Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 57
TL PSA: this chapter contains some violence and gore.
The bandit gang led by the three brothers, Slang, Bush, and Rudger, used to be most active near the royal capital, preying on large merchant caravans traveling between major cities.
They weren’t overly greedy—each time, they would focus on targeting one wealthy caravan, secretly tracking their movements.
They patiently waited until their prey’s guard was at its lowest and they were far from any cities before striking suddenly—and they never showed mercy, leaving no survivors.
By the time the families of the caravan members noticed something was wrong and frantically searched for them, the bandits had long since moved elsewhere with their plundered goods, living it up.
After each big score, they would indulge in food, drink, and pleasure, lying low for a while before seeking their next target.
Among the many brutal, greedy, and bold bandit gangs, they were actually considered relatively low-key.
However, the new King Cameron not only seized the throne through brutal means but also dispatched elite troops to patrol near the royal capital, using the pretext of suppressing rebellions to eliminate political opponents who had opposed him.
His frequent military actions not only made the nobles around the capital fearful but also discouraged merchants from traveling to the royal capital.
After discussing with his two younger brothers, Slang decided to cautiously shift their operations southward, planning to return only after this dangerous period had passed.
After robbing a few “lean sheep” along the way, the words of one trembling old sheep before his death suddenly sparked Slang’s interest.
This was a cloth merchant carrying a large amount of goods, heading to Laina City for the Summer Market.
“Laina?” Rudger didn’t hide his disdain when he heard Slang’s proposal to divert to Laina City: “Hey, my dear brother, are you talking about that godforsaken place so poor they can’t even shit properly?”
The people there are thinner than sand snakes in the wilderness!
Bush, lazily gnawing on a lamb leg, chimed in: “Why go to Laina? We’d be better off going to Gregor City. That stingy old bastard McKenna has plenty of treasures hidden away.”
“Provided you live to enjoy them.” Slang snorted disdainfully: “That old pervert McKenna, who likes sticking it to young boys, has three thousand soldiers under his command. Can you kill them all?”
Bush and Rudger exchanged glances, dropping their joking expressions, and asked curiously: “Slang, are we really going to Laina?”
Slang nodded casually.
He tilted his head back, took a large gulp of wine, then reminded them in a sarcastic tone: “Don’t forget, there’s a pure-blooded noble beloved by the old king who was just sent crying to that place.”
Even ordinary people who paid little attention to court affairs had mostly heard of the “Angel Duke.”
“Oliver.”
Rudger suddenly became interested: “He was sent to Laina? That’s quite amusing.”
The defensive forces in Laina City are probably so weak that even a few children could breach them.
Bush wore a lecherous smile: “I’d really like to taste the flavor of that old man’s most beloved son. He must feel smoother than that woman from last night, right?”
“Before leaving, it seems he only managed to bring a few knights with him. All his other servants were driven away by his good brother who became king.”
“Perfect.” Slang narrowed his eyes, revealing a cruel smile. “A broken, ruined dead city would be the most fitting grave for him.”
Before severing the limbs of that great noble who once enjoyed endless honors in the royal capital, he would first take great pleasure in watching… that beautiful face, once praised by countless nobles and bards, contort into the ugly visage of desperate weeping.
Butler Fosse, who hadn’t taken to the battlefield himself for a long time, had no idea the bandit leader opposite harbored such deep malice toward his young master.
He had initially been worried that his kind-hearted young master might insist on leaving the castle to face the enemy personally… Fortunately, after brief consideration, Oliver agreed to remain inside the castle to observe the battle.
Those cool green eyes held an indifferent gaze, lingering only momentarily on the civilians trembling like lambs before a pack of wolves—their hands shaking so badly they could barely hold their “weapons”—before quickly looking away.
Fosse knew all too well that the only ones with any real combat ability were himself, Noel, Kane, and the two other knights.
The hastily assembled guards and completely untrained civilians would not only be useless but might even cause chaos and panic.
“Mr. Fosse, what should we do now?”
Noel, though the current knight captain, still addressed Fosse with utmost respect.
At this moment, he was like any ordinary lieutenant, earnestly awaiting Fosse’s instructions.
Ever since his days as a palace knight, he had deeply admired Fosse, who was then the captain of the royal knights.
“The numbers are too uneven. We can’t charge.” Fosse spoke tersely while calmly wrapping a bandage around his arm and testing the draw of his bow, his hawk-like eyes fixed on the bandits drawing ever closer to the territory. “Find their leader.”
Most bandit groups were mere mobs, and the more disciplined they appeared, the higher the leader’s authority.
If they could take out the leader quickly, the enemy’s morale would soon crumble.
But Slang and his brothers had been active near the royal capital for so long not just by luck.
Unlike those fools who dressed like walking jewelry boxes—practically begging to be noticed as the leader—the Slang brothers wore clothes nearly identical to their subordinates, with weapons of similar quality, blending into the middle-rear ranks for safety.
The bandits pressed closer.
Fosse’s expression grew colder after firing several arrows that had only slightly reduced the enemy’s numbers. His lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes like frozen ice.
His inability to quickly identify the cunning enemy leader meant a bloody battle was inevitable.
With such overwhelming odds, even he might not make it back alive.
But no matter what, he would never let these filthy, despicable scum get anywhere near his young master.
Before charging on horseback into the enemy ranks, Fosse—whose will had always been ironclad—for the first time couldn’t resist glancing back.
He looked toward the high castle window his young master often passed by.
Unfortunately, he didn’t see that familiar figure.
—My most important Highness.
Fosse closed his eyes briefly, then quickly turned his head back, calmly staring straight at the enemy.
“If there truly is a great Cat God, then may It forever protect you.
Your servant, I fear, can no longer accompany you.”
As soon as this thought emerged, Fosse fiercely cracked his whip.
“Charge!”
“For His Highness—charge!” he roared.
Several knights clad in the same style of cold steel armor shot forward like arrows from a bowstring, without the slightest hesitation, swiftly charging toward the enemy.
Seeing these knights choose to charge at them first, Slang and his men were actually pleased.
If the enemy had kept hiding inside the castle firing cold arrows, they might not have been able to breach those defenses in a short time.
But now they were seeking their own doom… Even a formidable general capable of serving by the king’s side wouldn’t dare claim to take on a hundred alone.
As long as they could eliminate these few combatants, the remaining people would be like helpless lambs, easily slaughtered.
Watching Sir Fosse and the others charge forward, the bewildered commoners exchanged glances and could only rush upward in despair.
The two sides quickly became entangled in a chaotic melee.
The combat prowess displayed by the commoners was as pitifully weak as Slang had imagined.
They had little interest in harvesting the lives of these poor wretches who barely had any meat on their bones; their main focus remained on the Grand Duke protected within the castle at the rear.
Before approaching the castle, they still had to deal with these few troublesome guard dogs.
However, though Slang thought this way, the combat strength displayed by the few men serving the Duke far exceeded his expectations.
Especially that knight who appeared the oldest—he was unexpectedly fierce!
Anyone who dared approach him would either have their flesh and bones sliced away by his swiftly, ghost-like sword in the next moment, or be forced into a hasty retreat by the sword tip thrust toward their throat.
A bandit who fell to the ground had no time to rise before being heavily stomped by a horse’s hoof, screaming as his chest bones were crushed.
Screams and the sound of blades piercing flesh mingled together.
Noel, along with the other knights, closely followed Fosse. These few, holding the resolve to serve His Highness to their last breath, faced death unflinchingly, slaughtering the surrounding enemies with a terrifying ferocity that made everyone’s scalp tingle!
Their silver armor had already been stained a shocking red by repeatedly splattered blood.
Yet they seemed to know no fear.
—Because for every additional enemy killed, the prince they protected would be a little safer.
“Surround him!” Slang quickly grew enraged.
He could no longer conceal himself, shouting commands loudly: “He’s almost done for! All of you, go! Cut off his head!”
A man who was surely doomed to die actually dared to resist so fiercely, causing him to lose so many of his subordinates…
Slang was so furious his eyes turned a terrifying blood-red!
“Chop his limbs! We must capture him alive!” he roared in rage.
Once he captured this old man, he would definitely cut off his limbs, impale the bloody torso on a fire, and roast him until he wailed and screamed.
What Slang never could have dreamed was that, in the very next instant he couldn’t help but issue these commands, an irresistible, tremendous force pushed him—An unbearable, sharp pain directly assaulted his body!
“Ahhhhhhh!!!”
Slang let out a painful, agonized scream!
His cloth-armored chest was sliced open as easily as thin paper cut by scissors, and scorching hot blood gushed out like a spring.
The moment the heart-rending pain swept through his entire body, he felt as if he had been squarely struck by a cargo-laden carriage racing at full speed—he was actually sent flying backward a short distance!
His sudden, piercing scream was too harrowing, and the sight of blood spurting upward was too terrifying, causing everyone on the battlefield to freeze for an instant, all involuntarily turning their gaze toward Slang.
The moment they clearly saw the posture of the one who had swung the sword, everyone’s movements came to a halt.
Fosse was no exception.
However, he did not rush to turn around. Instead, after expressionlessly killing a distracted bandit, he took advantage of the brief moment to cast a quick glance backward—
His green pupils instantly contracted.
He saw clearly: slender, pale fingers effortlessly holding an unusually large, broadsword that, at first glance, appeared to be half a person’s height.
The blade of the sword, incredibly sharp, was a translucent azure blue, like the sea.
It wasn’t even stained by the splattered blood, remaining a pristine, deep blue.
Beneath the coarse linen cloak that had just been flung open was a face of extreme beauty—so exquisite that no one could look away, and they couldn’t help but hold their breath.
But this time, the beautiful face, usually adorned with a gentle, faint smile, held not a trace of expression.
The radiant beauty of the lord, who usually shone brightly in everyone’s eyes, now, under the glaring sunlight, seemed to emit a faint, genuine glow.
His eyelids were slightly lowered.
Even after delivering a strike that shocked everyone, he remained as calm and serene as crystal, exuding an awe-inspiring indifference.
Fosse felt a moment of daze.
He saw it.
His young master had truly become the legendary messenger of God—clad in a spotless white robe, calmly wielding the sword of order to punish sinners, his robes untainted by the sinners’ filthy blood, silently upholding goodness and justice.
