HTLCCBFT Chapter 163

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 163

It was about time.

After giving a final pep talk to the soldiers who were surprised by his “sudden return,” Spire walked down the stone steps under their unsuspecting gazes.

He moved swiftly, soon shaking off the attention of other attendants and retrieving the luggage he had previously hidden near the tunnel entrance.

—It was time to go.

Spire thought with satisfaction.

He had roughly estimated that the news he had just released would be enough to distract the pursuing forces and buy him considerable time.

Although the swift counterattack by the Albury army was unexpected, in his original plan, this expedition—which he had downplayed in front of McKenna—was destined to be highly problematic.

Only a fool like McKenna would believe his fabricated claims and think that the young duke was an easy target to bully.

From the moment he had incited the other side, he had long prepared for the possibility of their humiliated return and subsequent retaliation against him.

As a member of the Spire family, who had long maintained this secret passage for the McKenna family, how could he not take advantage of his position to make preparations in advance?

At the very least.

Though the timing was earlier than he had anticipated…

Before stepping into the tunnel, Spire turned back one last time, his gaze complex as he took in the scene that had accompanied him for nearly forty years.

He did not hesitate for long.

After closing his eyes briefly, he quickly made up his mind.

Before anyone could notice his actions, his right foot, clad in practical short boots, stepped firmly onto the dry, hard soil.

He was about to leave this dangerous place, and for that very reason, his guard had unconsciously lowered.

But then, a strange golden light suddenly flashed in his peripheral vision.

“Ugh!”

Spire felt as if his head had been struck hard by a heavy carriage pulled by three galloping horses, his mind instantly going blank.

Before falling into complete unconsciousness, he didn’t even have time to form a single thought. His body, losing consciousness instantly, collapsed limply.

Face down, he silently rolled into the shallow tunnel entrance.

——

“Cat God?”

It was Oliver’s voice!

The golden-haired deity, who had been openly daydreaming, brightened instantly at the sound, his previously dazed golden eyes lighting up.

“Oliver.”

He blinked, masking the guilt of being caught off guard, and responded as naturally as he could.

“This is the third time I’ve called for you.”

Oliver remarked meaningfully.

During the brief moment the cat-eared god had been distracted, the battle by the Moat of Gregor City had officially begun.

Shortly after nightfall, the drawbridges and wooden shields were all in place.

Under Fosse’s full command, the soldiers overcame their nerves and followed their respective knight commanders, charging onto the planks serving as walkways.

The strongest soldiers led the way, pushing together the massive, movable shield made of timber. Shouting as they advanced, they slowly crossed the river under a dense rain of arrows.

The drawbridges were built wide enough. Under the knights’ orderly command, although the temporary wooden bridge could accommodate four people squeezing through at once, only two were allowed to pass at a time—this was to ensure sufficient width for their passage.

Even those who took larger strides did not unfortunately fall into the rushing river due to nervousness or carelessness.

In fact, Oliver did not require them to do much in this battle: aside from the necessary experience of personally being on the battlefield, their main tasks were to create sufficient commotion after crossing the river and to draw enemy fire effectively.

This would provide cover for his subsequent approach to the city walls and ensure his safety.

The soldiers who had not yet crossed the river were not idle either. While some waited their turn on the drawbridge, others operated catapults: the massive stone projectiles were hurled by the catapults, crashing heavily against the city walls and sending small fragments of plaster and stone flying.

From Oliver’s perspective, this was undoubtedly a typical case of making a lot of noise but having little effect.

However, there was no alternative—when stones were launched, their impact force dispersed downward upon hitting the wall, unlike later-era cannons that followed a flat trajectory to achieve concentrated firepower.

Understanding the underlying principles, Oliver naturally placed little hope in the catapults and decided to take matters into his own hands later.

Yet even such crude devices demanded considerable skill from their operators.

The selection of stone materials, on-site shaping and crafting, precise targeting, and efficient launching all presented significant technical challenges.

According to current common knowledge, stone artillery soldiers were a relatively rare but crucial specialized military role.

Of course, Laina City, which didn’t even possess a single catapult, couldn’t produce any, but about seven or eight were found in Albury City.

There was one exception.

Oliver looked at the familiar youthful face and smiled faintly at the adept movements with which the young man handled the catapult.

It was Gennaro, who had recently stood out due to his exceptional skills—the youngest among the stone artillery soldiers.

But to operate all four catapults on the field simultaneously with sufficient personnel for rotation, the mere ten people were clearly inadequate.

In the end, they primarily relied on the batch of prisoner soldiers Oliver had acquired midway.

Undoubtedly, they were originally all Count McKenna’s men—skilled elites who had been selected for their excellence.

Indeed, his decision to directly seize ready-made equipment from the enemy rather than spending time and materials constructing those cost-ineffective siege weapons proved absolutely correct.

Oliver’s eyes curved happily.

Wasn’t there a saying?

If you have no guns or cannons, the enemy will make them for you—for this, he had to thank his greatest sponsor, Gride.

After all, this count had even generously helped deliver the goods halfway, significantly reducing equipment wear and transportation time.

Of course, Gride had no idea that the duke with the angelic appearance was harboring malicious thoughts that would make him spit blood.

At that moment, he was crouching awkwardly behind a soldier’s leg and the barricade, trying his best to minimize his presence.

His luck this time could actually be considered quite good.

When he suddenly learned he would be the first to step onto the plank, he had been truly terrified out of his wits, crying and screaming desperately while writhing violently.

But it was utterly useless.

The moment the drawbridge was laid down, he was forcibly dragged onto it. No sooner had the ropes around his ankles been loosened than he was shoved into taking his first step.

He was even worse off than his captured soldiers—not permitted to take cover behind the barricades. And those damned, hell-bound, demonic guards on the city walls actually ignored his shouts and fired arrows at him, their Lord!

Having never been so close to death before, he managed only two symbolic steps before collapsing to his knees in terror.

He thought he was doomed.

Perhaps the generous offerings he had previously made had finally proven useful, and the Goddess had sent him belated protection. Or perhaps it was because the Albury army crossed the river so swiftly and precisely, leaving the defenders little time to react. More likely, it was because the soldiers knew the most important young noble had already escaped, drastically diminishing their will to fight… The arrows loosed, though seemingly formidable, were scattered and weak in force.

Never before had Gride felt such gratitude for his subordinates’ incompetence.

“Thank you, Goddess Havest! Please continue to protect me, grant me survival!”

For the first time, he prayed with genuine piety, while striving to conceal himself even better.

After brief observations during the day, the residents in the town area remained remarkably calm. The moment the deafening stone cannons struck the city walls, they huddled obediently in their homes like mice startled by a cat’s cry.

What struck them as truly strange was… even though the defenders were at a disadvantage and their Lord had been captured, they felt an eerie absence of fear.

Especially the merchants who had sold their freshly baked bread to the Albury army at noon—it all felt like a dream.

…Could this truly be the tranquility one enjoyed in wartime?

They peered through narrow windows, straining to observe the situation outside.

Deep down, they knew that even if the situation took a turn for the worse, there was nothing they could do to remedy it.

“My cousin who does business in Iron City once told me,” the man of the house suddenly recalled, whispering to his trembling wife, “that Laina’s Duke possesses a compassion utterly unlike any noble. Not only does he show mercy to slaves, but he also took in Albury’s refugees without demanding any payment.”

When he first heard it, he had dismissed it as his cousin’s exaggeration, never imagining it could be true.

Where in this world would one find a noble who treats slaves kindly?

Even the knights, celebrated in Bard’s songs as the bravest and most righteous, only show courtesy to noblewomen and kneel in loyalty to high-ranking lords.

When armed with swords and facing common women or female slaves, they reveal an entirely different demeanor.

If even knights behave this way, how much more so the nobles? And this was the kingdom’s sole Grand Duke!

Even the most ignorant commoner knew that when war breaks out, those living in the town districts are often the most unfortunate.

Young men would be forcibly conscripted by the lord, while the elderly, weak, women, and children who were deemed useless would be mercilessly driven out of the city to conserve food for the prolonged war.

If the invading enemy commander was sufficiently merciful, they might be fortunate enough to receive permission to leave the territory and wander in nearby fields, retaining some hope of survival.

However, in most cases, the enemy forces—either to prevent information leaks or fearing infiltration by spies—would not allow them to leave the siege lines.

Civilians trapped between the castle and the battle lines faced only one fate: starving to death while waiting.

Their delayed realization that Gregor had been invaded filled them with such terror precisely because they feared this outcome.

“May God protect us and keep us safe,” his wife whispered, wiping away tears as she prayed.

Similar murmurs echoed throughout the town district, but all those fragmented prayers were invariably drowned out by the tremendous clamor emanating from the center of the battlefield.

Oliver, however, seemed utterly indifferent to the ongoing battle behind him, his gaze fixed intently on Him.

Only when His eyes began to dart about uneasily did Oliver smile faintly and ask with keen interest, “So you can get distracted too?”

Under the gaze of those beautiful blue eyes, the golden-haired deity inexplicably felt flustered and uneasy.

If He had been permitted to reveal his cat ears at that moment, they would surely have slowly flattened outward into nervous airplane ears.

What had Oliver just said?

He didn’t know.

Ever since hearing his beloved little believer (casually) express the wish, “If I could capture Ken Spire, I’d like to meet him,” He had secretly diverted a strand of divine sense away…

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