Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 236
After hearing the blond lord’s seemingly casual confession, the golden mist continued to drift hazily for a while before abruptly stilling.
Was it thinking?
Though Oliver’s lips still carried a smile, his thoughts had long wandered far away, while his heart pounded rapidly.
“Ollie.”
After an unknown length of waiting, the deity spoke again.
“I’m very happy.”
Having lived in the human world for so long that he fully understood the concept of ‘romance,’ the God of Wealth first earnestly declared.
What surprised Oliver, however, was that this time the deity’s tone wasn’t its usual awkward stiffness, but carried a startling calm and composure.
At least enough to shock Oliver, who had expected to hear a shy and pleasantly surprised tone.
What Oliver didn’t know was that if the God of Wealth had adopted the divine body form requiring more precise control of divine power, just that brief moment earlier would have likely caused several dispersions due to overwhelming joy from the violent fluctuations of the most fundamental power of divinity.
“Ollie, Ollie.”
With barely containable happiness, he lightly called his little partner’s name several times before politely requesting: “I want – really want to take Ollie back to the divine realm right now. May I?”
Just like an abyssal dragon obtaining its long-coveted treasure, wanting to immediately carry the precious prize carefully in its maw back to what it considered the safest depths of its lair, to treasure and admire.
“Though I’d love to say ‘yes,’ I’m afraid that’s really not possible right now.” Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle. “However, I hope you’ll believe that when it comes to getting to know my lover better, I feel just as impatient as you… Until we finish matters here, we’ll both have to endure it together.”
Before this usually extremely clingy – and now with the confirmation of their romantic relationship, likely to become even more so – big cat could attempt further persuasion, the ultimately impatient Cameron arrived with the King’s Knight Order. Surrounded by elite guards, he left the palace and appeared on the defensive tower of the second wall.
The light was somewhat intense, making him squint as he strained to look in the direction the guard indicated.
Yet that radiant, beautiful golden hair was simply too eye-catching. Even without standing at the highest point of the structures, it could be easily spotted at a glance.
“Hah, it really is Oliver, my dear brother.”
Cameron’s deliberately drawn-out tone was like the smooth scales of a serpent sliding over soft silk, leaving a slimy trail in the listener’s ears: “You simply cannot imagine how much I’ve missed you these years – nor did I ever expect to see you standing within my line of sight again. Even if this is truly the most foolish decision, isn’t it?”
Due to the surrounding silence, Oliver could hear his words clearly even without the aid of divine power.
He openly raised his eyes to look at the King standing higher up.
His gaze first fell on the ostentatiously extravagant robe, then the gleaming scepter, followed by the dazzling crown atop the dark golden hair, and finally that sickly pale face with its shadowy demeanor.
He gazed at him with a calm, unruffled expression, as if staring at a skeletal corpse lying in an ornate coffin.
After a brief silence, Oliver smiled faintly and spoke as well.
Unlike the King, however, he did not engage in hypocritical pleasantries that even the most politically ignorant beggar on the street would not believe. Instead, he went straight to the point: “Is that so? I thought you should be well aware that if you hadn’t personally killed our father and several elder brothers that day, we might have seen each other every day at court.”
“Killing one’s father and brothers to seize the throne” was undoubtedly the most fatal stain on Cameron—though he ultimately seemed to have achieved what he wanted, it had cost him far more effort than simply raising a blade to his brothers’ necks.
In the struggle for political allies and the negotiation of terms, the fact that he could coldly kill even his own kin would forever remain a glaring weakness, one that provoked both fear and condemnation.
Struck abruptly at his sore spot, the feigned smile instantly vanished from Cameron’s face.
“You should know that good fortune will not accompany you forever, and my magnanimity extends only once. Today, I’m afraid you will pay a heavy price for your foolishness and arrogance.” He sneered, silently gesturing to the knight Ahmi beside him to surround Oliver, while adding contemptuously, “Everything you have done is what truly shames our father, who loved you most. A duke of noble blood, being so intimate with a slave—it’s simply unbelievable—”
But Oliver had completely lost patience with his nonsense.
He withdrew his faint smile and spoke in a tone colder than Cameron’s: “Shut up. From now on, you will only answer my questions.”
Cameron narrowed his eyes slightly, as if trying to understand why Oliver, seemingly alone in the Royal City, still spoke with such confidence.
He could not forget Fosse—that damned, favored former knight captain trusted and heavily relied upon by their biased father, who had eagerly sent him to the duke’s estate as a ridiculous butler when Oliver was only knee-high.
He was a loyal and fierce hunting falcon: at his master’s command, the silver-haired, green-eyed figure lurking in the shadows would swoop out with a roar, using his terrifyingly sharp beak to blind the enemy’s eyes and sinking his claws deep into their face, tearing it to a bloody mess.
Yet, as far as he could see, Fosse was nowhere in sight.
To ensure Ahmi’s actions went flawlessly and to make certain Oliver had no escape this time, Cameron suppressed the fury stirred by the interruption and the highly offensive “shut up,” replying with a mocking smile, “Is that so? For the sake of the blood we share, I’ll answer a few of your questions.”
Oliver lowered his eyelids slightly: “Closing the city walls and cutting off the connection between the inner and outer cities—was that a decision you made of your own will?”
Surprised by such a ridiculous question, Cameron found it both absurd and intriguing, wondering what Oliver was up to.
So he answered carelessly, “Yes.”
With a calm expression, Oliver asked again: “Then, was the decision to deploy the army to suppress the commoners in the outer city also made of your own will?”
“Yes.” After readily admitting once more, Cameron couldn’t help but let out a derisive laugh, his gaze fixed on Oliver as if staring at a raving madman: “How incredible. Are you questioning me on behalf of those lowly commoners? Hmm? A duke like you, actually daring to question a King’s decisions over a bunch of commoners?”
Oliver ignored his mockery and pressed on: “Why?”
“Damned fool, why should I explain any of this to you?”
Cameron irritably furrowed his brows, his expression twisting with disgust and impatience.
Yet the next moment, as a wisp of faint golden mist settled upon him, his lips moved against his will.
His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing comically as he uncontrollably spoke the truth: “If those plague-spreading scum continue staying in the outer city, I’ll miss the Autumn Hunt—”
“Enough. That’s sufficient.”
Oliver sighed softly, his gaze completely shifting away from Cameron. His beautifully shaped rose-colored lips trembled slightly as he uttered words that sent the King into a furious rage: “I never imagined that after using such filthy, vicious means to steal—no, to seize everything you desired, you never once thought to cherish it. Instead, you’ve brutally left your vile marks upon it.”
He stated coldly: “You’re unworthy of defaming the kingdom’s subjects as scum, Cameron. Don’t forget you’re nothing but an outright thief, a patricidal fratricidal brute, a despicable criminal who has defiled the royal bloodline.”
After sending off the souls lost in that blood-soaked political coup—led by the old King—he had believed he could view Cameron with relative objectivity.
Where politics and vast interests were involved, nothing was truly black and white, right or wrong—even the fallen in that coup, like the perpetually extravagant old King, couldn’t be considered truly innocent.
As a son once deeply cherished by his father, he had sent off the old King’s soul, granting him eternal peace, as repayment for that paternal love.
Had Cameron, upon taking the throne, strived for diligent governance and cared for the people—or even if limited by ability he couldn’t achieve this, but showed the slightest consideration for commoners or slaves, possessed even a trace of compassion for them—Oliver’s resolve to oppose the capital might not have been so firm.
Those three questions just now were Cameron’s final three chances.
Had Cameron’s answers revealed even a spark of humanity, or suggested he was coerced by the nobility, Oliver would have…
Oliver closed his eyes.
…He wouldn’t have been this utterly enraged.
“Ollie.”
The deity who constantly watched over his little partner’s mood called his name with unconcealed worry, striving to comfort him: “Don’t be… sad.”
He earnestly inquired: “Shall we kill Cameron now?”
Oliver chuckled softly: “No, let’s wait a little longer.”
When he opened his eyes again, his gaze no longer rested on Cameron.
He completely ignored Cameron as if he were mere air, turning his attention instead to the varied expressions of the people standing behind the King.
Under the gaze of all, this duke—whose beauty rivaled that of a true angel, captivating all who beheld him—suddenly bestowed upon them a radiant smile and declared, “I gave your Majesty a chance. Now, it is your turn to make the final decision.”
A chance?
Confusion flickered across their faces.
What chance?
They listened in a daze as the duke, whose voice was as enchanting as his indescribably beautiful appearance, spoke with unshakable composure: “The benevolent and great Cat God will protect the diligent and kind-hearted, without even minding whether they are His followers. As a messenger spreading His glory, I am willing to offer the same promise. Now, I shall give you one last chance for regret.”
His gaze swept across the room as he added calmly, “For all who have made choices that betrayed their conscience in the past—if you sincerely repent and wish to return to that crossroads to make a decision truer to your heart… then I am willing to accept your surrender.”
Despite appearing to be in a precarious position himself, he still displayed no “divine power” nor offered any additional incentives to persuade those who were already beneficiaries of the status quo—beyond a seemingly hollow, almost laughable promise.
He wanted them to make a choice aligned with their conscience, even if it meant risking their lives.
Not to be like reeds bending with the wind, comfortably drifting along under the push of whichever side promised greater benefits.
After all, whether out of helpless self-preservation or a sense of entitlement, from the moment they truly accepted orders and raised their blades against innocent civilians, he no longer cared whether they had suffered inner turmoil or struggle.
Giving those whose conscience was not entirely extinguished one last chance to turn back was already his final act of mercy. Even accepting their surrender did not mean they would escape punishment for their crimes—only that the severity might vary.
Compared to how many unavoidable hardships the perpetrators might have endured, or how tragic their pasts might have been—Oliver was always more concerned with what the victims themselves ought to have been.
And the lives they should have had—whether ordinary, brilliant, or, in most cases, happy.
