The Governor's fear and anxiety vanished, along with his earlier resentment at Count Perez's slow advance.

The old Count had been cautious, not timid. He had waited for the right moment and ended the crisis in a single stroke.

The Governor craned his neck for a better view, but all he could make out was the upright silhouette of a knight in the torchlight.

"Knight below the walls! Is Count Perez with you?"

"The legion commander is still three days' march away."

Derek answered honestly.

The Governor's face fell. "Then who is in command? How many have come?"

"I am. I brought eight hundred men from the Tenth Thousand of the Second Legion of the Northern Province and a thousand from the Eighth Thousand of the First Legion."

"Only eighteen hundred?"

The Governor's voice cracked. He had assumed only the arrival of the entire northern army could have routed the barbarians so thoroughly.

How could it be so few?

Was the knight mocking him? The Governor glanced at the men around him, half wondering whether they were part of the joke.

Were northern knights truly this ferocious?

Derek's voice carried up to the battlements, perfectly steady. "The barbarians are hardly worth mentioning. My men are tired after today's long ride. Give us a day to rest, and we will return to break their main camp."

He delivered the boast with absolute confidence.

By his judgment, the barbarians had already lost too many men. They were certain to withdraw.

If they delayed until the main army arrived, leaving would be far harder.

From the kingdom's perspective, delaying the barbarians for another two days might have produced an even greater victory.

But once the main force drew near, the barbarians would grow more cautious. Derek might never get another opportunity this good—or claim a victory so completely as his own.

His early strike had killed fewer barbarians than a full encirclement might have, but it secured the greatest possible credit for Derek himself.

The kingdom's interests?

What did those have to do with a minor knight like himself?

Besides, if the result was good, no one would mind the details.

The Governor knew nothing of Derek's calculations. He had spent his career moving between the central provinces and had never experienced war on this scale. Derek's display overwhelmed him.

He even muttered to himself: what a formidable knight. Give him a few more men, and he would probably have finished the barbarians off today.

Without realizing it, his voice dropped to a respectful murmur. "May I ask your honored name?"

"Derek von Ferreira."

The Governor fixed the name firmly in his memory. "Knight Derek, the circumstances make it difficult to admit you tonight. Once the barbarians have withdrawn, I will host a banquet in your honor."

Derek nodded. Without that degree of caution, the Governor would have lost his head long ago. He took his leave.

What he did not know was that his second brother, Sergei, had found the voice familiar from the start. When Derek announced his name, Sergei was so shocked he dropped his weapon.

"That is my younger brother?"

"He is this ferocious?"

"Am I dreaming?"

Before he could confirm anything, he heard the Governor asking what house Derek's surname belonged to.

Derek himself had been an obscure nobody until now, but among the nobility there were indeed specialists who studied genealogies.

"Derek is a direct-line descendant of a cadet branch of House Ferreira. He currently holds no fief. His full name should be Derek von Ferreira.

"House Ferreira is an established military house of the north. They were ennobled during the frontier campaigns a century ago, and thirty years ago in the War of Secession they struck the barbarians in the north while holding off the armies of the Kingdom of the Holy Cross in the east.

"Ah, yes—I recall that House Ferreira also has sons serving in the Iron Lion Legion."

Shortly afterward, a dazed Sergei found himself summoned before the Governor.

Fortunately, Sergei presented himself well. After answering several questions, he even earned the Governor's praise: a worthy son of a martial house.

Then he returned to his post, still in a haze.

The obscure military lineage of House Ferreira had become famous overnight.

Only one thought filled his head: "The third brother is going to rise."

Sergei was not alone in thinking so. Once everyone had calmed down, they all knew it: this time, Derek was going to rise.

Defeating a larger host with fewer than two thousand men, overrunning an enemy camp, and parading his strength beneath the city walls—each deed was worthy of song.

Such figures were found only in the old legends.

A barbarian invasion on this scale came perhaps once a decade. Tens of thousands fought on both sides, and a count had been beheaded. The war had shaken the entire kingdom.

With the entire realm watching, any exceptional deed could secure a man's future.

Derek's performance had been so brilliant that no one could overlook him.

When Baron Palmer came to see Derek, he had long since abandoned all pretense of dignity. He chattered without pause: "I have three daughters. Whichever one catches your eye, I will send her to your home at once. If it's the married one, I will have her divorce her husband.

"I can send all three together, if you like. I will throw in three manors as dowry."

Baron Palmer's three daughters—Derek let his imagination wander for a moment. It did seem rather tempting, especially... the married one.

Derek let the man chatter. The Baron had earned a little indulgence.

More importantly, officer after officer came forward to pledge loyalty.

Having witnessed Derek's ability firsthand, even the officers who had joined him late now respected him without reservation.

Politics mattered in the army, but strength remained its foundation.

A powerful superior officer meant both merit and survival.

Even Baron Palmer's own subordinates came to establish a connection that might prove useful one day.

For all his triumph, Derek remained cautious. He withdrew a dozen miles to make camp.

If he grew careless now and the barbarians wiped him out in one stroke, everything he had won would be for nothing.

And his caution was not misplaced.

The barbarian commander was prudent, but that did not mean he did nothing.

A handful of scouts soon uncovered the truth.

When he learned that the same small Locke force had both destroyed Enrique and overrun the southern camp, rage nearly overwhelmed him.

Then he immediately considered whether a counterattack was possible.

But upon learning that Derek had made camp far away, with every precaution in place for an early alert, he knew he had no chance.

"Damnation. Every part of the plan was ruined by this one Locke force. Send men to find out who commands that army!"

No matter how hard it was to accept, the facts were the facts. He had to understand how he had been defeated.

One barbarian general still could not swallow his fury and roared, "Grand Commander! Give me men to kill him! Give me one day, and I will bring back the Locke commander's head!"

"Idiot! A pack of idiots with nothing but muscle where their brains should be!" the barbarian commander raged. "Do you think the enemy is as stupid as you? He only needs to stall for two more days, and the main Locke army will arrive. Then it will be us who cannot get away."

Willing or not, they all had to face the truth. Having lost over a third of its strength and suffered a shattering blow to morale, this army no longer had the confidence to meet the Locke forces in a pitched battle.

To cut their losses now—at least that could not be called a defeat.

"We withdraw. Locke's plans are already disrupted. Let those fanatics tear at them next. That is how we barbarians will secure our place."

The barbarian commander understood the distinction: a tactical defeat hurt, but a strategic defeat could destroy them.

The barbarians certainly knew of Locke's plans. That was why they had launched this lightning strike in the first place.

Now, win or lose, they had to leave.

The next day, just as Derek had predicted, the barbarians put on a show of preparing to assault the city in the morning, scaring off certain restless elements within Ironwall City.

Then they abandoned much of their baggage and retreated with lightning speed.

Only Derek, leading a picked force, shadowed them from a distance and saw them out of the kingdom.

...

The barbarians did try to retaliate. If they came in force, Derek wheeled away; if they sent too few, his men broke them in a single charge.

Derek clung to the retreating column like a burr.

The barbarian commander kept his eyes on this troublesome enemy. He realized now that he had not lost unfairly.

Chance might decide a single clash. Maintaining exactly the right distance throughout a retreat required judgment and discipline.

Few commanders could judge that distance so precisely. Derek remained close enough to threaten and far enough to escape, making every mile miserable for the barbarians.

If they turned to deal with him, they lost time.

If they ignored him, his presence remained an intolerable threat.

With Derek at their heels, they could attempt nothing else during the retreat.

"A troublesome fellow indeed. We must learn his origins. I have a feeling... he may be a great obstacle to our southward advance."

The barbarian commander sighed. Was the Kingdom of Locke's fate not yet exhausted?

Derek, meanwhile, watched the retreat with a deepening frown.

From what he had seen along the way, the barbarians had captured vast numbers of commoners and great stores of wealth, but they had not indulged in indiscriminate slaughter.

Their commanders were disciplined and pursuing more than a simple raid.

He even began to suspect that the remarkably well-timed lightning strike had not been coincidence at all.

If it truly was a response to the Kingdom of Locke's northern expedition plan, then there should be more to it than just this.

"I can only hope... that the noble lords above can see through the barbarians' schemes. Otherwise, we may be in trouble."

...

Back with the Second Legion, Count Perez was still racking his brains over how to break the barbarians' stratagems. He wondered whether Derek could hold his ground and pin down part of the barbarian army.

"If he can tie up part of the enemy, then whether I use the chance to encircle them, or they send their main army to his rescue, the siege of Ironwall City will be broken."

Count Perez's plan was sound. He had no scholarly name for the stratagem, but decades of campaigning had taught him the same principle: threaten one position to relieve another.

This was also why the First Legion had agreed to cooperate.

Prestige accumulated over years and showed its true value only in a crisis, when other men were willing to trust one's judgment.

Suddenly, a clamor rose outside the command tent. For the Count, who demanded strict order at all times, this was highly displeasing.

He even rose to his feet, his train of thought broken.

But before he could ask what was happening, he saw Cesar stumble through the entrance, his face wearing an expression of sheer disbelief.

Had something happened to that boy Derek?

That would be unwelcome news, but it hardly warranted such panic.

"Count!"

Cesar knew full well that such dishevelment would displease the Count, but he was past caring about such things.

At first, Cesar had dismissed the report as false. Only after messengers from two separate sources confirmed it repeatedly had he stumbled into the tent in a daze.

"Composure in all things—have you forgotten what I taught you?"

"Count." Cesar forced out a twisted smile, impossible to tell whether it was joy or shock. "A great victory! A great victory!

"Yesterday, Knight Derek crushed the barbarians. He slew more than ten thousand and has now forced their entire army to retreat!"

"What?"

Count Perez thought age had dulled his hearing. But Cesar repeated the words once more.

This time, he was certain.

Though he knew it could not be a false report, the news was simply too staggering.

Had the siege of Ironwall City—and with it the crisis threatening the entire Northern Province—truly ended so suddenly?

Then what had he spent every day agonizing over?

"That boy... What a remarkable boy."

The Count paced back and forth, unable to calm himself.

"Count, we must depart as soon as possible," Cesar urged.

The foremost credit belonged to Derek, but Count Perez's role as overall commander could not be overlooked.

If they were too far away when the reports were written, tongues would surely wag. The right course now was to ride light and fast, and at least reach the walls of Ironwall City as quickly as possible.

But the Count was thinking of something else entirely.

"There is no rush. No rush at all.

"Cesar, I recall you have some rapport with Derek?"

"Yes, we get along well. After all, we both came up through the knightly order.

"Do you want me to go and congratulate him on your behalf?"

"Congratulate him? Use your head! You're usually quick enough. How can you be so dense when it matters?

"Right now, you will set out at once. Go to House Ferreira and tell them this: I have a granddaughter of suitable age. I have high hopes for that boy Derek, and I am marrying her to him. Her dowry... how about a knight's fief?"

It took Cesar a moment to process, but then understanding struck.

"Brilliant! No wonder they say age brings wisdom."

It was a masterstroke. Derek was clearly on the rise. He would become a hereditary baron at the very least, and no one knew how high he might climb after that.

They had to secure the match before someone else did.

Everyone else was busy currying favor with Derek himself. The Count, in a stroke of genius, went straight for the marriage alliance.

What bond was stronger than kinship?

Others might think the old Count slow, but he understood which bonds carried lasting weight.

"Quick, quick, quick! What are you standing there for, you fool? Once this match is made, you will be half a matchmaker to the boy. Is that not far better than rushing to flatter him like everyone else?"

The old Count gave Cesar a kick on the backside. Now was not the time to be slow-witted.

Cesar felt not the slightest resentment. This was an opportunity.

Cesar scrambled out of the tent and galloped away at full speed.

Count Perez, of course, was not idle either. He issued the order to march at once.

Leaving the main body behind, he spurred the knightly order forward at a breakneck pace. In a single day, they covered the distance to Ironwall City.

When he saw the wreckage of the southern camp and the towering mound of severed heads, he knew the reports had contained no exaggeration.

When he learned that Derek was still shadowing the barbarian retreat, he marveled at the young man's nerve.

"A true hero in every sense!"

In the Governor's presence, the old Count praised Derek without restraint.

"Governor Jeffries, let us jointly submit a memorial of merit for this battle—and especially for Knight Derek. In my view, granting him a viscountcy and two baronial fiefs would not be the slightest bit excessive."

The Governor naturally agreed that Derek's deeds were outstanding, but the old Count seemed to be trying far too hard.

Such enthusiasm went beyond ordinary support for a promising junior. The old fox clearly had something else in mind.

He had made inquiries beforehand and knew that Derek had come out of the Count's knightly order. But simply completing one's knight training there created no formal bond of dependence.

Every great house did the same.

It was natural for the old Count to be close to him, but pushing this hard was not.

Still, on one point the old Count was absolutely right: Knight Derek deserved the foremost merit—tremendous merit—and no one could deny it.

So he nodded in agreement. "There is no rush to submit the memorial. We can wait until Knight Derek returns."

"No need to wait. The outcome is settled. Let us give him a pleasant surprise. That is how meritorious officers should be treated!"

Of course the Count was in a hurry.

If he put in the effort before the betrothal was sealed, it would be called selfless dedication.

If he put in the effort after the betrothal was sealed, it would be called forming a faction for private gain.

He was very clear about the difference.

The Governor had no choice but to agree to draft a brief summary memorial first. The rest could wait.