HTLCCBFT Chapter 67

Has The Lord’s Career Chart Been Filled Today? – Chapter 67

TL PSA: Execution warning.

Oliver maintained a stoic expression as he endured the heavy greasiness, chewing two pieces of cheese with deliberate force in front of Knight Captain Noel.

Semi-hard yet soft, with a sticky texture.

The rich dairy flavor mixed with a peculiar sourness spread through his mouth like an indescribable explosion, almost aggressively dominating his senses.

…It was pure torture to his sensitive taste buds.

Oliver’s eyelid twitched slightly.

He chewed rapidly a few times before forcing himself to swallow it whole.

“Y-Your Highness!”

Fortunately, Noel quickly snapped out of his shock, unfastening a waterskin from his saddle and hurriedly offering it: “Would you like some water?”

“Mhm.”

Oliver responded vaguely, furrowing his brow as he took several gulps to wash down the terrifying milky fishy taste clogging his throat.”

He gradually relaxed his frown, sighing in relief as he watched his health bar refill completely. His first instinct was to gently warn Noel: “Don’t tell Fosse.”

After a moment’s thought, he quickly added: “Don’t tell anyone.” He certainly didn’t want strange rumors like “the lord enjoys devouring raw cheese” spreading across his territory.

When he first started fishing, his [ Fishing ] level was still low, and he occasionally caught river algae and trash.

The trash was discarded immediately, but the river algae…

Every time he saw its pitifully small energy restoration value, Oliver felt a foolish temptation.

Once, he failed to resist the “don’t waste it” urge and tried to put some in his mouth.

But the moment he conceived the idea—tearing off a piece of river algae and bringing it to his lips—Fosse, who had been watching him like a hawk guarding its nest, noticed immediately.

The butler, sharp as an eagle protecting its fledglings, was nearly scared out of his wits by the scene.

Without a second thought, he rushed forward and desperately dissuaded his curious young master.

Seeing how shaken Fosse was, Oliver reluctantly gave up.

Fortunately, he soon discovered that eating normal-tasting food (excluding the dark cuisine he encountered the first night) could at least restore his energy value, even if it didn’t provide the buffs from game-system dishes.

So he abandoned any further thoughts about the clearly unpalatable river algae.

No matter what, his act of chewing large chunks of raw cheese wasn’t something his worrywart butler needed to know about.

Though Noel was met with a pair of smiling, beautiful blue eyes, he inexplicably felt an intense pressure and slowly lowered his head: “…Understood.”

“I would never doubt your loyalty or Fosse’s, Noel.”

Oliver praised him satisfactorily.

Seeing his fully healed wounds made him even more pleased.

Soon, the distant sound of clopping hooves reached their ears.

They’re back.

Without hesitation, Oliver broke into a radiant smile and turned toward the sound.

But when the figures of the knights riding triumphantly on their steeds came clearly into view, he froze.

Fosse’s expression was as stern as ever, his right hand holding the reins, his left resting loosely on the horizontal sword hilt.

What made Oliver’s expression stiffen wasn’t Fosse’s demeanor, nor was it the extra horses accompanying Kane and the other two knights.

It was those spherical objects tied to the side of the horses with ropes of unknown material, occasionally dripping droplets of liquid…

The butler, who had literally brought back heads as proof, was completely unaware of his young master’s feat of having devoured two pieces of cheese in his absence.

Spotting Oliver from afar, before he could even feel surprised, he reined in his horse to a halt about ten paces away.

Dismounting with the knights, he knelt on one knee before Oliver and reported in a hoarse voice, “Your Highness, the fleeing bandits have all been eliminated.”

Whether it was pursuing a few terrified bandits or facing well-trained elite enemy soldiers, as long as the numbers were equal, Fosse was always confident of victory.

Oliver only glanced briefly at the ferocious, wide-eyed heads before calmly shifting his gaze to Fosse, smiling gently. “I have never doubted your exceptional abilities, just as I have never questioned your loyalty to me, Fosse.”

Under the envious gazes of the knights, the corners of Fosse’s usually tense lips lifted slightly before he quickly restrained himself.

His heart ached as he looked at his young master, whose face alone remained clean and fair while the rest of his body was stained with varying amounts of blood. Just as he was about to speak, Oliver, perceptive of his emotions, preempted him: “Let’s return first.”

The day’s affairs were far from over: he needed to wash off the blood and then carry out the executions of the captives.

Realizing belatedly that his young master had truly waited here just for his return, Fosse felt a warmth in his eyes. “Yes, Your Highness.”

This time, a total of 31 were captured—the other bandits had been killed outright on the battlefield.

Terrified and bound tightly, they were dragged and shoved all the way until they were locked in a pitch-dark, damp, and chilly prison.

Once the pain and initial panic subsided, they began to vent their anger, cursing their leaders.

In their view, with them forced to block the front and only a handful of knights in pursuit, the cunning Bush and Rudger had likely escaped successfully!

“I knew we shouldn’t have listened to that son of a bitch Bush!”

“I saw them abandon us and run again with my own eyes, damn it!”

“If I get out of here alive, I’ll cut off their heads myself, the cursed swine!”

“We’re all doomed because of them! Damn them!”

“You still think you’ll get out alive?”

“Hey, didn’t those captured earlier survive just fine? If licking the noble’s boots means staying alive, I’d do it too!”

“Ha, I bet you reckless fool would even lick his toes.”

“Damn it, stop talking nonsense! Who knows how they plan to judge us!”

Whether expressing despair through silence or masking fear with noise, the captured bandits tacitly avoided one topic.

That was the massive sword that struck genuine fear into their hearts, and the one who wielded it.

To their unease, they did not remain in the dark prison for long. Instead, they were soon driven like livestock by expressionless guards wielding whips, heading toward the gallows near the city gates—also the site of the manor court. [mfn]Historically, a manorial court was a local court held by the lord of a manor to adjudicate minor disputes among tenants, enforce local customs, and handle petty crimes.[/mfn]

The court was now packed three layers deep with slaves and commoners, who obediently made way for the guards upon their arrival while glaring at them with hatred in their eyes.

It was only then that they realized this seemingly insignificant Laina actually had so many people!

“It’s these beasts! I recognize their faces—they were the ones who came a few days ago!”

“These scoundrels dare to show their faces again!”

“Thank the great Cat God for protecting our Lord, or we’d all have been killed by them!”

“It’s them! How dare they harm our Lord! Kill them!”

“Kill them!!”

“Our Lord is too kind-hearted. Sparing so many of them has only made them bolder!”

“This time they must die!”

The slaves, being uneducated and long oppressed by the stewards, could only repeat the same crude insults. But the sheer hatred in their stares was enough to make these murderous bandits break out in cold sweat.

One could easily imagine that if not for the presence of the Lord and the butler, and the guards holding them back, this furious crowd would have already been pelting them wildly with stones and mud.

This was completely different from what they had imagined!

Usually capable of spewing endless streams of profanity, they now hunched their shoulders in silence, trying to shrink into the formation while feeling chills run down their spines.

It was truly baffling.

When they had freely squandered their loot in major cities, they had witnessed captured thieves being sent to the gallows. Slaves rarely bothered to watch such spectacles—their lives were already miserable enough, and even thieves wouldn’t target those as destitute as them. Besides, until the moment their necks snapped, those thieves had lived far better lives than the slaves.

Only idle commoners would make a special trip to watch, cheering excitedly.

But this terrifying scene of thousands of slaves gathered alongside commoners, all equally consumed by rage and looking ready to tear them limb from limb—anyone would feel overwhelmed with fear.

Unlike last time when he had left everything to Fosse, Oliver now sat in the presiding seat, quietly overseeing the proceedings.

Even if the bandits now realized their dire situation and began squirming to hide, there would always be a first prisoner to face judgment.

Watching these vicious bandits cower and hide, the guards’ expressions remained icy. They felt not an ounce of pity for these scoundrels who had harmed their Lord.

One guard roughly dragged out the most evasive bandit and slammed him heavily onto the ground.

Damn it!

Deputy leader Robley felt as if several bones had broken from the impact, barely suppressing a curse under the crowd’s hateful glares. He had never been so humiliated or suffered so greatly in his life!

Forced to kneel and curl up under the guard’s brutal kicks, he pretended to cower, burying his head deep while bloodthirst and hatred gleamed in his eyes.

If that naive noble brat actually “pardoned” him… he would return without fail and personally wring the necks of every person here today as revenge!

Just as these bloody thoughts were swirling in Robley’s mind, Fosse spoke expressionlessly.

“Despicable, filthy bandit,” he said in a low voice. “State your name.”

“Robley DeFort, sir.”

Enduring the humiliation, he maintained his prostrate kneeling posture and answered timidly: “Please… please have mercy, Your Highness! Forgive my foolish mistakes! I will definitely—”

Before he could make more promises, he heard a particularly pleasant light laugh from above, making him freeze momentarily.

“Have mercy?”

Oliver smiled faintly, his beautiful blue eyes devoid of any warmth: “Dream on.”

Robley was stunned.

Wh-what?

“The deity’s mercy only favors pious and kind believers,” Oliver said word by word: “And the objects of my mercy are limited only to hardworking, loyal, and brave subjects.”

“As for you.”

Oliver shook his head and said coldly: “You are nothing but an irredeemable, despicable villain who invades others’ territories and plunders their properties to satisfy your own greedy desires.”

“You don’t even deserve to be tried.”

This was the last sound Robley heard.

—The next moment, the cunning and cruel head of the bandit group’s deputy leader rolled “thump thump” on the ground following the executioner’s heavy blow.

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