Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 162
“Noel mentioned you wished to speak with me directly.”
Oliver gazed gently at the still-youthful boy and asked with a soft smile, “What is your name?”
Though he already knew the other’s name, hometown, background, and even family composition from Noel, he chose to formally ask again.
This being his first time speaking directly with the Lord who had granted them so many boons, Gennaro’s heart pounded with nervous excitement as he mustered all his courage to meet those clear blue eyes. “May the great Cat God bless you, Your Grace. Regarding the method of attacking this castle, I have some humble thoughts you might be willing to hear.”
While not believing a young boy could offer particularly constructive suggestions, Oliver still showed respect and patience toward this vibrant youth who had spontaneously pondered military strategy.
He nodded slightly and said patiently, “Speak your mind freely.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” The tension in Gennaro’s body eased slightly as he spoke earnestly, “The knight I had the honor of serving under, who gave me much martial guidance, was once in service to Sir McKenna…”
Though his words were initially halting, this was something he had mentally rehearsed many times before coming. Encouraged by the Lord’s gentle gaze, his speech gradually grew more fluent.
“Once when drunk, he mentioned to me that most ancient castles like Gregor City typically have secret passages leading outside.”
After hearing Gennaro’s words, Oliver exchanged a subtle glance with Fosse.
His butler wore a grave expression, frowning in thought for a moment before giving a solemn nod.
Oliver himself had actually heard something about this: The kingdom was formally unified just over three hundred years ago. Before that, due to confusion and loss in the royal bloodline, various noble lords took advantage to wage war against each other. Even in a single year, a medium-sized territory would experience at least two conflicts.
One can imagine what a devastating catastrophe this was for commoners without farming conditions or means of resistance.
The various factions eventually chose to lay down their arms not because they genuinely recognized the new king’s authority and bloodline.
But purely because if they continued fighting… the long-fallow fields would never be cultivated again, and there would be no more sources for their enjoyment.
Fortunately, neighboring countries at the time faced similar situations, embroiled in internal strife themselves and unable to invade while they were vulnerable.
It was during those over twenty years of warfare, treated as commonplace, that lords either voluntarily or forcibly chose to reinforce city walls, add defensive facilities, and even melt down farming tools to make weapons.
This naturally included digging tunnels in castles: though it was an option they were reluctant to consider, it at least ensured they could escape with their families and a few trusted followers before the city exhausted its supplies.
At that time, both Albury and Laina City were still mere village-like settlements, without specially quarried and transported stones from mines.
The grand castle that was built—even the current two cities combined could not compare in scale to Gregor City, the largest city guarding the southern part of the kingdom.
Having never experienced the prolonged threats of the chaotic war period and lacking the resources for large-scale construction, Laina had not even welcomed a lord willing to stay long-term and rule over that remote, impoverished land. It was even less likely that they would go to the unnecessary trouble of digging secret tunnels.
“Your reminder is very necessary. If there were secret tunnels in the city, it would fully explain why they adopted the approach of refusing negotiations.”
Oliver smiled and nodded, offering praise to the boy who looked pleasantly surprised: “Your observation is very sharp, Gennaro. Well done.”
Receiving recognition, Gennaro’s cheeks flushed bright red.
He cautiously clenched his fists, mustered his courage, and finished expressing the thoughts in his mind: “So, if conditions permit… to prevent the people in the castle from escaping, we should attack sooner rather than later.”
“Building the movable bridge and shelters will take time.” Oliver blinked and looked at him expectantly: “Do you have any other suggestions regarding this?”
There was actually another method.
Both Oliver and Fosse had thought of it early on but tacitly avoided mentioning it: that was for him to go into battle alone.
Relying entirely on the ring and the Cat God’s greatsword for defense, as long as a movable bridge was built to allow him to approach the city wall, he could place explosives along the base to directly inflict powerful damage to the structure.
Even if the deterrent wasn’t enough to frighten those in the castle into surrendering out of fear on the spot, it would absolutely tear open a breach wide enough for the Albury army to pass through unimpeded.
That would be far more efficient than constructing temporary bridge planks and shelters sufficient for the entire army to advance safely.
But Oliver had no intention of taking that risk.
The situation was far from that critical, and without knowing the defensive capabilities of the soldiers on the walls, he really didn’t want to personally test the danger, lest he end up in a predicament where the bridge was cut off, leaving him and a few soldiers separated from the main force, trapped between advance and retreat.
No matter how long or thick his health bar was, it was still finite.
He could easily imagine: if he charged across the river alone, he would surely drive the butler and the knights—who had staked their lives and fortunes on him—completely mad with worry.
Of course, he still had the Cat God as his trump card.
Thinking of this, Oliver couldn’t help but glance at the handsome deity whose golden eyes sparkled brightly, clearly looking expectant as if waiting to be called upon.
Better not.
After a brief hesitation, Oliver still gave up on that incredibly tempting super shortcut.
In such relatively special circumstances, relying on his game system was one thing.
After all, in people’s eyes, a divine messenger still belonged to the category of “human”—just a fortunate one deeply blessed with divine favor.
But if a deity directly intervened with divine power, the nature of the situation would be completely different.
No matter how optimistic he was, Oliver didn’t believe this would be the last war he participated in.
He couldn’t have the Cat God help him cheat every time, could he?
Conflicts and wars between humans should not involve direct intervention from deities.
It wouldn’t be good for either humans or deities.
The destructive power of a divine war was undoubtedly far greater than the cold-weapon clashes between two towns.
Every time Oliver recalled how he had involved the Cat God in guiding the souls of kings, thereby drawing the troublesome attention of Deyth, the God of Death, he had already completely dismissed the idea of seeking the Cat God’s help.
This time should be no exception.
Most importantly…
He didn’t want to bring any danger to the adorable Cat God, who only ever had his best interests at heart.
After a moment’s thought, Oliver turned to Fosse. “It seems our distinguished guest still isn’t being entirely forthcoming.”
From the moment he surrendered, Count McKenna had shown himself to be cowardly and fearful of death, unable to endure hunger or exposure to the sun. Yet he had said nothing about the secret passage that Spire and the others considered their greatest asset in the city.
Fosse’s expression darkened.
His lips pressed into a thin line, his green eyes filled with murderous intent. “My deepest apologies, Your Highness. I’ll bring him here immediately.”
McKenna had just finished his meager dinner—two pieces of white bread and a bowl of cold well water. Though seething with anger over Spire’s betrayal, he managed to maintain a semblance of dignity and refrained from cursing aloud.
He still couldn’t quite believe that Spire, who had always appeared so subservient, would actually dare to disregard his life!
Whenever he recalled Spire’s facade of absolute loyalty, even McKenna felt a chill run down his spine.
What was truly terrifying wasn’t the betrayal by a trusted subordinate, but… he had no clue as to why or when the betrayal had even begun.
As he wrestled with these chaotic thoughts, two grim-faced knights approached. Without a word, they hauled him to his feet. Amid his panicked cries of “What are you doing?!” they dragged him before Oliver in full view of everyone.
“Gride.”
Oliver tilted his head slightly, looking down at the disheveled man lying on the ground, covered in dust. “It seems I’ve been too lenient with you, allowing you to comfortably withhold so much information until now.”
What had he withheld?
A flicker of confusion passed through McKenna’s eyes.
He was starving, and playing the part of a feeble, half-blind old man required little acting effort.
In response to Oliver’s question, he instinctively forced a mocking smile and murmured in defense, “Your esteemed Highness, your humble servant has held nothing back from you. If there is anything that could be called ‘withholding,’ it must only be due to my old age and frailty causing an unintentional oversight.”
After the last lesson, he didn’t dare blame it on not having eaten enough.
The corners of Oliver’s lips curved upward in a smile that was cold. “—An oversight of an entire secret passage?”
“Ah!”
Genuine dismay flashed across McKenna’s face as he almost eagerly exclaimed, “I beg you to believe me, Your Highness, and forgive my carelessness. That passage has long been guarded and maintained by the Spire family and hasn’t been used in ages. When you asked, it truly slipped my mind! I implore you to believe me!”
He was, after all, the ultimate egoist—like most nobles, possessing an unquestionably selfish and self-serving nature.
Everyone in the castle, whether his butler or his son, was feigning ignorance—why should he concern himself with their safety, let alone place himself in a situation where his life was threatened?
McKenna was practically desperate to bare his heart to make Oliver believe him.
Oliver gave a faint smile and averted his gaze from the flustered McKenna.
Fosse then stepped forward, leisurely drawing his sword before thrusting it deep into the damp soil, the blade pressed tightly against McKenna’s wrist.
“Ah!”
McKenna gasped sharply, nearly convinced Fosse meant to sever his wrist on the spot!
This was no overactive imagination—in his experience, Fosse was entirely capable of such horror. Years ago, on the same battlefield, he had witnessed Fosse, without so much as blinking, cleanly slice off the nose of an enemy soldier who dared lie to his face.
The delicate skin on the inner side of his wrist pressed against the cold steel, sending a chill that made his scalp tingle. McKenna’s eyes widened in terror.
Was his hand… still there?
Was it truly still attached?
As his mind raced, Fosse’s icy voice cut through his thoughts: “Sir, I hope you remember clearly—you have lost the privilege to speak nonsense before His Highness. Before my blade severs your head, may your muddled brain recall the exit’s location.”
McKenna’s face went blank momentarily.
Ears ringing, he stammered, “Of course I remember!”
Not only had McKenna never intended to conceal anything from the start, but now that he was exposed and his life hung in the balance, he dared not play tricks before the eagle-eyed, terrifying Fosse.
This was a secret known only to the Spire and McKenna families within the entire castle. Yet, upon learning the exit’s location, Oliver lost interest in sending men to block it.
The exit was too distant and too concealed, leading toward Riche City. Without knowing how long ago the fugitives had departed, sending pursuers to locate that hidden exit in dense woods seemed an excessively troublesome task.
McKenna, now useless, was dragged away once more.
Unlike his vigorous struggles upon arrival, he now lay limp, indifferent to the knights’ rough handling, desperate to flee the murderous demon Fosse as quickly as possible.
“There’s no need to pursue them,” Oliver declared decisively. “I only want Gregor City, not to wipe out the entire McKenna family.”
The one who refused to negotiate and instead incited Gride’s family to flee must have been the butler Spire, who knew he would surely die if Gride remained alive.
Yet Gride’s heir was clearly not too bright, to be so easily deceived.
Pretending to resist while secretly escaping… if Oliver weren’t so level-headed, wouldn’t that only provoke him further?
Whether they fled or not, the outcome was the same: loss of their territory. Fleeing alone would only plunge Gride into grave danger.
The land, the path of escape is destined to be fraught with danger.
Upon reaching Riche City, would the other party truly offer shelter, or the means for him to make a comeback?
Everything remains unknown.
“That’s not right either.”
After a moment of confusion, Oliver quickly corrected his thoughts and fairly assessed, “No matter what, entrusting one’s life to the mercy of others is a mistake.”
From this perspective, regardless of Gride’s intentions, his heir has made the most prudent choice.
