Derek hesitated, but in the end he could not bring himself to refuse—especially after hearing how captivating the eldest Palmer daughter was. Being called brother-in-law, however, had to stop. He was about to meet his fiancée; the least he could do was show her that much respect.

Adrian stepped forward smoothly. “Sir David, if the Palmer ladies have nowhere to stay for the moment, His Excellency can shelter them. But please do not say things that might cause misunderstanding. The Viscount is about to meet his fiancée, a lady of House Perez. Do you understand?”

Beautifully put. This was no sordid indulgence. He was merely offering shelter to three young ladies with nowhere else to stay—a charitable act, really. Derek silently promised his cousin a raise next month.

David apologized at once and addressed him properly as Viscount. The first brother-in-law was enough. House Palmer never expected the Viscountess’s place; they sought only a bond through women, and not only women.

David presented an apology gift, clearly prepared in advance. “Before I left, Father said all House Palmer has comes from your patronage. From now on, we will follow your lead. Each year we will send an offering no smaller than this apology.”

Adrian inspected the list before handing it to Derek. Its value exceeded a thousand gold coins. House Ferreira, a traditional baronial family, would need to lose half its annual income to match it.

Whether this proved the Palmers' wealth or simply the depth of their resolve, Derek saw no reason to return money freely placed in his hands. The real question was whether he would accept the same tribute next year. Whatever his other failings, he still believed in giving value for payment. If he took their gold, he would owe them protection and favor.

He accepted with a smile. “I hope David will come in person again next year.”

David was pleased. Gifts had not always found a recipient before. The two discussed House Palmer’s situation. It was flourishing: joining the ranks of landed nobles, even if not warmly received, brought many invisible benefits. A new fief meant fewer obstacles in commerce.

But the family now wanted more. It feared falling again and wanted respect. Human ambition truly had no end.

As for the sisters, Derek restrained himself. He was about to meet his fiancée; there was no need to hurry for a day or two. A man without that measure of self-control had no business competing in the world.

David stayed two days, left gifts and sisters behind, and departed. Derek finally began his delayed journey.

This time he did not leave only with guards. To face the arriving southern nobles, half the Saint Miller Legion was mobilized, along with a portion of Augusta’s private force after six months of training. Five or six thousand men marched grandly toward Pran City.

The southern nobles proved even more desperate than expected. The Second Northern Expedition Legion was still on the road, yet a knightly order assembled by the southern houses had raced ahead to Pran. By the time Derek arrived, they had already been there for several days.

The bad news was true: the southern nobles were furious. They had waited ten years for this opportunity, only to be outmaneuvered by the barbarians and then watch their allies bargain away the prize just as it came within reach. Nor had the South neglected military power during its economic rise. Heavy investment had produced a capable new generation of knights, equipped better than their northern or capital counterparts.

Over the past days, knights from the regions had clashed more than ten times. The capital knights had fared worst, beaten by everyone. Northern and southern knights had unexpectedly drawn even.

The northerners were stunned and forced to reassess their southern counterparts. Count Perez and the older generation finally confronted the decline of the North's younger knights, while every drawn contest sent southern confidence climbing higher. When armies could not clash openly, victory in knightly contests translated directly into political weight. Unless that momentum was broken, the three factions' earlier division of territory would not survive.

Messengers urging Derek came more than ten times a day. The Viscount who had been leisurely preparing to see his fiancée became a roaring dragon again.

“A pack of trash. You let a band of girl knights knock you down and delay my business.”

He could not meet his fiancée, could not return home, could not see the Palmer sisters—no, strike that last part. These fools were delaying the Viscount's vital concern for his subjects. Not even Verut or the other noble squires dared point out the slight flaw in his complaint. A draw against the southern knights was humiliating. Martial strength was the North's greatest source of leverage, and if that aura of invincibility shattered, its already limited political resources would shrink still further.

The only good news was that Viscount Derek had not acted. Two months of training had remade the squires and given them blind faith in him.

Cursing, Derek abandoned the main army and galloped ahead with his attendants. At Pran’s gates he learned that Count Perez and the northern nobles were at the camp outside the city, where the contests had been held. He rode there.

From a distance, he saw the knights' triangular pennants and the nobles' square banners snapping in the wind. A bout had apparently just ended, and one side was cheering its victory.

“Tell that brat Derek to come quickly,” someone shouted. “When I defeat him, what excuses will you have? Northern knights have declined. It is time for southern knights to take their place.”

“Which bastard is boasting? Do you not know northern knights are in concentrated training?” Derek rode into the center, staring coldly at the shouting knight. “What girl is this, who does not know northern roads are slippery?”

The northern and capital nobles understood the joke. They remembered heads smashed into brains because the road was ‘slippery.’ The southern nobles did not. The knight who had been caught boasting flushed, saw only a young northern brute, and snarled, “Boy, come taste my iron fist. Your mouth is fit only to please tavern whores.”

The Augusta knights formed behind Derek, each man bringing his horse neatly under control. Northern and capital nobles instinctively cleared a space around them. Everyone who understood the joke was already looking at the southern knight as though he were a dead man.

“The ground is slippery today,” Verut said, clenching his fist. The other squires agreed. Two months earlier, they would not have reacted so boldly.

Derek had no intention of retreating. A timely display of strength could be useful, and this man had drawn so much hostility that crushing him promised an enormous return. Derek unfastened his cloak with one hand and tossed it behind him.

“Knight, I hope your iron fist gives me a reason to think highly of you.”

He tapped his horse. It understood, having practiced such moves countless times. The warhorse exploded forward and closed the distance. The southern knight seemed to be waiting for a formal ceremony, though the distance gave him time to react.

“Despicable!” he cried, swinging his sword without restraint. If the blow killed Derek, so much the better. Derek’s bearing made his identity obvious, and even apart from martial strength, he was a political enemy of the south.

Derek sensed his intent. But he was too slow. At level five as an Elite Knight, Derek’s advantage over ordinary knights had grown immense. In a one-on-one fight, comprehensive physical superiority left little chance to lose.

He did not even draw a weapon. His gauntleted hand shot out and closed around the blade. A collective gasp rose from the onlookers—a gauntlet was no guarantee against a committed cut. But Derek caught the sword before its power fully developed, tore it from the man's grip, and hauled the knight bodily from the saddle.

Before anyone reacted, he tied the man’s feet to a rope and had his horse drag him at a run.

“Despicable! Shameless! A surprise attack insults knightly spirit!” southern knights cried. “Release him. We concede this contest.”

They surged forward, but Augusta knights drew swords and forced them back. Derek circled once, handed the rope to an attendant, and saw that the man was alive.

“Find a pole and hang him up. Let us see whether his southern friends can save him today.”

Then he turned to a messenger. “Beat the drums. Simon should have arrived by now. Surround the camp.”

The drums sounded before the southerners could respond. Armored soldiers closed around the gathering as Derek mounted the wooden platform, tore off his gauntlet, and flung it into the face of a familiar northern knight.

“Trash. You cannot beat a group of girls. Must the old Count armor up himself?”

The knight did not dare protest. Derek kicked every northern knight he passed. “You cannot fight, and you cannot think. Who are we? Where is this? It is our ground. Next time you cannot beat them, call the army and kill them all. Say bandits did it. Understand?”

The capital nobles shuddered at the return of a familiar terror. The southerners, meeting Derek for the first time, could not decide whether he was bluffing. Count Perez hurried to break the mounting pressure. “Viscount Derek, do not speak nonsense.”

Derek instantly smiled. He was going to marry the old man’s granddaughter; he should give him face. “Please sit, my lord Count. I will settle this.”

Not far away, Verut’s group had erected a pole and the unfortunate southern knight hung from it like a kite. He seemed in poor condition and no longer called for help.

The south had sent two landed counts; their vanguard was led by Count Robert Lovett. Unable to endure further, Lovett said, “Viscount Derek, return my knight. I will not pursue your surprise attack in the contest.”

Derek laughed. The Count still had not recognized reality.

“Verut, put down that useless rope and come here.” Verut ran over eagerly.

“Lead the squires and defeat the southern knights one by one. Adrian, take several veterans to oversee them. Let me see what the southerners are truly made of.”

Then Derek faced Count Lovett. “If your men defeat my established knights in three bouts, I will return him.”

Otherwise, the man could remain on the pole until the southern nobles bowed their heads and learned to give Derek a wide berth. None of that needed to be said aloud. Lovett could not refuse without losing face, and he did not believe Derek's knights were so formidable that his own men could not win three bouts. The squires were plainly too young to be veteran knights in disguise.