On the third day of the competition, Henwell watches the intense battles below. Fighters get injured now and then, carried off the arena.

  The matches have grown much fiercer. Everyone knows they’re just a hair’s breadth away from fortune and glory.

  That poor knight from st night is now facing his third opponent.

  He’s already thankful he took Henwell’s advice to heart and stocked up on nutrition at the banquet.

  Today, one contestant performs terribly.

  The poor knight knows that person’s strength isn’t usually so weak.

  From the shaky steps and pale face, it’s clear they’ve been sabotaged.

  As for who did it? The poor knight has no clue.

  Every competitor is a suspect, even some of the organizers might be involved.

  Besides, every knight tournament has underground betting.

  Those who run the betting rings aren’t exactly saints.

  Maniputing odds and match outcomes is how they make their money.

  Today, the poor knight fights six matches.

  He has two more tomorrow morning, after which the entire event wraps up.

  By evening, he loses the sixth match.

  Counting it all up, he wins three, loses one, and draws two today.

  That should earn him at least eleven points, but in reality, he only has seven.

  Victory guarantees one point from the referees, but points from the audience and guests aren’t assured.

  Those depend on popurity and whether the crowd likes the winner.

  Across six matches, the poor knight earns four points from the referees, and one each from the audience and guest stands.

  He gets those two bonus points partly because his opponents are even less popur.

  The final point comes during his sixth loss, awarded by the guest stand.

  He sees it’s from Henwell.

  When Henwell raises the sign, no other guest objects, and the point is granted.

  Duaili, the count’s eldest son sitting among the guests, asks curiously, “Why did you give him a point? He fought terribly!”

  Henwell smiles. “I just like his spirit. And I haven’t participated at all these past three days, wouldn’t that be a bit unfair?”

  Everyone chuckles and lets the matter drop.

  That night, there’s no banquet. All the contestants are resting up, saving their energy for the final matches tomorrow.

  The poor knight digs into his st savings and reluctantly buys some food outside.

  Even though he’s careful, on the st day of the competition, he still is sabotaged.

  By yesterday’s round-robin, three contestants have been eliminated for various reasons.

  He actually only needs to fight two more matches before his schedule ends.

  He wins the first match solidly, earning two points.

  For the second match, he knows his opponent is strong, and more importantly, wildly popur.

  The guy’s armor shines brightly, he’s handsome and charismatic, barely in his early twenties, and has the crowd’s favor.

  Even the guests think highly of him.

  At the banquet earlier, many people sought him out for conversation.

  But the poor knight still believes he can beat him.

  He’s noticed the opponent’s steps are a bit unsteady, that’s his opening.

  The whistle blows, and the fight begins.

  Almost immediately, the poor knight senses something’s wrong.

  His opponent’s strength suddenly surges.

  Worse, there’s a problem with his weapon.

  Sure enough, after a few cshes, his longsword in his hand snaps in two.

  If he hadn’t dodged just in time, he would’ve been injured.

  Without a weapon, he can’t hold out long, only clumsily blocking and dodging.

  During matches, weapon drops or breakages don’t pause the fight.

  If someone cared enough, maybe they’d toss him a repcement.

  But compared to this crowd favorite, the poor knight has almost no fans—no one to help.

  He gnces toward Henwell in the guest stand.

  Henwell’s chatting and ughing with others, completely ignoring the match below.

  After holding on a bit longer, the poor knight sighs and chooses to surrender.

  In the afternoon, the competition results come out.

  Only seven remain in the top ten, and the poor knight, Christian, sits in fifth pce with nine points.

  His st opponent—the popur knight, holds the highest score.

  Though Christian feels bitter, he has no choice but to accept the outcome.

  Fortunately, this is the Knight Champion tournament hosted by Livos City, organized by the Dienbos family.

  The prizes are decent.

  The winner naturally earns the Knight Champion title.

  Christian’s fifth pce isn’t wasted either. He receives a full set of knight’s armor and horse, 800 gold coins, and an extraordinary supply of resources enough to st him a year.

  He also gains eligibility to join the Dienbos family, where he can slowly build his reputation.

  When he’ll truly rise depends on his luck.

  He hesitates over his next steps.

  Almost thirty now, his time and chances are running thin.

  At the final celebration banquet, only a peripheral member of the Dienbos family invites him.

  It’s clear that even if he joins, he won’t be highly regarded.

  Feeling trapped, Christian stands alone in a corner, nursing a gss of wine.

  He watches other contestants surrounded by admirers, forcing a bitter smile.

  Just then, Henwell steps out from behind a pilr and says, “Do you feel it’s a bit unfair?”

  Christian says nothing, tacitly agreeing.

  Henwell continues, “Do you think these people are fools who can’t see your worth? They all have potions to keep their fighting spirit and stamina up for every match. They have better armor and weapons, giving them a huge edge in battle.”

  ”But you? You rely solely on yourself, without any outside help, and still make it this far.”

  Christian can’t hold back and asks, “Then why not make it fairer?”

  Henwell ughs coldly. “Fair? What’s fair? If they have better conditions, why would they give up their advantage to level with you? Is that fair to you? Is it fair to them? Fairness is always retive.”

  Then Henwell suddenly asks, “By the way, what’s your name, friend?”

  “Christian.”

  Henwell grins mischievously. “So, Christian, do you want some compensation for fairness?”