The assassins hadn't yet realized that they had become the prey. When they saw Derek charging toward them, the leader even smiled cruelly. Too many nobles had fallen under assassinations. Although such methods were not honorable, they were undeniably effective. For the leader, physically eliminating the enemy was far more practical than any so-called honor.
However, his confidence quickly faded as he witnessed Derek's deadly, almost artistic swordsmanship. Several of his carefully selected swordsmen couldn't last more than a single strike against him. What was even more terrifying was that Derek's attendants, like wild bulls, effortlessly crushed his men. The assassins on the rooftops, who had discarded their bows in favor of close combat, were left stunned as their front-line shields fell one by one.
The leader tried to turn the tide but was quickly overpowered by Derek's knights, who were just as skilled as he was. When both sides possess similar combat abilities, wearing even half-armor versus no armor at all makes a decisive difference. The leader resigned himself to the fact that he would not complete his mission; he had already prepared for death. But just as he braced himself for the end, a leather boot pressed down on his head.
"Here's a tip," Derek said coldly. "Next time, hide poison in your collar. You could've been free by now."
The assassin leader remained defiant. "Hmph. Kill me if you dare, but don't expect to extract any information from me."
Derek's rage flared. It was the closest he had ever come to death. If the attackers hadn't been so clumsy, a stray arrow could have easily ended his life. In his fury, Derek kicked the man hard in the face, sending a few teeth flying out with a spray of blood.
"Take the survivors," Derek commanded. "We're leaving."
Interrogation? What for? Every suspect was already guilty. Now that his anger had cooled, Derek could think more clearly. Figuring out when he would arrive wasn't hard, but this was not something the ragged remnants of the Holy Cross Kingdom could have known on their own. Someone from the northern nobility or the capital had leaked the information, whether intentionally or not. One way or another, his fury needed an outlet. This could even be a good opportunity to make an example of someone and show them that their necks weren't tougher than his sword.
The guards at the city gate had seen the ambush. Some rushed to assist, while others hurried to report the news. Meanwhile, in the hall where the nobles from the capital and the old earl had gathered, they were waiting for Derek to make an appearance. The great prize of the St. Milian Province couldn't be divided up without him. Then, word of the assassination attempt reached them.
The reactions were mixed. Most of the nobles from the capital smirked, while the northern nobles looked angry and worried. The old earl remained calm, even as he noticed the mysterious smile on Marquis Hussein's face. He issued a command to his guards, "Send my personal guard to assist immediately." The marquis, feigning concern, asked, "Shall I send men as well?"
"That won't be necessary," the old earl replied coolly. "Derek isn't that easy to kill." He knew well the ferocity of Derek's men. Marquis Hussein said nothing but maintained his insincere smile. His noble companions, however, sneered openly. Few could survive an expertly planned assassination. This was why the nobility despised such tactics—they could easily threaten their lives. In the capital, where shadows wielded more power than armies, assassinations were far more common than in the northern lands.
In the eyes of the capital's nobles, no matter how strong a knight might be, three or five assassins could dispatch him easily enough. Especially when considering the meticulous planning of the Holy Cross Kingdom. But before they could voice their mockery, another soldier arrived with new information. "Viscount Derek has eliminated all of the assassins and is now en route here."
The room fell silent. One officer from the capital blurted out, "How is that possible? Did he know about the assassination in advance?" If he hadn't been forewarned, how could he have dealt with the assassins so quickly?
His words irked many, especially the lower-ranked soldiers who despised these pampered officers from the capital. One of them couldn't help but retort, "Viscount Derek only brought a dozen attendants with him, but every one of them is a northern knight. They took down the assassins in just a few breaths."
"Hahaha!" Earl Pereira suddenly burst into laughter, eyeing the capital's nobles, who had moments ago been gloating. "Our northern knights still pack a punch, of course… though I understand why those from the capital might have a hard time imagining it."
This jab left the capital's officers red-faced. Marquis Hussein maintained a fake smile and quickly reprimanded the soldier who had spoken out of turn. He then offered an apology to Earl Pereira. "My sincerest apologies, my lord. My men are young and have yet to see true battle. They lack experience with real knights."
"If that's the case," Pereira replied, his spirits high, "why don't you join me in witnessing it firsthand?"
Marquis Hussein, ever slippery, did not rise to the bait. He remained calm and non-confrontational, much like his usual demeanor. But Earl Pereira knew better—this was a venomous snake. Anyone who could rise from the political quagmire of the capital was no simpleton. Though their exchange seemed cordial on the surface, it was another bout of strategic maneuvering. Whoever came out on top here would secure a greater share of the coming spoils.
But soon, they were interrupted by the arrival of Derek's attendants, who had captured a few of the assassins.
"Where is your lord?" Earl Pereira asked nervously. He feared Derek might have been injured, or worse.
The knight bowed and reassured him, "The viscount will arrive shortly, my lord."
So where was Derek? On the way to the meeting, he grew angrier with each step. Back when he lacked power, he had no choice but to endure such insults. But now, this was practically his territory, and they still dared to come after him? The suspects weren't difficult to guess, and Derek had no intention of being a fool about it. Halfway to his destination, he stopped abruptly. "Damn it. Better to act like a brute than suffer in silence. After all, we northern knights already have that reputation."
With a fierce resolve, Derek gave orders to his remaining attendants, sending them in all directions. He himself hung back deliberately, waiting before showing his face to those who disgusted him. The men Derek chose to keep by his side weren't selected solely for their strength. Their backgrounds, their loyalty—these were the most critical factors. Some of them even carried distant Ferreira family bloodlines, using Derek's rise as a way to elevate their own statuses. Their lives and fortunes were now tied to his.
Driven by both loyalty and anger, the knights immediately dispersed to gather reinforcements. First on their list were the personal guard stationed outside the city and the local lords who supported the Augusta family. Soon, they divided into two groups: one to gather more men from friendly nobles, and the other to storm into Pran City.