The castle was dark, the air stale.

The paintings that had hung on its inner walls had been taken down. Cheap tallow candles crackled now and then, giving off a harsh, greasy smell. Knights occasionally clattered past, but soldiers were everywhere, coming and going. The castle's servants had vanished. Only war remained, and the men who served it.

The nobles of Saint Peter Province had no border with another kingdom. Saint Miller Province lay to the east; the surrounding provinces were inland and comparatively safe. This castle had not had to serve its true purpose for many years.

Fortunately, its owner had never stopped maintaining it. It could still be used.

Because of its design, the castle's council hall had only a few narrow vents. It was dark and close. With a knight's help, Baron Tahar El Halei put on his armor.

The armor bore the scars of countless old blows. Its symbolic value had long since surpassed its usefulness in battle, but Baron Halei chose it anyway. Once the straps were tightened, it seemed as though every previous head of House Halei stood beside him.

"My knights, the men of Locke have reached the land blessed by the Lord's glory. Augusta's two-headed-dragon banner has been planted on King Bruno's soil.

"Those vile traitors have forgotten a knight's loyalty and honor, but House Halei never will. Anyone who wishes to leave may do so now.

"I, Tahar El Halei, swear in my ancestors' names that I will fight the Locke men to the death."

Every knight along the long table rose, their faces solemn.

"On our knightly honor, we will follow you forever."

Just as they had sworn at their investitures, they would fulfill their duty and offer their loyalty—even before the ferocious men of Locke.

Baron Halei forced a smile. "The Lord's glory protects loyal knights. Let our blood tell the Locke men that the knights of the Holy Cross are not dead yet."

The Locke army soon arrived.

As a noble who had chosen resistance, Baron Halei had abandoned all his holdings and shut himself inside the castle. Derek stood outside, studying the old fortress. Its outer walls were weathered, and parts of its design were outdated. But anyone who underestimated it would pay dearly.

"House Halei? Is he the one who killed my messenger?"

"Yes, Your Excellency. Baron Halei is a devout believer and a supporter of King Bruno's family. He defied your order and killed your messenger."

The man before Derek was Viscount Larry Yanez, a landed viscount and spokesman for Saint Peter's surrendered nobles. To preserve their families, the nobles who had failed to flee in time had submitted to Derek.

Derek knew their submission went no deeper than the surface. No true bond of lord and vassal had yet formed between them. For the moment, that did not matter. They had once sworn themselves to House Bruno, and now they had bent the knee again. So long as Derek's strength remained unquestionable, they would not dare reverse themselves in the short term. Durable rule required more than fear, of course. It required institutions capable of binding lord and vassal across generations. That was why the feudal order existed.

For the moment, Derek needed to display power.

These surrendered nobles could be used, but never wholly trusted. Show weakness, and they would not hesitate to take a bite. The humbler Viscount Yanez appeared, the more wary Derek was of him.

A man who resisted with a blade at his throat possessed a hard spine. Break that spine, and the problem ended with him. A man who dropped to his knees might truly be spineless—but he might also be clever enough to avoid the edge and wait for another chance. The first man died. The second survived to become dangerous later.

That was what Derek saw in Yanez. He had no objection to showing a truly spineless man a little kindness. For someone merely pretending, he gave no quarter.

Yanez stole a glance when Derek remained silent. The young viscount was watching the castle. Even the outline of the half of his face left uncovered looked hard and uncompromising. Yanez could not tell what he was thinking. At first he had taken Derek for nothing but a military prodigy, but every encounter since his surrender had made him uncomfortable. Derek's gaze felt like needles probing every secret he possessed.

"Verut!" Derek suddenly called.

"At your service, Your Excellency."

Verut stood proudly at attention. A two-headed-dragon badge gleamed on his chest, the knightly insignia Derek had fastened there with his own hands not long before. Verut had chosen to swear himself to Derek as a Knight of Augusta even though his birth and family connections gave him no need to seek such a position.

"My knight, I want to eat lunch inside the castle."

He spoke as calmly as though the castle had already fallen.

Verut answered with confidence. "Then you may need a cook from the North. I would hate for your lunch to disappoint you."

"Stop trying to be clever. Get moving."

Derek laughed as he scolded him, and Verut immediately left.

A castle defended by a noble prepared to die should have required days to capture. The surrendered nobles stirred uneasily. Not one believed it could fall before lunch. Derek had created his share of legends, but war still obeyed certain basic realities. Without treachery from within, even an attacker willing to spend lives freely would need several days to crack a fortress like this.

They waited to see whether the victorious young viscount had finally become drunk on success. Yanez thought it impossible too, yet Derek did not look unbalanced. All they could do was watch.

Derek knew that ninety percent of these nobles were waiting for a chance to turn on him. One look at the Panel told him as much: they could not even manage basic obedience. Some might sincerely submit, but not to him. Anyone who would not submit to Derek was a potential traitor in his eyes.

He understood perfectly how difficult a castle was to take. But after two and a half years in this world, he had gained some capital. Even expendable troops came in grades.

Serf levies or ordinary noble retainers could never chew through this target quickly. But what if the attackers were elite soldiers? The casualties would still be heavy—heavy enough to hurt even Derek—but troops whose elite strength could be recreated through the Panel were not an irreplaceable treasure. For the first time, Derek possessed enough time and capital to spend them deliberately.

Verut was rallying the force. This assignment suited him better than Simon because of his birth. Whatever else he was, he was a baron's legitimate son, a noble born with a golden spoon in his mouth.

That made him better able to bear a mission that required sacrifice—or, more accurately, better able to overlook ordinary soldiers' deaths.

As Verut became part of House Augusta, he learned more of its secrets. This elite infantry was extraordinary. Every man was elite among elites, and some of the best could match titled knights on foot. In a small war, such a force could decide everything.

Once a commander stopped treating casualties as the overriding concern, many impossible operations became possible. Even on the verge of storming a castle wall, many of these infantrymen marched in iron armor without fearing the added weight. The least protected among them still wore full leather armor capable of turning an ordinary stray arrow.

"For the glory of Augusta!" Verut shouted.

"For the glory of Augusta!" the infantry roared back.

The cry was a signal that stirred them to excitement. Verut could not have been more satisfied. This was the kind of army every commander dreamed of. Its only flaw was its small number: merely four hundred men.

The full assault force numbered more than ten times as many men. The four hundred elites would be distributed throughout its ranks, overwhelming each local defense with a difference in quality the enemy could not understand. It was the equivalent of hurling more than one hundred Titled Knights into the same assault—an extravagance almost beyond belief.

The slogans drew notice, but the surrendered nobles did not believe high morale could overturn the basics. Ladders and siege towers were familiar things to any noble trained in war. Only an expert would notice the altered rhythm of the infantry advance. It was impressive, certainly, but no reason to expect victory before noon.

War drums boomed without pause, matching the assault. A few archers took the arrow towers and began firing. Elite infantry raised their hand shields over vital points and continued forward.

Baron Halei appeared on the wall and directed the defense himself. Every method of defending a castle was employed. But Augusta's infantry came too fast. They quickly climbed onto the wall.

"Kill them! Kill these Locke dogs!"

The knights of House Halei roared and personally swung their swords at the few soldiers who had gained the battlements. After one ringing clash, the knight staggered back several steps instead.

"A titled knight!"

Had a titled knight disguised himself to reach the wall? Alarmed, the knight called soldiers to surround the attacker.

"Kill him! Kill him together!"

The death of a titled knight would be enough to hurt the Locke men. House Halei wanted to make them pay as dearly as possible.

But after they struggled to kill one opponent, more Locke soldiers swarmed up. The knights soon discovered that men with the strength of titled knights were not one or two in number. One knight wondered whether he was dreaming. Were the Locke men truly so fierce, or had the Holy Cross Kingdom become this weak? Had ordinary soldiers become this strong?

Still wondering, he fell onto the battlements.

The moment the first Augusta infantryman secured a foothold on the wall, the outcome was effectively decided. A group of Titled-Knight-level fighters operating together in such a confined space represented an overwhelming advantage. Flesh and blood could never be truly invincible, but overcoming men like these demanded a price House Halei had no strength to pay.

Baron Halei fought desperately to turn the situation around, but the Locke army was beyond anything he understood. By noon, the whole castle had fallen.

After confirming it was safe, Verut had even told the cooks to begin preparing lunch. Soldiers cleared bodies and sorted the spoils. When Derek entered the castle, the men carrying buckets to wash away blood had only just departed. His deerskin shoes splashed over wet flagstones. Many nobles' clean clothing was stained with mud, but no one cared about noble bearing now.

Baron Halei was being pressed into the mud.

"Men of Locke! Traitors! You will die miserable deaths!"

He continued to curse. When he saw Derek, he suddenly thrashed with all his strength. Had the soldiers holding him been weaker, he might have broken free.

Verut hurried over and reported quietly, "Many Haleis are missing. His children were sent away beforehand."

That was only natural. Baron Halei had prepared himself for sacrifice, but he had no intention of dragging his entire bloodline into the grave. The Holy Cross Kingdom had not yet fallen, and any king who wished to retain loyal servants would ensure that the heirs of so devoted a man were protected and rewarded. Loyalty always carried a price. House Bruno had paid it before and would be expected to keep paying it.

Halei kept spewing every obscenity he knew. Derek frowned, stepped before him, and looked down. After getting no response for a time, Halei finally paused.

"I admire your loyalty," Derek said. "But you are my enemy. The greatest respect I can show you is to send your whole family to join you.

"Perhaps I cannot destroy the Holy Cross Kingdom in my lifetime. But believe me: within a year, whether through assassins or gold paid to one of your officials, I will send your entire family below to meet you. May House Halei remain loyal beneath the earth."

Baron Halei froze. He had apparently never imagined that Derek would do such a thing.

Derek could carry out the threat. It would cost gold, agents, and political favors, but none lay beyond his reach. Halei's willingness to die did not mean he had severed every attachment. If House Halei vanished with him, his proud sacrifice would become the act that exterminated his own line. He would never rest peacefully beneath the earth.

He tried to speak, but Derek tilted his head, signaling Verut. Verut stepped forward himself and severed Baron Halei's head with one stroke. Blood splashed a foot before Derek's shoes.

Derek showed the surrendered nobles a broad, white smile. "My apologies. The greatest respect I show my enemies is to wipe them out completely."

Betrayal? Changing sides? Hidden disloyalty?

Fine. If they believed they could bear the retaliation, they were welcome to try.

The loyal servants of first-generation kings had not served because of mysterious ideals. Anyone who wanted revenge on Derek first had to make him lay down his sword. Derek had no fear of backlash. Either he would become the one above all others, or he would die.

Viscount Yanez's legs had begun to tremble. He understood plots and political maneuvering, but lacked the courage to answer naked steel with steel of his own. Until this moment, he had planned to change sides again at the first safe opportunity. Baron Halei's corpse was not yet cold, and that courage had already deserted him.

Perhaps truly surrendering would not be so bad.

Derek looked at the Panel. A whole cluster of new portraits had appeared.