The Omega Knight's Secret Baby Daddy is A PRINCE?!-Chapter 38: Truths, and a Lie.

"Alaric Valebright," the first knight said crisply. "Dead Ones kill count, over a hundred. Human kill count, none, sir."

Truth.

Ezra nodded once and shifted his gaze to the next man.

"Cedric Haleward, sir. Dead Ones kill count... around forty to fifty. Human kill count, zero."

Again, honest. Ezra gave a short nod and moved on.

"Rowan Goldmere," the next knight said. "Over sixty Dead Ones. No human kills, sir."

’Well,’ Ezra thought dryly, ’aren’t you a model knight.’

Still, the man was truthful. Ezra acknowledged him and continued down the line.

By the time he reached the second-to-last row, something felt off.

The knight standing before him was sweating heavily, hands trembling at his sides. Ezra didn’t need heightened senses to catch it.

Fear rolled off the man in waves, sharp and unmistakable.

And beneath it, something else.

Weakness.

It reminded him, unpleasantly, of Aurien years ago. Before Aurien found his footing.

Ezra crossed his arms slowly.

’And judging by the quiet snickering,’ he noted, eyes flicking briefly to the men nearby, ’they’ve already decided his place.’

He stopped directly in front of the shaking knight.

"And you?" Ezra said evenly. "Give me the information I need."

This was the one Fizzy had mentioned. The so-called glorified squire.

The knight flinched as if struck. His lips quivered, eyes darting around like a cornered animal. Ezra fought the urge to sigh. He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t even hardened his tone.

"U-Uhm... uh..." The knight fidgeted, shifting his weight, wringing his hands, doing every possible thing Ezra despised in a soldier.

Patience, Ezra reminded himself.

’First day back. Don’t snap.’

Still.

"Have you forgotten your name?" Ezra asked, tilting his head slightly.

A few knights nearby snickered. Others smirked openly. One shook his head as if this were already settled entertainment.

The knight’s face flushed a deep, painful red.

"M-My apologies, sir," he stammered. "My... My name is Silas Emberwyn."

Ezra stored the name away immediately.

’Emberwyn?’ he thought, trying to wrack his brain to remember if there were ANY noble houses with that last name.

None.

So...

’No title.’

That explained a lot.

And it explained exactly why the others treated him the way they did.

Typically, royal knights came from noble blood.

Sons of dukes. Sons of barons. Sometimes the spoiled heir of an obscenely wealthy merchant family with enough gold to buy favor and training.

Ezra knew them all.

He had memorized every titled house in the kingdom, even the most minor ones that barely mattered.

Names, crests, alliances.

It had been drilled into him since childhood, back when survival depended on knowing exactly who stood above you and who would step on you without a second thought.

And Emberwyn was not one of them.

’Untitled,’ Ezra thought calmly. ’No land. No name.’

There were rare exceptions, of course. Knights like Ezra himself. And, apparently, knights like Silas.

Men without titles.

Without wealth.

Picked not because of blood or influence, but because someone, somewhere, had seen something worth keeping.

Those knights were common enough.

Respected?

Rarely.

In a kingdom where the title meant everything?

Especially by those who had grown up with private instructors, polished armor, and the quiet confidence of knowing the crown would always favor them.

Ezra’s gaze sharpened.

"Dead Ones kill count?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

If Silas had been chosen to stand here, then he was meant to be exceptional.

He was supposed to be.

Silas swallowed. "Uhm..." He glanced down at the floor. "Around... two hundred fifty?"

The number came out uncertain, like he wasn’t even sure it was worth saying out loud.

Ezra almost raised an eyebrow.

’That’s higher than Leomord’s record,’ he thought, a flicker of genuine surprise cutting through his composure.

So the boy wasn’t weak.

Not even close.

Then why did he let them treat him like this?

And then, almost immediately, another memory surfaced.

Aurien.

A literal prince, mocked and belittled by his own scout order before he found his footing.

’Right,’ Ezra thought. ’Strength doesn’t stop cruelty. It just gives people something to resent.’

"Impressive," Ezra said simply.

Silas blinked.

Color flooded his face, creeping up his neck. "Oh— uh... thank you, sir?"

Ezra didn’t linger on it. "Have you killed any humans?"

The atmosphere shifted.

Silas pressed his lips together, shoulders tensing, then gave a small nod.

Ezra exhaled through his nose.

’Damn,’ he thought.

"Why?" Ezra asked, voice steady.

"T-They..." Silas hesitated, fingers curling into his sleeves. "They killed my grandpa." His voice dropped. "It wasn’t... on purpose, per se. Well. It was, but I was blinded by rage and—"

"No need to explain," Ezra cut in.

Silas froze.

"You did what you had to do," Ezra continued calmly. "That alone is also impressive." He stepped past him. "Next."

Silas didn’t speak again.

But Ezra caught it.

The way his shoulders loosened. The way his eyes lifted just a little.

Touched.

Relieved.

Almost... grateful.

He shouldn’t be,

Ezra knew.

Ezra hadn’t offered comfort or praise beyond fact. He had simply acknowledged reality.

But sometimes, that was enough.

And more importantly—

Silas didn’t reek of strength.

No arrogance. No bravado.

Filled with insecurity, yet still had the heart to do what is right.

That kind of talent?

That was dangerous.

’I’ll keep him noted,’ Ezra thought as he shifted his attention to the next few men.

And just like that, the momentum died.

One after another, the answers blurred together. Average dead ones kill counts. No human kills.

Chests puffed out with confidence that didn’t quite match the numbers they recited. Titled men, trained well, fed well, protected well.

Subpar.

Not useless, but not remarkable either.

Ezra listened, nodded when appropriate, dismissed them just as quickly. His expression never changed, but inside he felt a familiar boredom settle in.

’All bark,’ he thought flatly. ’Very little bite.’

Aside from Silas, there was no one worth lingering on. No one whose presence shifted the air or demanded attention.

Until he reached the second row from the front.

Ezra stopped.

This one didn’t stand like the others.

No stiffness born of nerves. No overcorrected posture trying to impress. The man stood straight but loose, face blank, eyes forward, giving off a very clear message.

Don’t talk to me.

The kind of presence that wasn’t loud, wasn’t flashy, but made you hesitate anyway.

’Interesting,’ Ezra thought, gaze sharpening just slightly.

"Name," Ezra said.

"Perrin Highflame."

Ezra paused.

Just for a fraction of a second.

’Highflame?’ His brow twitched almost imperceptibly. ’As in Duke Highflame?’

That couldn’t be right.

Ezra knew that family. Knew their lineage, their alliances, their politics. Five years ago, the duke had only daughters.

No sons.

And this man standing before him was older than Ezra himself.

’So either I missed something,’ Ezra thought coolly, ’or...’

His eyes flicked over Perrin again. The sharp jaw. The controlled stillness. The complete lack of interest in proving anything.

’A bastard,’ Ezra concluded. ’And a bold one.’

"Dead ones kill count?" Ezra asked.

"I don’t keep count."

Ezra blinked once.

’Of course you don’t,’ he thought. ’How convenient, Mr. Mystery.’

Not everyone tracked their kills, that much was true. But most at least pretended to remember.

"An estimate, then?" Ezra pressed.

Perrin shrugged.

He actually shrugged.

Ezra felt irritation spark, quickly.

’For a bastard,’ he thought sharply, ’He sure acts legit.’

He drew in a slow breath, forcing it down. Losing his temper would prove nothing.

"More than twenty?" Ezra asked.

"I guess."

The answer was careless. Unbothered.

Ezra’s jaw tightened.

’Fucking—’

He didn’t finish the thought. He wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" Ezra asked, voice even.

Inside, his patience was wearing thin.

’If he says he doesn’t know, I swear—’

"No," Perrin replied.

Just like that.

Casual. Clean. Immediate.

Ezra stared at him.

Really stared.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Ezra searched his face for hesitation, for the smallest flicker of uncertainty.

There was none.

’He’s lying,’