Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 158
Four days later.
The people of Gregor City never imagined they would see their lord’s figure again so soon, along with the over one thousand soldiers who had once followed him with high spirits on his campaign.
“The time has come to test the loyalty of your butler, Gride.”
Oliver’s lips curved slightly, his face appearing beautiful and holy under the sunlight, but to the bound and immobilized Count McKenna, it seemed as if every golden strand of his hair radiated an aura of evil.
“No!”
When he was politely “escorted” off the carriage by the knight and pushed toward the raised bridge opening over the moat, his face had already turned deathly pale from fear.
He had no idea what this demonic young duke intended to do with him. After a journey filled with wild speculations, Ken had been firmly categorized in his mind as one of the emperor’s faction, undoubtedly scheming to harm him at this opportunity.
Yes, these past few days, treated like an insignificant package tossed into the carriage, suffering from the jolts and bumps, only unfettered for meals and excretion, he had come to utterly despise Ken.
If it weren’t for that damned Ken’s repeated instigations, how could he have embarked on such a hopeless path?!
“Please, please don’t do this to me, I beg you, esteemed Duke.”
He pleaded desperately, his legs trembling like sieves.
“Maintain your dignity, Gride.” Oliver’s tone sounded gentle but was actually cold. “First, take a good look. This is your Gregor City. As its master, why are you so terrified?”
As he spoke, McKenna was dragged by the dutiful knight to the front of the bridge opening, deepening his fear. He cried out hoarsely, “Your Grace! I beg you, don’t!”
Oliver paid him no mind. Instead, he looked toward the figures standing atop the high castle embrasures on the other side of the moat, gazing in their direction, and suddenly spoke: “Fosse.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Fosse stepped forward as commanded and declared loudly, “Soldiers of Gregor City… if you have recognized that the nobleman we have captured is your lord, then immediately send Ken Spire out of the city to speak with my esteemed master.”
The soldiers behind the city walls exchanged glances, hardly believing their eyes.
When the bound and disheveled figure lying ignominiously on the ground first appeared, many had recognized him from his stature and attire (though the splendid clothes were now crumpled).
But at that time, no one dared to believe it, nor even mention it.
Even though they had seen many familiar faces among this army flying unfamiliar banners, further confirming that terrifying thought…
They simply couldn’t imagine that their lord, who had set out with his army, had been captured along with his forces after only a few days…?
“How could that be?!”
They muttered to themselves.
Gregor City’s elite soldiers had followed their lord on the campaign. A lordless, empty castle attracted neither great merchants and noble visitors nor the attention of thieves.
Rather than going through the trouble of breaching heavily fortified walls to plunder an empty castle, it would be easier for them to harass passing merchants.
Thus, the greatest defensive strength in Gregor City now lay in the castle and moat itself, not the meager four hundred ordinary soldiers.
“Quick, inform Mr. Spire.”
In their panic, someone soon made this suggestion.
Shortly after, Ken Spire, who was in his bedroom, received the news.
—”The Lord has been captured?”
He repeated softly, letting out an incredulous chuckle. “This is not a funny joke, nor is it suitable as lunchtime conversation.”
“This is no joke,” the maid Maed trembled all over. “Please, come out and see for yourself. Not only the Lord, but also the soldiers, the equipment… all have been captured!”
Ken studied her expression carefully and silently stopped smiling.
Without a word, he straightened his clothes until they were perfectly creaseless, then headed up to the wall to look down.
While they were considering how to respond, Oliver, of course, wasn’t foolish enough to wait idly for a reply.
He temporarily followed the etiquette observed between nobles before battle, allowing his soldiers—who had marched for several days—to set up camp and rest by the bridgehead of the moat while awaiting the enemy’s final answer.
Their arrival had been so sudden, and they had placed the captured Gregor militia at the front, that the soldiers guarding the city gate initially had no suspicions.
They were easily deceived by the claim that “the Lord has changed the battle plan,” only realizing they had let the wolf in when it was too late after opening the gates.
This meant that not only were the people in the castle completely unprepared for Albury’s arrival, but the commoners in the town district and the slaves laboring in the fields were equally caught off guard.
The slaves remained expressionless and numb; it seemed no one’s arrival would affect their lives.
For the freemen, however, the situation was extremely awkward.
Upon belatedly realizing these were invading enemy troops, instinct told them that to survive, they must abandon their belongings and flee.
But reason clearly warned them that fleeing now would only provoke the enemy and achieve nothing.
How could people on two legs possibly outrun horses on four?
Moreover, their conscripted loved ones—important husbands, brothers, sons, or fathers—were right there in plain sight, held as living captives.
As they hesitated, watching with pounding hearts, several knights in exquisite, gleaming silver light armor, with long swords bearing the intricate crest of the Angel Duke at their waists, suddenly led a small squad of guards toward the town district.
“They’re… they’re coming!”
Almost everyone’s minds went blank at that moment.
Just as they began to regret not trusting their instincts and fleeing at the first opportunity, the young knight with short brown hair—Oakwood—raised a bulging money pouch and asked as gently and amiably as possible, “We need to buy some hot food for our companions and subordinates. Would you be willing to show us the way?”
“……”
The person addressed stared blankly for a long moment before stammering, “Y-yes, I’m willing.”
Great Goddess Havest!
What a strange and incomprehensible procession this is!
Unlike the bewildered commoners of Gregor City who were gradually letting their guard down while continuing to trade, Ken’s face darkened abruptly after repeatedly confirming with his own eyes that the trussed-up unfortunate soul was indeed his master.
What a useless fool.
Narrowing his eyes slightly, he cursed silently in his heart for the first time, unable to suppress his irritation.
“Sir, are you certain of what you saw?”
The steward beside him was already sweating profusely from anxiety, asking nervously, “What should we do now?”
“Nothing can be determined yet.”
Ken retreated several steps imperceptibly to where the soldiers couldn’t hear, inquiring calmly of the steward, “What are their terms?”
“That silver-haired knight demands you exit the city immediately to speak with his esteemed master.” The steward looked at him expectantly, “Shall we lower the drawbridge now?”
“Certainly not.”
Meeting the steward’s astonished gaze, Ken delivered his answer with perfect composure, “Do you truly believe our master could be so incompetent as to be captured before even reaching enemy territory, thrown on the ground like livestock? What nonsense. That absolutely cannot be our brilliant Lord McKenna. Their audacity in doing this insults us, insults the noble blood of House McKenna, and insults all of Gregor City.”
Ken could well guess what demands the other side would likely make: probably not just a substantial ransom, but the surrender of the entire city itself.
The steward widened his eyes, attempting to argue, “But that person truly resembles—”
“A conspiracy.”
Ken stated decisively, “This is undoubtedly an enemy scheme. From such distance, beyond build, clothing, and hairstyle, can you truly discern his features clearly?”
The steward hesitated for a moment, then dumbly shook his head.
The watchtower stood at considerable height, and separated by the moat’s width, they genuinely couldn’t make out the person’s specific facial features.
“And have you considered the consequences of rashly lowering the bridge?” Ken shook his head, “Enemy forces, outnumbering our garrison several times over, would enter our castle unimpeded. That would be an unmitigated disaster.”
Hearing this scenario described, the steward broke into a cold sweat but still clung to that slim possibility, “But what if he truly is Lord McKenna?”
Wouldn’t refusing to engage in negotiations then equate to causing the death of a respected Count, the lord of Gregor City, and their master?
“Such a possibility doesn’t exist.”
Ken insisted firmly, “For a noble, especially our master who takes pride in the distinguished bloodline of House McKenna, would never allow himself to fall to such an undignified state, prostrate in the dust like an animal.”
Here, he lowered his gaze slightly, as if somewhat disheartened, “Yet one thing you said holds truth… With so many soldiers captured and our master’s garments stolen and worn by another, it sufficiently suggests that he may have already fallen victim to the enemy’s treachery.”
“Great Count McKenna!”
Before the steward could react, Ken suddenly raised his voice: “Quickly summon Young Master Calward! Under his leadership, we shall defend the castle to the death while sending for external reinforcements. We will never grovel like beggars before the scoundrels who murdered our master!”
Calward was Gride McKenna’s eldest and only son. Though cowardly by nature and never highly regarded by Gride, he usually remained invisible, spending his days hiding in his mother’s bedroom.
Yet this seemingly insignificant existence now became crucially important—though he hadn’t been formally granted any noble title, with his father likely eighty percent deceased, he was undoubtedly the one who could best command the castle’s personnel.
He was also the perfect banner for McKenna to rally under.
McKenna knew all too well that regardless of whether the enemy’s unstated demands were reasonable or whether compromising could save Gride, obeying them would mean certain death for himself.
If the enemy broke their promise, he would die; if Gride survived but lost all dignity and possessions, McKenna—as the one who had vehemently urged him to launch the campaign—would inevitably face Gride’s hatred and retaliation.
His only path to survival was to insist it was an imposter, and—
“Archers, ready!” McKenna commanded decisively, his voice sharp. “How dare they disgrace our Gregor—that is not our master! Shoot that impostor at once!”
