured.
The deity immediately gave a detailed response: “He’s safe. The divine power I left last night protected him. He wasn’t injured, and I’ve already thrown him back to Gregor.”
Oliver felt slightly relieved and asked further: “Where in Gregor city?”
“In ‘Jin’s’ bedroom. Anyway, that ‘nominally his’ bedroom has never actually been used from the beginning.” “He won’t wake up until evening.”
“Good.”
Oliver smiled and nodded gently.
After showing concern for external matters, he hesitated before finally voicing the question that concerned him more: “I have one more question.”
The strand of golden mist—which to others appeared to alternately condense and disperse, making Lord Oliver seem increasingly noble and divine—paused at this moment.
Seeming to sense Oliver’s seriousness, He carefully considered before cautiously speaking: “Ollie?”
“It’s about you, my… dear God.”
Unnoticed by any human or god, the lord who wore a bright, beautiful smile on his face now had a heartbeat slightly faster than usual.
“Why have you been unwilling to accompany me in ‘Jin’s’ form since earlier, only maintaining your most primitive divine power form?”
The God of Wealth remained silent for a long time before softly saying: “I want to keep holding Ollie.”
Oliver blinked, but this time he didn’t spare the one who was bad at lying any “face.”
“I don’t think that’s the case,” he said slowly, while clearly feeling his own heart reacting in the complete opposite way, beating faster and faster.
He thought, no matter who looked at it, this was definitely not a good place for a confession.
The atmosphere was tense, a great battle seemed imminent. Beside him were the commoners of the royal capital, waiting for him to save them and decide their fate. Ahead were the guards, watching eagerly and waiting for reinforcements from the capital. The barn was destroyed, the outer city was ravaged by a deadly plague, and in the inner city was the King, with whom he was about to negotiate…
But since he had already done something unplanned—meeting Cameron—why not do something else too?
The corner of Oliver’s lips lifted slightly.
What mattered was, he really wanted to do it.
Even before his dull awakening, when he had no idea what “love” really felt like and had misunderstood his own feelings, he had always calmly handled the enthusiastic kisses from the big cat.
And after realizing what it truly was, he had originally intended to think more clearly, plan better, before accepting this feeling…
But under the influence of this novel emotion called “love,” he didn’t want to wait a moment longer.
Exposed, the God of Wealth grew extremely nervous.
He tried hard to come up with excuses, but either couldn’t bear to “lie” to Oliver or didn’t believe he could “fool” Oliver.
In the end, the sly big cat decided to act shamelessly, surrendering through silence.
But his adorable little partner wasn’t about to let him off. Instead, he said leisurely, “If you won’t say it, why not let me guess?”
He froze.
The next moment, Oliver calmly uncovered the little scheme that was utterly transparent to him: “You want me to take all the spotlight, no longer as a divine messenger, but as a true god with divine power in everyone’s eyes, to receive the reverence and faith due to a true god, right?”
The golden mist froze again.
After what felt like a long time, it slowly began to “flow” once more, accompanied by a simple, honest “Mm.”
“I hope,” he said seriously, “that Ollie can restore the glory he deserves and receive the faith he deserves.”
As he absorbed more and more wisdom from his divinity, he came to understand one thing clearly.
If Ollie hadn’t done so much in the beginning, yet allowed him to gain everything… he might never have existed from the start.
He himself didn’t care anymore and didn’t want to gain more believers.
He wanted Ollie to stand at the highest place, shining brilliantly and dazzlingly in everyone’s eyes, yet sacred and unapproachable.
His existence only needed to be known by Ollie.
His reflection only needed to be seen in Ollie’s blue eyes.
For him, that was enough.
“I am here because of Ollie,” he clumsily confessed his feelings. “I love Ollie. I want Ollie to become a god too, and then stay with me forever—”
“%&%&”
Oliver suddenly interrupted him, “You love me, is that right?”
He froze once more.
Clearly unable to comprehend why Ollie would ask such an obvious question, He still patiently repeated His confession: “I love Ollie.”
Upon hearing this, He then saw a gentler and… shy smile appear at the corners of His beautiful little companion’s lips.
Could it truly be shyness?
The deity, who had only ever witnessed such emotions in others but never seen Ollie display such tender feelings, froze on the spot.
He stared blankly at Ollie, then dazedly heard Ollie speak in a tone He had never heard before—one that made His heart bloom with genuine delight: “Alright.”
Then, unlike his usual indulgent praise before changing the subject, Ollie responded with a smile and another sentence.
“I love you too, dear… though compared to this form of address, I prefer calling you directly as my dear cat god.”
Completely unaware that the tips of his ears had taken on a faint rosy hue, the lord feigned composure as he said: “If you don’t object, I think… why don’t we start dating from today?”
