The Omega Knight's Secret Baby Daddy is A PRINCE?!-Chapter 37: Kill Count.

"Men, I’m sure you already know why I gathered you here today, despite it being your resting period."

Helios’s voice carried cleanly across the training grounds as he paced in front of the assembled knights.

Thirty men stood in rigid lines, backs straight, hands clasped behind them, eyes forward.

Ezra stood just behind Helios, mirroring the posture out of habit. His expression was unreadable, gaze sharp as he scanned the unfamiliar faces.

’I’ve seen a few of them yesterday,’ he thought.

But names? No. He didn’t know any of their names.

Ezra did recognize their stances. Habits.

He shifted his focus back to Helios.

"The time has come," Helios continued, stopping at the center, "and I’m sure most of you already know why you’re here. You were with me yesterday, after all. And even if you weren’t, his name is well known across the kingdom."

Helios turned and gestured toward Ezra.

"Ezra Belloren."

For a brief second, while the knights’ attention snapped forward, Helios glanced back and smiled at him.

Not the prince’s smile. The private one.

’Nope.’

Ezra kept his face neutral.

"The Captain of the Sunward Sentinels has returned."

A ripple went through the formation.

Subtle, but there.

Ezra caught the way shoulders stiffened, how a few eyes flicked toward him before snapping back forward.

Helios turned back to the men.

"In case any of you don’t know him," Helios said evenly, "Ezra Belloren trained in this very compound for most of his life. He earned his place through discipline, endurance, and of course, results."

Ezra listened quietly.

"He led the Sunward Sentinels through campaigns that raised the order above every other knight corps in the kingdom."

’That was you,’ Ezra corrected internally. ’I just followed orders.’

"Despite his size," Helios added, a hint of amusement in his tone as his eyes slid briefly toward Ezra, "which I’m sure you’ve noticed. And which the first generation of Sentinels also noticed."

Ezra resisted the urge to sigh.

But also snicker.

’Every time. Without fail.’

"Ezra Belloren," Helios continued, voice firm again, "is one of the fiercest fighters this kingdom has produced."

Then Helios said it.

"He holds the highest Dark Ones kill count among all active knights."

That did it.

Ezra noticed it immediately.

A few heads tilted, ever so slightly. A few eyes shifted toward the same spot in the front row.

Ezra followed their gaze.

The man stood taller than the rest, broader in the shoulders, arms thick with muscle. Old scars traced his face, careless and proud, as if worn deliberately.

His expression was serious, but there was something else beneath it.

Confidence.

No. Cockiness.

Ezra lowered his chin just a fraction.

’Ah,’ he thought. ’There you are.’

The one Fizzy had warned him about.

The "guy."

The knight who thought strength alone made a leader.

Ezra’s mouth twitched, just barely.

’This is going to be interesting.’

"Ezra."

Helios gestured forward. "Since I’ve introduced you, I believe it’s time for you to get to know the new Sunward Sentinels."

Ezra stepped ahead without hesitation, posture snapping into place out of long habit. Hands clasped behind his back.

Spine straight. Chin level.

He stopped a few paces in front of Helios and turned to face the formation.

Thirty knights.

Thirty pairs of eyes fixed on him.

Ezra let his gaze move slowly across them, not rushed, not aggressive. He took in their stances, their weight distribution, the way some squared their shoulders while others stiffened just a little too much.

’There it is,’ he thought calmly. ’That look.’

Doubt.

It didn’t matter that Helios had just listed his feats.

Didn’t matter that his name was known across the kingdom, whispered in taverns and spoken carefully in knight halls.

Doubt always came first.

Ezra didn’t take it personally.

If anything, it amused him.

’You’re allowed to doubt me,’ he thought. ’For now.’

He stepped another pace forward, placing himself fully between Helios and the knights.

"Gladly," Ezra said.

His voice was steady. Not loud. Not soft. It carried.

The air shifted. Subtly. Instinctively.

Ezra had seen this reaction before. The moment soldiers realized this wasn’t a ceremonial captain. This was the kind who would remember faces. Who would notice mistakes?

He didn’t waste time.

A lot of captains liked speeches.

Others liked theatrics.

Some liked to hear about lineage, talents, second genders, special abilities, grand aspirations.

Ezra didn’t care about any of that.

’Most of it is noise,’ he thought. ’And noise gets people killed.’

"Men," Ezra said, ignoring the weight of their stares. "I only need to know three things about you."

That got their attention.

He raised one finger.

"Your name."

Simple. Basic. Identity mattered.

A second finger.

"Your Dark Ones kill count."

Experience mattered.

Then the third finger rose.

"Your human kill count."

Now that earned him a reaction.

The line of knights shifted almost imperceptibly, but Ezra saw it.

Shoulders tensed. Eyes darted sideways. A few mouths parted as if someone wanted to speak, to object, to ask why.

But no one did.

They hadn’t been given permission.

Ezra had.

He raised his third finger again, holding it there deliberately, letting the weight of the moment settle.

"And if you have a human kill count," he added calmly, "I want to know why."

His head tilted slightly as a faint smirk touched his lips.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

Those stayed cold. Measuring.

The silence that followed wasn’t just quiet.

It was heavy.

Ezra watched it ripple through them.

One knight swallowed hard. Another shifted his weight as if the ground beneath him had suddenly become unstable. Somewhere in the line, a jaw clenched tight enough that Ezra could see the muscle jump.

Good.

’If that question unsettles you,’ Ezra thought coolly, ’then you’re going to understand the difference between you and me.’

He let his gaze drift, unhurried, until it settled on the broad man in the front row.

The biggest among them. Scarred. Confident to the point of arrogance.

The one Fizzy had warned him about.

’There you are,’ Ezra thought. ’I was wondering when I’d find you.’

He didn’t glare.

He didn’t challenge.

He simply looked.

Long enough for the man to notice. Long enough for the man’s confidence to tighten into something sharper.

Then Ezra straightened, his expression flattening into something professional, almost bored.

"Let’s start," he said evenly. "Front row. From the left."