"Who the hell is spouting nonsense? Don’t they know our northern knights are in intensive training?"

Derek rode into the center of the arena, coldly staring at the knight who had been shouting.

"Where did this woman come from? Don’t they know how slippery our northern roads are?"

Pfft!

The southern nobles didn’t get it, but the northern and royal nobles were all too familiar with the dangers of the northern roads. The image of someone’s skull cracking open after slipping was all too vivid in their minds. In fact, many had perished from exactly this reason. But it seemed the southern nobles didn’t understand the reference.

The knight who had been taunting Derek blushed deeply, especially when his words were turned back on him.

He saw that Derek didn’t look like he was very old, and wondered where this northern barbarian had come from.

"Kid, come here and try my iron fist. You’re only good for pleasing the tavern harlots."

At that moment, a group of knights from the Augusta family arrived, taking their positions and securing a small area of the arena. The northern and royal nobles instinctively made way for them.

When the southern knight spoke, the crowd looked at him like he was already a dead man.

"It looks like the ground is quite slippery today," said Virut, his fists clenched. He was eager to deal with the southern knight right away. His attendants all nodded in agreement, sharing the same sentiment.

Unknowingly, these knights and attendants had completely transformed in the last two months. They would never have dared to act like this before. They didn’t have this much courage back then.

But Derek wasn’t the type to back down. Sometimes, making a show of things was a good strategy. Like now, the southern knight had already built up a lot of hatred. Defeating him would bring great rewards.

Derek nonchalantly removed his cloak with one hand and threw it casually behind him.

"Knight, I hope your iron fist can make me see you in a different light."

Derek sneered. Otherwise… just wait and suffer.

Those with the courage to boast deserved to be forgiven. But those who boasted without the ability? They deserved to die.

He gently kicked the horse’s belly with his foot. The warhorse understood immediately. Such training had been repeated countless times before.

The horse surged forward in a burst of speed, closing the distance between them instantly. The southern knight, still waiting for the formalities of the duel, seemed caught off guard. Their distance wasn’t close enough for an immediate reaction, but they had enough time.

"Despicable!"

Derek reached him in an instant. Without wasting time on words, he swung his knight’s sword, aiming for a cleaving strike.

From the posture of his attack, it was clear that Derek wasn’t holding back. If he could kill the southern knight with a single blow, he wouldn’t hesitate.

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In reality, no one was a fool. Upon seeing Derek's stance, most could guess his identity. Regardless of his combat prowess, his command skills were clearly exceptional.

To the southern nobles, this was a political enemy. If they could remove him, it would be a huge victory.

Derek sensed the southern knight's intentions, but it was too late. After reaching the level of a fifth-tier elite knight, the gap between him and regular knights had only grown larger. The disparity in overall attributes completely crushed the southern knight.

He didn’t even need a weapon. With his gloved hand, he grabbed the blade of the knight's sword.

Bold!

Everyone around was stunned. Gauntlets weren’t invincible, and such a heavy strike would still cause injury.

But Derek had already seized the sword, yanked it from the knight's hand, and then forcefully pulled the man off his horse.

Before anyone could react, Derek had already tied the knight’s feet together with a rope, then ordered his horse to drag the knight away at a full gallop.

"Despicable! Shameless! You’ve dishonored the knightly spirit!"

"Release him! We concede the duel."

The southern knights were enraged and even prepared to rush forward to free their companion. But the knights of the Augusta family weren’t pushovers—they immediately drew their swords and forced the southern knights back.

Derek circled around, tossing the rope to one of his attendants.

The knight wasn’t dead yet.

"Find a pole and hang him up. Let’s see if the southern women can save him today."

Then he turned to the herald. "Beat the drums. That bastard Simon should be here by now. Surround the military camp."

Before the southern knights could make any further moves, the war drums began to sound. Soon, a large group of heavily armored soldiers surrounded the arena.

Derek slowly walked over to the wooden platform next to the training ground. He yanked off his gauntlet and threw it into the face of a familiar northern knight.

"A bunch of useless fools, can’t even beat a group of women. Should the old count suit up and fight himself?"

The knight, struck by the gauntlet, didn’t dare resist. Instead, he hurriedly caught it.

As Derek walked on, he kicked the nearest northern knight.

"Can’t win a fight and you still can’t think straight. Do you even know who we are? Where are we? This is our turf. Next time you can’t win, just call for the army. We’ll kill them all and say they were raiders. Got it?"

Derek’s voice was loud enough that even the nobles on the two sides of the high platform could hear him clearly.

The royal nobles visibly flinched, as if they had felt a familiar sense of fear.

The southern nobles, who had never seen Derek before, couldn’t tell if he was serious or just posturing.

Seeing the tension rise, the old count quickly stepped in to defuse the situation. "Viscount Derek, please, let’s not speak out of turn."

Derek immediately changed his expression and flashed a smile. After all, he was about to marry the old count’s granddaughter. He had to show some respect.

"Count, please sit. I’ll take care of this."

Meanwhile, the unfortunate southern knight was still hanging from a pole, suspended by the rope, looking worse for wear. He had stopped calling for help, which meant he likely wouldn’t survive much longer.

It was no surprise when the southern nobles finally responded, sending two territorial earls to deal with Derek.

Robert Lowitt, the Earl of Lowitt, couldn’t bear to watch Derek go any further. He finally snapped, "Viscount Derek, release my knight. I won’t hold you accountable for the ambush, but this is enough."

Derek laughed upon hearing this. It seemed Earl Lowitt still hadn’t recognized the reality of the situation.

"Virut, drop the worthless rope and get over here."

Virut, happily hanging the southern knight, finally realized how enjoyable this was. He eagerly ran over when Derek called him.

"Viscount?"

"You and the attendants, go and beat up those southern women. Remember, drag them out and beat them up one by one."

"Adrian, you take a few knights to support. Let me see if the southern knights are really women."

Once everything was arranged, Derek turned to face Earl Lowitt.

"Earl, if my knights win three duels, I’ll release your man. If not, he hangs."

If they couldn’t win, then they’d just hang there. The southern nobles would have to admit defeat, and in the future, they’d avoid Derek at all costs.

But of course, none of this needed to be said aloud. Everyone understood the implication.

Earl Lowitt was in a difficult position. Refusing meant he would lose all face, and he didn’t believe Derek’s knights were skilled enough to win three duels.

The knights, no matter whether they were actual knights or impostors, had the advantage of age. It was unlikely they were faking.