Tristan heard multiple responses erupt at once, yet all of them converged into a single conclusion.

"The Young Duke!"

"Sir Arthur?"

"The one from Frost Hill!"

Rick clicked his tongue dramatically.

"Wow, overwhelming. So, slaying a single monster isn’t even enough to be in the running."

"Of course not. The Young Duke might share some of the credit out of courtesy to His Highness, but in the end, the real achievement will be his."

"It’s amusing that you all think the same way. I agree. After all, land should—if not returned to its original owner—go to the one who proves their strength."

"The owner? Oh, you mean the current lord. Wonder how he ended up without an heir."

For a brief moment, Rick couldn’t continue speaking. A surge of emotion—something other than sadness—rose within him unexpectedly.

The conversation soon drifted elsewhere, mostly toward more primal topics. Complaints about work, envy of nobles, longing for good food...@@novelbin@@

Rick slipped back into his earlier smile and rejoined the conversation, though in reality, he was subtly fueling the soldiers' grievances.

"Indeed, His Highness works you all too hard. While we barely catch any sleep here at camp, he’s probably enjoying the fine banquet the lord has prepared for him right now..."

Tristan. It’s not like you’ll achieve a feat that surpasses Arthur’s, but I want to eliminate even the slightest one percent chance that you might claim this land.

It wasn’t as if one could precisely measure both men’s contributions. Unlike the hunting tournament, no one would be counting their kills one by one.

"The lord's evaluation and the testimonies of the soldiers nearby will surely be taken into account."

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