Verut was thrilled by the task. Two months in the training camp had been miserable: total defeat. Apart from fellow squires, every camp knight had been able to crush them. Though all had improved immensely, they had lacked targets to experience the joy of crushing others. Now a whole group stood before them.

The southern knights knew Derek’s wager. For their honor and to save their companion, they could not be timid. They had come to take meat from a tiger’s mouth and were mentally prepared for hardship.

Nobles on the platform watched the contest. “That is Verut. He is good, but only above average among established knights,” northern nobles worried. Verut had a reputation, yet the knight just defeated had been stronger than him. Southern and capital nobles thought differently: Verut was young. Even if he surpassed his peers, how could he beat mature southern knights?

Count Perez quietly asked Derek, “How certain are you?”

“Completely.”

“You are not deceiving me?”

“Relax. My titled knights are holding the line. We cannot lose.”

Augusta’s men were Level 3 or 4 Elite Knights, formidable even by the standards of titled knights. They had come straight from war and never relaxed their training. Derek also possessed an advantage Perez lacked: if the contest turned disastrous, he was perfectly willing to end the game and use his cavalry. No individual knight could withstand repeated charges.

While they spoke, Verut had already knocked down a southern knight. Excited, he held the man’s helmet aloft and rode around the field.

“Show-off,” Derek muttered. Why waste stamina now?

The southerners stirred. They had not underestimated Verut and had sent a capable man, yet he had fallen. Then Verut defeated five southern knights in succession before retiring, breathless.

The discussion became too loud to ignore. “Is that Verut, the northern knight rising star?” The south had gathered intelligence on him but had not expected such strength. Clearly, their information was wrong.

They relaxed when Verut withdrew, but the following squires humiliated them further. Established southern knights challenged in turn, winning only about one bout in ten. None strung together victories.

Count Lovett leaned so far forward that he would have fallen without the railing. Nearby nobles heard him repeat, “How can this be?”

The south had worked hard for ten years and thought it had caught the north. Its knights had previously performed well, losing no obvious ground to anyone. Lovett had thought southern rise would begin today. That dream was smashed. Derek did not merely slap his face; he had men slap it again and again, saying, You are still far behind.

Unable to endure, Lovett murmured, “Send in the titled knights.” He had not come north relying only on ordinary knights. The titled knights gathered and cultivated by southern nobles were their greatest confidence, the usual stars of the King’s Court.

Defeat three northern knights, and they could win. It would not look good, but better than losing both men and face. The titled knights received the hint but were unwilling. The Count’s interests were not theirs, and knightly honor made it hard to bully squires openly. Yet pressure from a great noble was difficult to bear. Eventually honor went to hell.

A knight with an ornate crest on his chest stepped out. Everyone became alert. A titled knight was near the peak of knightly glory, one earned through contest after contest. Ordinary knights could be frauds; publicly recognized titled knights were not.

To Derek, such men were roughly level-nine or level-ten knights, perhaps Elite Knights: hard men who could wear heavy armor and charge at speed.

“Let every one of ours go up and experience him,” Derek ordered. “Free sparring partners like this are hard to find.” A familiar partner could not create the same pressure. Derek wanted the squires to feel true pressure early.

So the titled knight, ashamed to have come out, had to suppress his anger and face a procession of squires. It was humiliating: a titled knight bullying attendants would damage his name. He initially tried striking heavily to frighten them away, but it only made them howl and attack more fiercely. Even the rested Verut exchanged several back-and-forth blows with him.

“Now that has the flavor of northern knights,” Count Perez suddenly said. For years he had felt northern knights lacked spirit. He saw it in these squires. No wonder there had been fewer titled knights recently. Northern knights needed the heart to howl and pounce.

“Shameless! Are you trying to exhaust his strength?” Count Lovett protested.

“Then use your men to exhaust ours. It seems you have more knights,” Derek retorted.

The challenges ended. The titled knights who had rotated through them had not lost much stamina. Then the southern titled knight seemed to agree to something with Simon. Each side sent three men, forming a forward-pointing triangle.

They were going to fight in a group. It was more dangerous than individual challenges, perhaps meant to end the matter in one battle.

Derek smiled. He did not know the south’s battlefield level, but this was a northern strength. Weapon skill could become fluent through practice; talent could create physical advantages. Formation skill required experience. People might say it was only three against three, but anything requiring cooperation could be practiced to ninety-nine percent. The last percent demanded blood and sweat.

The south might retain two or three chances in individual fights, because battles had many variables. In three against three, Derek believed their chance was less than one in ten. The southern knights did not seem to understand. Even Count Perez saw it.

“We have won.”

Perez was under enormous pressure. Southern performance had been difficult to describe. In only ten years, they had caught up. At least in war, they still lacked something, but the north would have many wars ahead; perhaps the south would catch up there too. The pressure remained.

Both sides removed the heads from their lances and donned heavy armor. That meant the fight was real. A blunt lance at a charging horse’s speed could still break bones and tear tendons; falling from a galloping horse could kill.

Even titled knights were tense and stiff. Augusta’s knights, however, remained relaxed, having their horses step lightly as they adapted before the fight. Heavy steel hid their bodies, but their bearing differed: one side was tight, the other treated it like daily life.

The horses sensed the solemn mood and, under their riders’ control, grew tense enough to release greater power. Both sides lowered their visors and formed up.

“So tight,” someone said.

Even southern knights could see the difference. Augusta’s riders were almost shoulder to shoulder, horses much too close by usual standards. Cavalry charges normally left safe gaps for movement and to avoid accidents. Augusta’s formation seemed to defy common sense.

Derek smiled. It was the understanding created by training and fighting together, proof of knightly level. If any part were weaker, they would not dare do it. At close range, the arrangement gave superior cooperation.

When both sides charged, the three wooden shafts overlapped front to back. The surface they presented and the density of their attacks were completely different. In such a crossing charge, no extra opportunity was given.

The collision sounded dull. Riders flew from their saddles and hit the earth hard.

Augusta’s knights quickly circled. The southern riders, relying on individual ability, turned successfully but became more scattered. Another charge put down another. The last southern knight did not forget knightly honor; he charged with clenched teeth and was knocked down as well.

The southern knights had been defeated without ambiguity.

Count Lovett did not want to believe it but had to accept it. He had endured for so long, expecting one brilliant success, only to be forced down brutally.

“I concede. Southern knights are inferior to northern knights. Viscount Derek, return my knight. We accept the earlier division of garrisons and will send you an apology gift afterward.”

Lovett surrendered decisively. Losing had to be acknowledged. They could return in ten years, but if he lost people’s hearts, the defeat would be complete. A man who had led southern nobles’ rise for nearly a decade was not stubborn.

There were gains, too. Southern knights had made a name and would not easily be slighted in future. The capital nobles were now the most embarrassed: they could no longer beat northerners, could no longer use strength to disdain southern barbarians or wealth to disdain northern ones. Their next years would be hard unless they proved extraordinary in war—and they lacked confidence.

Derek could not drive the southerners any further. He privately wished for a foolish opponent, but every rival he met knew when to yield. Lovett had surrendered the moment persistence became more costly than retreat.

Derek smiled too. “It was all a misunderstanding, Count Lovett. As for the apology gift... I will send someone to collect it.”

Little fox, shameless, Lovett cursed inwardly. In Derek’s eyes, Lovett was the same kind of man. Such was a qualified noble.

No one mentioned the territory lines again. Southern nobles had earned respect, but also hostility. Weak opponents were not valued. Northern nobles would not weaken capital nobles only to strengthen southern competition; they would suppress the south if they could.

After the contest, the great nobles returned to polished civility. Count Perez and Marquis Hussein jointly hosted the southern delegation and thanked them for their long journey and military support. The conflict remained real, but no faction intended to rupture the alliance openly.

At last, Derek met the important person of this journey. Lady Tiona appeared at the banquet in careful dress. The knights tactfully opened a small space for the two young people to speak.

Tiona was beautiful, especially for the age, but Derek had seen the great beautifying arts of his previous life and did not lose his head over looks.

“Viscount Derek, is this our first formal meeting?”

“No, Lady Tiona. I saw you before in the knightly order.”

“I have heard your story. I confess I am curious. And... how do the Palmer sisters feel?”

The abrupt change caught Derek unprepared. There truly was no wall without wind.

“Honestly, I have not met them yet.” He was already considering how to respond. Losing this marriage would not destroy him, but the old Count had treated him well.

“Actually, I understand noble affairs better than you think. I am even glad you came to see me directly. Viscount Derek, I hope we can have a good marriage. A lady of House Perez will be your best support. I need only a little respect.”