Henwell casts a meaningful smile at Pawari, whose face is clouded with anger.

  The first day of the competition is actually pretty dull, at least from the perspective of insiders.

  Especially for someone like Henwell, a battle-hardened professional, most of these contestants come from a purely academic background.

  Not that there’s an official knight academy, but these fighters have risen through rigorous training rather than real combat experience.

  Henwell senses that very few participants below have ever truly killed anyone, let alone endured brutal battles.

  It’s not that they’re all showy—basic skills are solid, but their fighting styles and moves are too rigid.

  They ck both the fluidity of independent thinking and the killer instinct.

  The knights’ squire group’s matches are more interesting.

  A few fighters there have actually seen blood and strike fiercely and decisively.

  But most of these tough ones get eliminated quickly.

  This isn’t a life-or-death brawl; it’s a reguted competition.

  Their aggressive style risks disqualification.

  This is someone else’s turf, and the people around keep a close eye on Henwell, hardly letting him mingle with others.

  Henwell himself won’t stoop to chasing after a few potential but unknown squires.

  This isn’t desperation for talent, it’s about respecting the people who already pledge loyalty to him!

  The preliminaries wrapped up before Henwell arrived.

  Now, although there are over a hundred contestants, all have passed at least one round of screening.

  Today’s matches determine the top twenty in each group.

  Tomorrow, they’ll pick the top ten from each group.

  Then, the top ten face off in a round-robin, accumuting points.

  Each match offers three points: one decided by the audience representatives, one by the referees, and one by the guest stand.

  The contestant with the highest cumutive score becomes the champion of this knight tournament.

  Henwell is one of ten guests who can participate in the scoring.

  But so far, he’s not interested in getting involved.

  He skips tonight’s banquet, not out of arrogance, but because he just arrived today and hasn’t rested properly.

  Besides, Kleios’s injuries have improved a lot, and Henwell is about to start his own unique bone-setting treatment.

  The next morning, everyone is surprised to see Kleios back in the wheelchair Henwell personally crafted.

  By evening, the top ten from each group have been decided.

  Starting tomorrow, the round-robin matches begin, and tonight, all twenty finalists from the two groups are invited to a banquet.

  When Count Lierul extends his invitation again, Henwell doesn’t refuse this time. He changes into a formal outfit and attends the banquet.

  Instead of wearing his usual Lord of Blood Hill attire, Henwell chooses a solemn yet elegant Padin suit.

  Only a handful of people present actually know Henwell’s true identity.

  Most of the top ten contestants already have powerful backers, who are sending representatives to negotiate with them now.

  As long as they don’t perform too poorly tomorrow, these fighters stand to gain quite a bit.

  Henwell heads alone to the dining table in search of good food.

  Everyone else is here to network and build connections.

  No one else behaves like Henwell, who’s clearly here just to eat.

  After all, very few can get Henwell to lower his guard and mingle willingly, and none of them seem to be at this banquet.

  Count Lierul might be one exception, but as the host, he’s surrounded by too many people eager to connect.

  Henwell sees no reason to join the crowd.

  Any meaningful conversation with Lierul has to happen privately.

  That’s the downside of having a notorious reputation, every move you make gets interpreted in all sorts of ways.

  After circling the rge dining table, Henwell bumps into a quiet young man.

  He’s another contestant, one of the few Henwell actually remembers.

  During the day’s matches, this guy used the weapons and armor provided by the organizers.

  Unlike most others, who bring their own gear.

  Clearly, he’s a truly humble knight from a commoner’s background.

  His fighting style is rough and unpolished, something he’s figured out on his own.

  In competition, it looks anything but graceful, sometimes even downright clumsy.

  Tonight’s banquet is important for the top ten contestants, and everyone takes it seriously.

  But this guy wears the pin knight’s uniform supplied by the competition, obviously dirt poor.

  Seeing Henwell approaching, he bows respectfully, then steps back to make room.

  He doesn’t know who Henwell really is, but judging by his elegant clothes and the seat he held during the day, he guesses Henwell is a big shot.

  This isn’t someone he can schmooze with; he knows his pce.

  Better to stay humble than risk making a bad impression.

  After a few steps, Henwell suddenly turns back and asks, “Do you know which food here tastes best?”

  The poor knight bows again. “Sorry, sir, I haven’t tried most of the dishes here, so I can’t really recommend much.”

  He pauses, then points to the mushroom soup nearby. “I had a bit of this, it’s quite delicious. You might want to try it.”

  Henwell strolls over, dles a bowl, and takes a sip. He gives a thumbs-up. “Not bad at all. Very fresh and tasty.”

  He then gestures toward the food on the table. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  The poor knight looks uncomfortable. “Sir, eating too much would be improper.”

  Henwell scoffs. “Food is made to be eaten, not to show off manners. Eating well and heartily shows the host’s cooking is good, it’s a form of respect for the banquet.”

  The poor knight dares not argue. He knows his status and that now isn’t the time to act freely.

  Any breach of etiquette could undo all his hard work.

  Henwell continues, “Listen, you haven’t finished the competition yet. From what I know, the upcoming matches are pretty complicated. Especially tomorrow’s, some people will use all sorts of underhanded tricks to win. Like tampering with food.”

  ”And you’re not one of those contestants with a whole team backing you. Your meals come from the organizers and pass through many hands. There’s always a risk. But I doubt anyone dares mess with this food here.”

  ”If I were you, I’d take this chance to eat as much as possible and build up your strength. Save the etiquette for after your matches. You’re not nobility yet, you need to focus on becoming one firstly.”

  With that, Henwell turns and walks away.

  After a long silence, the poor knight grabs an empty pte and heads to the table, digging in with gusto.