“Ansel! Ansel!”

  With a rather loud stepping sound, Finnic bashed the door open to a barrack where Ansel was sleeping.

  “Ansel, get up!”

  There were two rows of beds lined up in the room. There were ten beds total with eight of them occupied at the moment. Each row of beds was facing a wall. The room had clearly seen better days, but nothing better was expected from mere foot soldiers. In fact, as long as the roof didn’t leak and the walls prevented winds from getting through, that was all they needed.

  “Who the fuck is it?!” one of the men, who were soundly sleeping, complained as he frowned. “Finnic?! Let us sleep!”

  “Get up, you lots!” he barked back. “It’s war!”

  Ansel’s eyes opened slowly upon hearing the announcement. How long had he been waiting for this? For those who had nothing to lose, a war was a land of opportunities. Likewise, for those who had wealth, a war was a dreaded word where they could lose everything. Fortunately, he stood on the former at the moment.

  “Finnic, are you sure?” he asked as he raised his upper body from his bed.

  “You think I’d joke about this?”

  Indeed, he wouldn’t. He was very similar to Ansel. He may have been from a noble house but he was a marginalized member. One of few ways for him to climb the social ladder was this. He was more desperate than him in actuality. At least Ansel had years ahead of him. At 18 years old, he was dangerously close to the point of no return for his social status. He needed to at least reach knighthood to keep his chin up. In fact, his situation was worse than Gavin. At least, he became a squire at 15 years old. Finnic wasn’t even a squire.

  “Where is the captain?” Ansel asked, standing up from his bed and stretching out casually.

  “We’ve just received a message from a messenger on a horse. The captain is preparing to depart for a meeting.”

  “What about us?”

  The “us” were the twelve private soldiers under Gavin. Finnic and Ansel were among them. All twelve participated in the last operation led by him and all survived.

  “Nothing for now, but we should probably go and see him, especially you.”

  Ansel acted as a strategist for Gavin in an unofficial capacity, especially when it came to warfare. His quality was a question mark until the last operation which cemented his position.

  “Alright, let’s go.”

  Gavin was at the top of the walls, preparing to scale down the wall to meet up with the messenger on a horse. Finnic and Ansel caught up to him just in time. Three days. That was all it took. Whatever negotiation the two houses were doing, it broke down “spectacularly bad” or so they were told.

  “The Vaze demanded us to withdraw and hand over the fortress in addition to compensation,” Gavin explained. “The lord was having none of it. In fact, he was livid.”

  “They really don’t think we are gonna go to a war, eh,” Finnic replied.

  “Both houses are at equal strength. The Vaze probably doesn’t think that they are going to lose. In the worst case, it’s a tie,” Ansel said with his fingers on his chin. They wouldn’t be wrong to think otherwise. Both economic and military strength was about the same for both houses. What the Vaze was underestimating was the count Tristan Rassier who had the utmost desire to unify his house and climb higher. Their original rank was Marquess but were downgraded to counts once the house was officially divided. And so many decades passed that they accepted their current rank, count, as norm. Count Rassier wasn’t apparently happy with the treatment. Even Ansel, who was just a peasant, wasn’t happy with such history, either, upon learning it from Gavin.

  “Anyway, I am going to see the count right now. He must be mobilizing his troops.”

  “If you are to be promoted like he said a few days ago, you should be given an army to lead.”

  “You think so?”

  “Even if the count gave you a verbal promise, it won’t mean anything until you are actually given the promotion. Don’t you agree?”

  He hesitated to answer because it was unthinkable to doubt his liege.

  “Captain, you must press and convince the count to put you in charge of the front line.”

  “What?” Both Gavin and Finnic were surprised. “But I’ve never…”

  The truth was that no one had experienced a real war before in this generation. But he did have plenty of combat experience from fighting monsters to protect cities and towns. It’s where Ansel earned real world experience in combat as well.

  “Nobody does, Captain. We are all on an equal ground in that department. There are times you must give all you’ve got, and this is exactly the moment. Give yourself 200% and you will reap the reward for your work for the rest of your life. Not a bad deal if you ask me.”

  With his eyes downcast, Gavin was in deep thoughts. Standing on the frontline meant there would be a real chance of him perishing. It was making him hesitate because he was so close to becoming a real noble with a land. A comfortable and easy life was just within his grasp.

  “Do you remember the fort commander, captain? He and you promised to meet on a battlefield. Use that as an excuse to convince the count. You must do this if you want a guarantee that you will become a baron, captain.”

  Finnic gulped his own saliva. For both him and Ansel, Gavin’s promotion meant their own promotions as well. The former could skip being a squire and become a knight right away because of his noble background. As for the latter, he wasn’t sure what his next position would be. But anything was better than being a foot soldier.

  “B, baron…,” Gavin mumbled.

  “Yes, a baron, captain, and a beautiful wife, a noble wife.”

  Finnic uttered while massaging the bridge of his nose, “Fuck, Ansel. You are so fucking good with words…”

  “He isn’t wrong though…,” Gavin added.

  Yes, it didn’t matter how good it sounded if it wasn’t just pure fantasy. But this wasn’t fantasy. What Ansel was saying was clearly within their grasp. Gavin was originally going to go easy and save himself from troubles but he was convinced by Ansel that he needed to take further steps. His promotion may have been very much guaranteed, perhaps, because four fiefs were going to be freed, and he would surely be granted one of them. But, if he could acquire the rank of baron instead of baronet, there would be a difference, especially in the prospect of finding his wife. A better wife meant a better connection, and it would be his children that would immensely benefit from a better connection. Case in point, children of a baronet often married commoners such as children of wealthy merchants. It would not be so for children of a baron. He was starting to be convinced that mayhaps Ansel was right. Perhaps, this was time to give himself 200%. Work his bones off for a month at the most and reap the benefits for the rest of his life. Not a bad deal indeed.

  “Right,” he declared eventually. “I will do that.”

  As Finnic and Ansel observed Gavin scaling down the walls, the former asked the latter.

  “Seriously, where did you learn how to speak like that? You’ve got a real way with words.”

  Ansel beamed a smirk and didn’t give him an answer because he didn’t know in actuality. He knew one thing, however. It was that, from a very early age, he always observed people from a distance, especially those in nicer clothes. He hung around the market frequently as well, listening to banters from people of all kinds. The reason he frequented the market was simple. It was because he could get some free food here and there. Even a free apple was better than staying at home where his brothers and sisters would snatch every bit of his share. Persuasion and deceit was common in the market and naturally he learned their manner of words. Persuasion became his bread and butter pretty much over the years. Predictably, he became less and less reliant on his parents for food and, when he saw the poster for recruiting soldiers, he was very much independent, going home only to sleep. The mere fact that his parents and siblings didn’t ask around when he was missing for whole days spoke volumes about how fierce it was within their household. Essentially, there was no love lost.

  “I wish I could tell you,” he replied earnestly after a moment. “But I don’t know. You’ve got talents for swords. Perhaps, this is my talent.”

  “Dude, you’ve defeated me in every practice spar.”

  “Do you really think I could defeat you in a real battle when it is life and death?”

  “Well…”

  Finnic scratched his chick with his index finger slowly. He felt that Ansel did have a point. Perhaps he was going easy on him due to the nature of a practice spar. Although he wasn’t sure, he was convinced.

  “Yeah, I guess,” he conceded.

  Staring at Gavin on a horse with the messenger, he replied candidly, “Let’s wait for the captain to come back. If he fails to stand on the front line, our whole plans will be in tatters.”

  Realistically speaking, the difference between a baronet and a baron was miniscule. However, if Knight Gavin was promoted to be a baron, it would be a two-rank jump and context would matter. He would essentially become a war hero. He might be able to acquire a wife from a count as a result. This was something he overheard from merchants in the market. It was that nobles rarely married down. A count’s daughter would marry at least a count or higher. They would rather rot a daughter than marry her down. The only exception was when there were extraordinary circumstances.

  Gavin would return early the next morning. It took one third of a day by horse to reach Crisuri. He left the fortress at noon. Thus, he would have reached the city by evening. The meeting with the count must have taken in the evening and logically he spent a night in the city and must have left early. He had someone with him on the horse since the animal would need to go back. It would have been so much easier if the gate was open. After scaling the walls to enter the fortress, he immediately called for Finnic and Ansel to his room which had nothing more than a rudimentary desk and a chair. Everything in the fortress was only temporary anyway. Falling down into his chair, he let his limbs go loose with an exhausted sign.

  “It has been a long day…,” he muttered while rubbing his eyes.

  Both Ansel and Finnic stood a short distance away from his desk silently. After a moment of respite, he learned forward to the desk, donning a heavy expression.

  “I’ve convinced the count to let me lead the charge.”

  He made a short pause before continuing.

  “The count did affirm in front of others that I’d receive a fief and still asked me whether I wanted to lead a charge. I insisted on leading the charge.”

  “A good call, captain,” Ansel said. He felt that the count was testing him.

  “He promised Vyrhil, should I survive and we win.”

  “In front of others, captain?” This was an important detail. If the count made such promises in public, he would need to keep his words one way or another.

  Gavin nodded and added, “He gave me 100 horsemen along with 300 infantry. Finnic.”

  “Yes?”

  “You be in charge of the infantry. But a mere foot soldier can’t lead an army, can he? The count has agreed to knight you, Finnic.”

  With eyes wide, he took a step back with his mouth agape. It took a moment for him to respond.

  “I am … a knight?”

  Gavin, as a knight, wouldn’t have the authority to grant knighthood. He could as a baron but he wasn’t a baron, yet.

  “The official ceremony will come later but, yes, you are officially a knight. I was already going to grant you knighthood once I am promoted anyway.”

  “Grats, Finnic,” Ansel said, patting his back.

  “A knight… at last…”

  “Captian, you are pretty much a baron then,” Ansel said, to which Gavin smiled finally.

  “We. Must. Win,” he declared with a grave voice. “I am going to give this the best and beyond. I will obliterate the battlefield.”

  “So will I,” Finnic said in agreement.

  Ansel felt that the count was very good. He exploited their desires and egged them on. Then a dark cloud invaded his mind.

  Would someone like that remain as just a count?

  Thus, it was time to ask something else.

  “Sir, what is our kingdom called?”

  Both Gavin and Finnic made a bemused expression. But they realized Ansel’s root. Of course, he wouldn’t know.

  “The kingdom of Steterra,” Gavin answered. “We are in the Moshil region, a renowned place for salt and iron production.”

  “It’s also the southernmost region of the kingdom,” Finnic added. “A very safe region due to being surrounded by sea.”

  “I don’t have a map with me right now. Perhaps later.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  It wasn’t important since they had more urgent issues to deal with.

  Ansel changed the subject, “Vyrhil is one of the best among towns, isn’t it?”

  It had an iron mine, meaning its income was going to be steady all year around unlike farming towns. There was no way the count was going to grant such a town to a mere baronet. It had to be at least a baron. After all, another mining town, called Castel, was currently held by a viscount.

  “It is indeed,” said Gavin with a big smile on his face. “While we are on the topic, what are you going to do?”

  “Me?” Ansel pointed at himself.

  “Do you wish to continue working under me or do you have another plan?”

  “Is there a reason you are asking me that? You let me work under you, and you are all I’ve known so far. It’s no brainer for me.”

  “I ask because I want a different role for you, which you may not find pleasing.”

  “Oh? Let’s hear it first.”

  “I was hoping you would become a page.”

  “A page? You want me to become a piece of paper?”

  Finnic chuckled and answered, “No, a page is essentially a scholarly squire. A squire learns his trade from battles. A page learns his trade from paperworks.”

  “Ansel, you are not a noble born, so I am unable to promote you higher. And I feel you are clearly more suited for administrative tasks. Although your rank will be only a page, you will have bigger authorities. I will also permit you to join Finnic in case of monster invasions and whatnot.”

  Ansel folded his arms, looking displeased. “What’s after a page?”

  “It would be a chancellor,” Gavin replied.

  “And I will never be able to become one because I am not a noble?”

  “You can, but it’s going to require a good amount of merits. If you work under me for ten years, I can petition the count to grant you nobility and become a chancellor.”

  Becoming a chancellor at a tender age of 21 would be an achievement by itself. But Ansel wasn’t going to wait that long. He would come up with a way. Regardless, sticking with Gavin was the best way forward at the moment.

  “I see. Thank you. I will stick with you.” He didn’t add, “for the time being.” He didn’t have loyalty toward anyone but he wasn’t going to betray people left and right. Timing and circumstances had to be right.

  “Good, that’s settled then. Once this is over, I need you to learn how to read and write and I want you to take a simple magical affinity test. If you happen to be a mage, then it might not even take ten years to enter nobility.”

  With eyes widened, Ansel promptly talked back, “Really?”

  “Yep, court magician is a pretty decent rank on its own,” Finnic said.

  Mages were pretty rare although every count had at least one court magician. Their destructive spells could decide the flow of a battle. They were also generally smart. Therefore, they often acted as advisors to their federal lords. If Ansel was found to be a mage, the count Rassier would probably snatch him up after paying Gavin a large amount of money or something equivalent, like a rank up to viscount. Meanwhile, neither Gavin nor Finnic believed that he was a mage due to lack of potential signs. If he was indeed a mage, he would have shown his potential with magic by now. He wanted him to be tested just in case due to his high intelligence since that was one of signs as a mage.

  “The count’s army will arrive by tomorrow morning. We are to join up and march on. Get ready.”

  And, with that, their meeting was adjourned. Ansel and Finnic found themselves in the barrack where they were inspecting their weapons.

  “Nervous?” It was Finnic.

  “Not really.” And Ansel gave a stoic answer.

  “We could well perish tomorrow, you know.”

  “That’s the nature of this career, isn’t it?”

  “Well, true…”

  Ansel lacked certain emotions, and one of them was fear. When Gavin was looking for potential recruits to his personal retinue. His stoic face was what caught his attention even when he was being beaten up. Seeing such a nonchalant face when being beaten up gave him an eerie feeling. His decision to pick him up paid in the end.

  “Well, I was thinking…” Finnic shook his head. “No, now is not the time. But I want to talk to you about something… later.”

  “...? Sure.”

  Armies from both houses positioned themselves between Fort Mow and Veka. The strength of both armies were about the same although their composition was different. The Rassier had more cavalry whereas the Vaze had more archers. Overall, the gap between the two armies was very much minimal. Meanwhile, the Vaze had a more aggressive formation. The frontline of the Rassier had Gavin’s cavalry as their spearhead, supported by three hundred light infantry led by Finnic. Interestingly, Count Rassier had withdrawn the rest of his cavalry away from the frontline. With heavy infantry shielding him from the front, it looked as if he was leaving the entire battle to Knight Durrell. Gavin’s last name was Durrell.

  “Interesting…,” said Ansel as he studied whatever he could from where he stood. “It looks like the Vaze plans to start strongly.”

  “No kidding, they’ve got more men than us on the frontline,” said Finnic.

  Assuming Gavin’s cavalry would take on the enemy’s, it would be three hundred versus five hundred.

  “And that is a lot of archers,” Ansel remarked.

  Both Finnic and Ansel were clad in leather armor. The former should have worn something better, but there was no time for him to upgrade his armor since his promotion that came a day before.

  “Any advice, Ansel?”

  He looked forward in the direction of Gavin who was on the very front with his cavalry. He looked itching to go. He walked to him, and Finnic watched him walk by.

  “Sir,” he called out quietly.

  Looking back and down, Gavin saw Ansel casually approaching him.

  “What is it?” He was clad in full plate armor this time with a long sword and a kite shield.

  “The enemy cavalry might lure you deeper into their formation. Do not fall for it. I think the archers are waiting for you.”

  Groaning, he narrowed his eyes to see further clearly. “It’s hard to dictate direction in the heat of the battle.”

  “Still, you must not chase them deeper into their formation.”

  “I must show my determination to the count.”

  Ansel pulled up his index and middle finger. “I have two scenarios.”

  He stared down at him for a brief moment. “Go on.”

  “If you down their cavalry commander fast, then you may charge toward Count Vaze’s unit. If you are unable to do so, then I advise you to circle around and bring enemy cavalry right onto us.”

  Groaning once again, he glanced back at Count Rassier’s army.

  “Is the count really expecting us to win this battle with just us?”

  “I think that, whatever happens to you, he believes that he can still win, so he is letting you be. In fact, he may want you to perish instead.”

  Groaning quietly, he asked Ansel, “Why would he want me to die now of all times?”

  “I feel he promised you a bit too much.”

  Gavin remained silent for a good while. “Fuck,” he eventually said, “So, it’s four hundred versus eleven hundred?”

  “No, sir, it will be four hundred versus seven hundred.”

  Patting the neck of his horse, he demanded, “Explain.”

  “If we fight the way I tell you to, the archers will be very much meaningless. They can’t fire if we are fighting in close combat.”

  Sighing with exasperation, he demanded once again, “And how do we expect to vanquish Count Vaze this way?”

  “I am unsure how it will go exactly, but I will ask Finnic to push forward no matter what. We will drag the enemy units with us so that they can’t easily fire upon us. And we will slowly get closer to the count’s unit. When close enough for you, make a mad dash for him and strike him down.”

  “Easy, easy.” Gavin’s horse was restless and he tried to comfort him. “Ansel, this is madness."

  “It feels like this is the only way for us to achieve victory under these circumstances.”

  Frowning, he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, whatever. So be it. I followed your words thus far. I will follow them to the end.”

  Ansel bowed lightly. “Thank you, Baron.”

  He beamed a bright smile. “Yeah, baron, eh. No way would it be easy to earn that accursed title. Survive, kid.”

  “Right back at you.”

  And he walked back to Finnic’s unit.

  “What was that about?” He asked.

  “Finnic, we must push forward no matter what.”

  “What? Why does it feel like we must push forward on our own?”

  Ansel remained silent.

  “Fuck,” he uttered.

  “Out of the four hundred of us, I don’t think many will survive.”

  Sighing as well as shaking head, Finnic looked down, up, left, and right. His attention eventually ended up at Ansel, looking defeated.

  “Survive, Ansel.”

  “Survive, Finnic.”

  Gavin Durrell approached the enemy general he encountered back at Fort Mow. It looked like Ansel was right in his assessment that he’d lead the charge. He sort of had to since it was his fault that the fortress was lost.

  “My name is Sir Gavin Durrell! I give you one last chance to surrender! I guarantee that your lives will be spared! You may be able to keep your titles even!”

  The enemy general laughed out loudly. “Stop with the joke! My name is Jim Bartko or Baron Bartko if you will. I must admit, you have the guts to show your face here!”

  “Then let our swords speak,” Gavin responded politely.

  Baron Bartko spoke no more but instead nodded. Then both men returned to their positions. Inhaling as deep as he could, Gavin bellowed as he drew his sword forward.

  “CHARGE!”

  Right on cue, Baron Bartko bellowed the same, “CHARGEEEE!”

  “HERE WE FUCKING GO!” Finnic roared as he led his three hundred infantry forward. “SURVIVE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!”

  Chaos ensued as soon as they clashed. While Knight Durrell and Baron Bartko were duking it out, Finnic pushed forward gallantly, which resulted in more casualties than it should have. And, as a direct result, enemy horsemen were clashing with infantry as well. Fortunately for Ansel, the spear was an ideal weapon to take down cavalry.

  “AAAAAAHHHH!” A horseman fell down from his horse as he collapsed headfirst from his spear which pierced the neck of his horse. The man never got back up because he broke his neck. He specifically targeted cavalry because, for him, they were easier to take down. And, due to his smaller physique, it was easier for him to dodge.

  “TAKE THIS!!!” Finnic’s powerful slash split an enemy soldier’s wooden shield in half along with his left arm being sliced off. “AND THIS!” And he swung his shield at another enemy soldier next, bashing his skull to pieces.

  “MEN, PRESS ON! PRESS! PRESS!”

  Baron Bartko was flabbergasted while fighting Gavin. His unit suffered more than ten losses which was 10% of his whole unit. That was a significant loss all things considered in such a short span of time.

  “You shouldn’t lose focus!” Gavin roared as he unleashed a powerful forward thrust at him. Blocking it with his kite shield, he responded.

  “I am impressed! Your men are fierce!”

  Then Baron Bartko attempted to withdraw his unit out of the battle and toward the count’s unit, which was exactly what Ansel said he might do. Instead of chasing him, he ordered his men to attack nearby infantries instead.

  Because Baron Bartko made a mad dash toward Count Vaze’s unit, firmly believing that Gavin was chasing him close by, he ended up involuntarily abandoning the infantry units. By the time he looked back with a smirk while imagining the panicked face of his enemy knight, what he witnessed instead was their infantry units struggling to hold against the enemy forces. They were without their leader and against a cavalry unit.

  “What are you waiting for?! Fire arrows!”

  “But, Baron, if we fire now, we will likely hit our own men instead!”

  Indeed, their own soldiers were acting like shields for enemy troops at this very moment.

  Furrowing his eyebrows, he uttered, “He planned this?”

  “BACK TO BACK!” Finnic roared. “BACK TO BACK!”

  What he meant was telling his men to act in duo with their backs on each other. This would ensure a better chance of their survival. But this would also hinter their movements.

  “FORWARD SLOWLY! WATCH YOUR SURROUNDINGS!”

  “URK!” A man’s painful shout was heard behind him. His chest was pierced. He was soon avenged by Ansel whose spear had gone through the neck of the enemy.

  He asked Ansel, “How are we doing?! I can’t tell shit!”

  “We are doing just fine. The enemy soldiers are flattering since they feel abandoned, and our cavalry is drawing their attention.”

  “Do we still push now?!”

  “We must.”

  With his shield in front, he growled as he walked forward vigilantly.

  “I fucking miss the roasted pig! We are gonna get another if we make it through, yeah?”

  “Probably as often as you want.”

  “Fuck yeah! That’d be a life to live for!”

  His mind was full of dread. He honestly didn’t believe that he’d make it because the whole affair was suicidal at the moment. The only thing he could do in order to repeal darkness within him was food, delicious food. Truthfully, he should have perished already, but Ansel saved him more than a few times.

  “Fucking hell…, we are actually doing it…,” Gavin uttered in awe. His men were pushing the enemy units back and they were doing brilliantly. Perhaps what was more important was the growing morale among his men. A sense of brothers-in-arms started to grow as they fought what was perceived as a suicide mission. Instead of just looking out for themselves, they started to assist each other and, whether intentional or not, they were forming a solid wall, reducing casualties and increasing defense.

  Meanwhile, Baron Bartko had to do something to alter the flow of the battle. He had to join in but he had to ask for permission first from Count Vaze because it was the plan to lure Gavin out and arrow him down. Since the plan failed clearly at this point, they need to improvise. Count Vaze was very displeased with how the battlefield was faring and blamed everything on Baron Bartko, blissfully forgetting a very important fact that it was him who came up with the plan. Gritting his teeth, the baron had to endure a stern telling while his men were out there, dying. Swearing that he’d make it right, he rushed to join in the battle. His cavalry unit was mostly fresh while Gavin’s men were wearing down.

  “Strike them dowwwwnnnn!” The baron rushed to aid his units.

  “Captain, now!” He heard a boy’s voice. It couldn’t have been a man’s since it was too high pitched. “What?” He fanatically looked around but found no child. Indeed, Ansel was hard to be found among figures of grown men and he was using it to his advantage fully, essentially hiding in plain sight.

  Gavin’s cavalry unit rushed forward, running past them in a blink of an eye. The baron, immediately realizing what’s going on, attempted to turn around and chase him down. However, enemy infantry were blocking the way with their shields up. It was clear that they didn’t intend to attack them. They were completely on the defense.

  “.... No!” Baron Bartko uttered and pushed forward to break through. He did eventually break through, but it was too late. Gavin’s 41 horsemen successfully reached the count’s unit and managed to strike down the count amid panic. Count Vaze didn’t realize until it was too late that they were too close. It took about ten seconds for Gavin’s unit to reach them, which wasn’t enough time to react to the sudden strike.

  “WE FUCCCCKKKING WON!” Finnic was the first one to roar to victory. “WE WON!” His face was full of blood. His entire body was covered in blood at this point. It was similar for almost everyone else bar Ansel since he always kept a distance. He watched Baron Bartko gathering up the army and promptly withdrawing.

  He whispered, “It’s not over yet. They can still hold out and wait for reinforcements.”

  The count may have been slain, but the army still remained. He was certain that his successor was giddy that the current count perished. Regardless, this particular battle was won indeed. This was when Count Rassier’s unit finally advanced forward, approaching them. He arrived when Gavin met up with Finnic and Ansel. He hugged Finnic in tears. Both Gavin and Finnic felt as if they survived hell. They shouldn’t have made it indeed.

  “Sir Gavin Durrell,” said the count on his horse clad in full plate armor, flanked by elite cavalry units. Sniffing his nose, he got down on one knee to greet his liege.

  “M’lord, I’ve fulfilled my duty,” he declared, barely holding his voice from breaking. This was the battle of his life. It was the same for Finnic as well. And he, too, got down to one knee behind him.

  “You’ve indeed. Pray tell, Sir Knight.”

  “Yes?”

  At this point, Ansel quietly withdrew from the scene, foreseeing what he was going to ask.

  “You are not capable of this on your own. Who aided you?”

  In other words, he fully expected Gavin to either perish or fail, rendering his promises to him null.

  “I had …, no, have a strategist.”

  The count slowly looked around as if searching for the said strategist. Of course, he would find none.

  “A knight never has his own strategist. You are no longer a knight. Arise Baron Durrell.”

  “M’lord?”

  His promotion to either a baronet or a baron was supposed to come after everything settled.

  “You passed. The victory is within our grasp. Your role is now over. It is my turn now.”

  Tears welled up in Gavin’s eyes. He did what he had to do. He gave 200% and earned what he was promised.

  “Grats, Baron Durrell,” Ansel whispered with a faint grin on his face, watching the scene behind grown men.