The council meeting was canceled due to an event of force majeure.

  Mother and I were informed of a serious matter: apparently, a Baron belonging to the Duchy of Macedón had been reported and caught for ties to the Gray Fist.

  I was the one who enacted the law against criminal associations, and I had certainly reduced corruption successfully. But it was na?ve of me to think the nobles wouldn’t try to do it behind my back.

  Because of his status as a noble—only below the rank of Duke—this sinister man requested an audience with me to review his legal situation.

  A grave mistake.

  Because I had no intention of folding to bribes or cheap excuses. In all the Kingdom of Etrica, no one hated criminals more than I did. I had more than enough reasons…

  The trial would take place in the throne room. There, Mother and I sat in the chairs mounted atop the dais. Alda, Ingrid, Yuka, and Ronaldo were also present, because Girasol considered their presence necessary as a warning.

  Basically, she was telling them: “If you do this, you will receive an exemplary punishment.”

  Anyway.

  The other members of the council were present as well. The Royal Guard under Sir Marte Hogan and the Master of War appeared as my official armed arm—along with the men-at-arms who already guarded the main hall.

  Curious detail: the accused was a distant nephew of the fat treasurer I arrested months ago. It didn’t surprise me at all. A family that didn’t teach values to its members tended to repeat the same illegal acts.

  “Bring the accused in.”

  Mother and I gave the order to the men-at-arms to bring us the chained Baron. He looked nothing like his obese relative; he had an athletic, muscular build and the bearing of a warrior. But the expression in his eyes was blind fury toward the Crown.

  His brown hair mimicked the military cut from my world. His pale skin had turned slightly tan from the sun and the grime of my dungeons. Whether he spoke with the former treasurer or not meant nothing to me, because I had no intention of releasing them. Corrupt men like them were the ones who screwed my country—and society as a whole.

  “Baron Gutiérrez, you stand accused of criminal association with a remnant of the Gray Fist. You have violated the law imposed by this sacred council. What do you have to say in your defense?” Mother raised her voice and looked down at the noble. I could feel my mother’s contempt for Gutiérrez was as strong as mine.

  “I don’t have to answer to you, miserable whore. The law is stupid. What the hell was that brat thinking?” Gutiérrez was even more defiant than Girasol. He continued, “Ever since you killed the leaders of the Gray Fist, the smaller cells went crazy and now they’re killing each other for supremacy. They’ve gotten more violent, and honestly, it’s a headache to control them in my city. So I decided to leave them alone inside my barony. That way I save myself problems—and I get money for my empty coffers.”

  Mother looked at me, waiting for my words. She knew sooner or later something like this would happen.

  “Are you saying it’s easier to leave your people defenseless?” My question seemed to offend him. I wanted to make him feel guilty for cowardice, but instead it only fed his rage.

  “Excuse me? Are you serious, you little runt?” he snapped. “You talk like you know the outside world, but you live here—locked behind these walls full of soldiers. Don’t lecture me about hard decisions.”

  “Oh, don’t underestimate me because of my age.” I gave him one of my usual merciless stares—the kind that made people question my real age. “I understand exactly what you did: a cowardly and corrupt act.”

  “No. You don’t understand.” He leaned in. “Do you know what the Gray Fist did before I made a pact with them?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “No. You don’t.” His voice tightened. “My men were found dead by Gray Fist hands. They tried to intimidate me so I’d let them operate, and I answered with force. I killed many thugs myself—but I also lost brave men in meaningless skirmishes. Your stupid law made them more violent. That’s why I made a deal with them: let them operate in my territory so my men wouldn’t have to carry that burden anymore.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “What a pretty story,” I murmured, laughing under my breath. “Leaving civilians defenseless… what a fine baron you are.”

  “Why the hell should I choose a bunch of strangers over my own subordinates? The peasants can go to hell. I did what was best for the safety of my family and the people who work with me. Nobody in their right mind would put the welfare of the rabble above their own blood.”

  That groveling, rotten mindset was what I hated most in this world.

  You coward. Spineless piece of shit.

  “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. If you’re incapable of fulfilling your responsibilities as a noble, then perhaps your family is not worthy to bear that title.” I took a breath, then continued. “We have a responsibility to the people of Etrica. To fail them is to fail me as well.”

  I paused to draw air, then delivered the sentence.

  “Therefore, I condemn you to lose the index finger of your dominant hand—and I will also designate House Gutiérrez as: ‘Kneelers of the Fist.’”

  A moment of silence.

  My sentence was final—or at least, I expected it to be.

  “No,” Gutiérrez said. “You won’t stain my honor or my family’s with your stupid words. I demand a trial by combat!”

  If they were silent before, now they looked like statues.

  Gonzalo had taught me everything I needed to answer this.

  First: trials by combat were rituals of great social importance. This went beyond a simple fight; the honor of both families was at stake.

  Unlike duels—whose terms and conditions were agreed upon by both participants—a trial by combat was fought to the death, with no possibility of surrender.

  Only higher nobility (from lords upward) could request such a ritual. Knights, on the other hand, had to settle for common duels.

  The petitioner could not use a champion. That rule had existed since the mythical era, because in the past, many cowardly old men disposed of political enemies by hiring strong champions to gain power. Because of that, all petitioners—without exception—had to fight for themselves.

  The challenged party, however, could use the services of a champion—especially if they were unfit to fight. Like me, due to age, or Mother, with her lack of battle training.

  “Only for protocol, I’ll ask you again: do you truly want a trial by combat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. It will be tomorrow, two hours before sunset (5:00 PM). My champion will be Sir Marte Hogan, leader of the Royal Guard and my strongest knight.”

  “As you wish. I’ll kill your champion, and then I’ll go home without any charges.”

  “We’ll see.” I signaled the guards to take him back to his room, then turned to Sir Marte with a solemn expression. “I’m counting on you, mentor.”

  “You won’t regret it.”

  The children left the throne room without saying anything. This had been too sudden for them—so sudden that even Yuka, with her sharp mind and sharper mouth, couldn’t come up with a comment.

  “T-This was unexpected,” I admitted. At this point only Sir Marte and Mother remained with me. “Why wouldn’t he accept punishment? Better to lose a finger than lose your life.”

  “There are two reasons, Your Majesty,” Sir Marte sighed aloud, letting out tension. Even a veteran like him could feel pressure before such a challenge. “The first is that Gutiérrez is a warrior. He has martial training and, above all, he is an anointed knight.”

  “And the second,” Mother added, “is his honor…”

  “Honor?”

  “Yes, my son. Honor may be more important than any coin. It defines perceptions, agreements, and reputation.” Girasol sighed, patted my head, then turned slightly as if the weight of history was on her shoulders. “Our family hasn’t been able to erase the stain left by the kings before your father, and we still struggle to remove the stigma of incompetent or cowardly monarchs. Your father gave his life to defend his honor and keep us from falling lower, and I’m sure Baron Gutiérrez understands his own actions. He would rather cleanse his name now than leave that heavy burden to his descendants.”

  “So honor is very important to Etrica’s nobility, right?”

  “Honor is the most important thing,” Mother concluded.

  “I see. Will Alda and the others have to attend the trial by combat? I don’t want them to see something so atrocious…”

  “I’m afraid so, Ulric.” Mother didn’t sound happy about it either. “We must teach the children how important honor is, and this trial will be a memory they will never forget.”

  “O-One last thing,” I whispered. “S-Sir Marte… you can beat him easily, right?”

  “I can’t win that easily,” Sir Marte said, “but I’ll make sure to kill him in your name. Being a king’s champion is a great honor, Your Majesty. If I do it well, my children will have greater opportunities in the future.”

  “I understand. Even you are bound to the code of honor, right?”

  “We all are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the armory.”

  “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Sir Marte Hogan left the throne room without another word.

  I wanted to ask Mother about Ronaldo and my problem with his attitude, but at this moment I could only think about the damn trial by combat. I never imagined seeing one in person, because Gonzalo said these events rarely happened due to fear of death.

  Sure—within old stories and songs, they were extremely popular.

  How many legendary heroes immortalized their names by winning a trial like that?

  “But saying it is one thing… and doing it is another.”

  Anyone could talk about honor, oaths, and valor—but when it came down to the truth, very few had the guts to bet their life in a single combat.

  In a way, I couldn’t help but feel respect for Baron Gutiérrez.

  These behaviors didn’t seem absurd to me anymore.