Chapter 42: Looking At You.

Whispers rippled through the formation.

“He’s challenging Guy…”

“An actual challenge!”

“Isn’t he a little too confident??”

“This is my first time seeing a challenge in real life…”

“Aren’t challenges dangerous?”

A challenge.

An old custom, older than most of the orders themselves. Passed down through generations of knights and preserved in dusty records and half-forgotten lessons.

Everyone knew what it meant, even if no one liked to say it out loud.

A challenge was never harmless.

Historically, it ended in blood. Sometimes death.

Because in the past, death was the easiest way to settle disputes.

The challenger proposed the terms. The wager.

And more often than not, the wager was simple and brutal.

Whoever won earned the right to kill the loser.

The challenged had no right to refuse.

They could only argue the terms.

To decline outright was shameful.

Public, permanent shame.

Especially now, with twenty-nine witnesses standing in perfect clarity, every single one of them aware of what was unfolding.

Guy stared at Ezra, eyes wide.

“Are you insane?” he demanded. “A challenge hasn’t happened in years. You—”

“Yes,” Ezra cut in smoothly, a faint smirk touching his lips. “And this will be my second time challenging someone like you.”

That stopped everything.

Rowan turned sharply from the line. “Wait. That was you?” he blurted out. “The rumored wild knight in training who challenged the son of Duke Jean Paul?”

Ezra shrugged, unbothered. “Wild knight is a bit dramatic. I was simply proving a point.”

That did it.

The murmurs exploded. Names. Fragments of half-remembered stories. Shock sharpened by recognition.

Ezra let it happen.

’Funny,’

he thought, amused. ’I never bothered claiming those stories. And yet they remembered.’

To think, the rumors about his first challenge spread through the knights of today.

“I-I heard something about that,” Gareth said hesitantly to Rowan. “But what actually happened to Duke Jean Paul’s son? I only know he was Prince Aurien’s original captain.”

Ezra answered without looking away from Guy.

“Jean Luc fled,” he said calmly. “He was stripped of his family name and never seen again.”

Silence followed.

’Serves him right,’ Ezra thought flatly. ’That bastard.’

He stepped forward, eyes locking onto Guy, who now looked far less amused and far more shaken.

“My terms,” Ezra said, voice steady, “are simple.”

Guy swallowed.

“If I win,” Ezra continued, “you and every knight here will follow my orders for twenty-four hours.”

The reaction was immediate.

“What?”

“Why are we involved in this?”

“We didn’t agree to—”

“Shh.” Ezra raised a hand, and the noise died instantly.

He turned slightly, letting his gaze sweep over all thirty of them. “If Guy Man wins,” he said evenly, “then I will follow whatever orders all thirty of you give me for twenty-four hours.”

Silence.

It was heavy.

“That’s fair,” Ezra added mildly. “Isn’t it?”

No one spoke.

Ezra smiled, slow and sharp.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Didn’t you all believe in him?”

His eyes returned to Guy.

“And you,” Ezra said softly. “Aren’t you strong? Stronger than the man you just called a little omega?”

He tilted his head.

“You’re younger than me. I haven’t fought in five years. You’ve been running your mouth this entire time.”

Ezra’s voice dropped.

“So why are you quiet now?”

Guy didn’t answer right away.

The hesitation was there, plain on his face before he could hide it.

A flicker of doubt, sharp and ugly, cutting through the bravado he had been wearing so proudly.

Ezra saw it immediately.

So he waited.

He didn’t rush him. Didn’t press. Ezra knew better than that. Pressure was already coming from the sides.

And right on cue, the knights closest to Guy stepped in.

“Come on, Guy.”

“You’ve trained harder than anyone here.”

“Four hundred dead ones. Advanced ones, too.”

“You’ve fought things most of us haven’t even seen.”

“You’re bigger than him. Taller.”

“We want you as our official captain!”

The voices stacked over one another, urgent and heated. Ezra could hear the shift in them. What started as reassurance quickly turned into expectation.

Greed. Opportunity.

’There it is,’ Ezra thought, letting out an amused sigh.

It wasn’t loyalty.

It was the promise of control.

Twenty-four hours where they could command the man Helios trusted. The captain who stood between them and chaos.

Ezra stayed silent, arms loose at his sides, gaze steady.

He watched Guy straighten.

Watched the doubt get buried beneath pride. Beneath the weight of being seen.

Of being chosen.

Confidence slid back into Guy’s posture like a second skin.

His shoulders squared. His chin lifted. That familiar arrogance returned, sharper now, fed by the crowd behind him.

’There it is,’ Ezra thought calmly. ’That fragile thing you wear like armor.’

Guy exhaled hard and rolled his neck once, a deliberate crack meant to show ease. When he looked back at Ezra, the hesitation was gone.

In its place was hunger.

“I accept,” Guy said loudly.

The words rang out, and a ripple moved through the formation.

Excitement. Relief. Anticipation.

Ezra nodded once, slow and deliberate. “You didn’t really have a choice,” he said evenly. “But good. Grab a sword.”

Guy barked out a laugh as he turned toward the weapon rack. It was loud.

And obviously performative.

“Get ready, Captain,” Guy called over his shoulder. “Twenty-four hours of humiliation is going to be rough for you.”

He pulled a blade free and tested its balance, swinging it once, twice, clearly enjoying the weight in his hand. Enjoying the attention.

“I think I’ll start by making you beg Prince Helios,” Guy added, flashing a grin as he faced Ezra again. “Publicly. To give me the captaincy.”

Ezra didn’t flinch.

He didn’t bristle. He didn’t rise to the bait.

He simply shrugged.

’That’s really the best he has?’ Ezra thought, almost amused. ’Five years and that’s all you can throw at me?’

Guy noticed.

For the briefest heartbeat, the grin on his face tightened. Not much. Just enough. A flicker of irritation slipped through before he buried it under a scoff.

“What?” Guy said loudly. “Not nervous? You said it yourself. You haven’t fought in five years.”

The implication hung there, heavy and smug.

Ezra didn’t answer him.

Instead, he turned slightly to his left.

“May I,” he said calmly, his voice level, almost polite.

Before the knight beside him could even process the request, Ezra moved.

One step.

One reach.

That was all it took.

In a blink, Ezra’s hand closed around the hilt at the man’s hip and pulled. The motion was smooth, practiced, almost lazy in how effortless it looked.

The sword was gone.

No resistance. No scramble. No warning.

Just steel sliding free as Ezra stepped back, blade settling into his grip as if it had always belonged there.

The knight froze, staring down at his empty scabbard in stunned disbelief.

Silence fell over the formation.

Not the awkward kind.

The kind that presses.

Ezra rolled his wrist once, slow and deliberate, testing the balance. The blade hummed softly through the air, catching the light as if eager.

’Still fits,’ he thought. ’Good.’

He lifted his gaze back to Guy, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

“Talking is starting to get boring,” Ezra said calmly. “And the conversation’s getting repetitive.”

A few knights shifted uneasily. Someone swallowed.

Ezra tilted his head slightly, just enough to be mocking.

“So,” he continued, voice steady, “show me what you’ve got, Guy Man.”

His stance shifted then.

Subtle, but unmistakable.

Weight grounded. Knees loose. Blade angled just so.

Not a performance.

A readiness.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Ezra added, eyes locking onto Guy’s. “Try not to disappoint me, and the men looking at you.”

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