"Which brings us to a question many are curious about. Just how did you convince not one but two of the women who held such prominent stations, Baroness Cleora Aravain and Matriarch Raayani of the Blue Rose, to become so devoted to you that they followed you to the capital?"

The question was delivered with honeyed politeness, but the implication was clear: what manipulation or deception had he used?

Jolthar met her gaze directly.

"I didn't convince them of anything. I simply loved them, respected them, and stood beside them when others wouldn't. Apparently, that was enough."

The simplicity of the answer seemed to catch them off guard. Several of the women exchanged glances, as if trying to determine whether he was being sincere or cleverly evasive.

"Love," Dayamati repeated, her tone suggesting she found the concept quaint.

"How... classical. Though I suppose for someone of common origin, such sentiments are more accessible than political strategy."

"I'm not of common origin," Jolthar corrected mildly.

"But I do prefer honest emotion to strategic marriages built on nothing but ambition and convenience. Call me old-fashioned."

Andrion was watching this exchange with barely concealed amusement, occasionally sipping his wine. Milan's expression was more carefully neutral, but Jolthar could sense his approval of how the conversation was being handled.

Dayamati shifted in her seat, her eyes gleaming with new interest.

"Your tongue is sharp, Baron. But words are easy. I'm more interested in whether your physical capabilities match your reputation."

She gestured gracefully with one hand.

"Perhaps you should demonstrate your skills. Give us a small exhibition of the power that defeated an imperial princess."

Rani's expression shifted to alarm.

"Your Majesty, with all respect, sparring in this hall would be... inadvisable. The structure isn't designed to withstand combat between enhanced individuals, and the safety of—"

"I didn't suggest sparring," Dayamati interrupted smoothly.

"But surely there are other ways to demonstrate martial capability."

"Perhaps I could offer an alternative?"

A new voice entered the conversation—male, young, carrying confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Jolthar looked toward the entrance of the hall and saw a man approaching.

He was perhaps twenty-five, handsome in a conventional way, with a build that spoke of dedicated physical training. He wore clothes that were expensive but practical, and he moved with the poise of a trained warrior.

Jazmin's eyes widened in surprise.

"Henricus? What are you doing here?"

"Mother," the young man replied with a bow that was more perfunctory than respectful.

"I heard interesting rumors about this evening's gathering and decided to attend. I hope you don't mind."

The way he said it made clear he didn't particularly care whether she minded or not.

"This is supposed to be a private affair," Jazmin said, though her tone suggested more exasperation than real anger.

"I'll be discreet," Henricus assured her, then turned his attention to the group.

He bowed more deeply to Dayamati.

"Your Imperial Majesty."

Then his eyes settled on Jolthar.

"And the famous Baron Kaezhlar."

"Henricus Akupa," Jolthar acknowledged, having heard the family name and making the connection.

"Duchess Jazmin's son."

"Indeed," Henricus confirmed.

He moved closer to the central seating area with the easy confidence of someone who believed he belonged anywhere he chose to be.

"I couldn't help but overhear the discussion about demonstrations of skill. Since sparring would be impractical, perhaps I could propose an alternative?"

"Oh?" Dayamati's interest was clearly piqued.

"What do you suggest?"

"Arm wrestling," Henricus said simply.

"A test of pure strength and will. Simple, contained, safe for the surroundings."

He looked directly at Jolthar.

"And it would give us all a chance to see whether the baron's physical power matches his considerable reputation."

The challenge was obvious, as was the setup. Henricus was a Tier 9 warrior—Jolthar could sense that much from his aura. He had trained his body extensively and enhanced it with magical energy. This wasn't meant to be a friendly test.

It was meant to humiliate.

Jazmin looked torn between embarrassment at her son's boldness and curiosity about the outcome.

"Henricus, this is hardly—"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Dayamati interrupted, her smile widening.

"What do you say, Baron Kaezhlar? Will you accept this small challenge?"

Jolthar could feel every eye in the hall on him.

Refusing would be seen as cowardice or admission that his reputation exceeded his actual capabilities. Accepting meant playing into their entertainment, performing like a trained animal for the amusement of bored aristocrats.

But refusing would also validate every doubt they had about him.

And Jolthar was never one to back down from a challenge, especially one designed to embarrass him.

"Why not?" Jolthar said easily, setting down his wine glass.

"It's been a while since I've arm wrestled. This should be interesting."

Approval rippled through the watching women. This was exactly the kind of spectacle they'd hoped for.

Servants quickly brought a small, sturdy table and positioned it in the center of the seating area. Henricus moved to one side with the confidence of someone who had never lost such a contest. Jolthar stood and walked to the other side, his movements relaxed and unhurried.

They sat facing each other, positioning their right arms on the table.

Up close, Jolthar could see the magical reinforcement in Henricus's body—subtle but present, enhancing his natural strength considerably.

"Standard rules," Henricus said.

"First to pin the other's hand to the table wins. No dirty tricks."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jolthar replied with a slight smile.

They clasped hands. Henricus's grip was iron-hard, his confidence radiating through the connection.

Dayamati leaned forward slightly.

"Begin."

Immediately, Henricus applied pressure. His magical enhancement flowed into the contest, and Jolthar could feel the tremendous force trying to drive his arm down toward the table.

But Jolthar had fought deities and half-deities.

A Tier 9 warrior, even an enhanced one, was manageable.

Still, he let his arm begin to descend.

Slowly, with visible strain on his face, he allowed Henricus to push him toward defeat. The watching crowd leaned in, some already preparing to dismiss him as overrated.

Henricus's smile grew wider.

"Not as strong as the rumors suggest, are you?"