Derek smiled. He did not know how skilled the Southerners were in formation combat, but this was absolutely the Northland Knights' strength.
Martial skill could be honed to great proficiency through training, and superior physical talent could also bring enormous advantages.
But formation combat truly required experience.
Perhaps some would say that it was only three against three—what did that have to do with formations?
In truth, anything requiring coordination could be practiced to ninety-nine percent proficiency, but that final one percent could only be earned through blood and sweat.
In a one-on-one fight, the Southern Knights might still have a twenty or thirty percent chance of winning, since many factors could affect the outcome of a battle.
But in a three-on-three, Derek believed their chances of victory were no more than ten percent.
Yet the Southern Knights seemingly did not understand this.
This time, even the Old Count saw it.
"They've won!"
To be honest, Count Perella was under immense pressure. The Southern Knights' performance had placed a burden on him that was difficult to put into words.
Who would have thought that in just ten years, those fellows from the south would have caught up?
But at least in the field of war, they still had shortcomings.
Still, they could not forget that there would be no shortage of wars in the Northern Lands. Perhaps they would be overtaken by the other side before long.
The crushing pressure remained.
By then, the knights on both sides had removed the spearheads from their lances.
They had even put on heavy armor.
That meant they were getting serious.
Do not think removing the spearheads made it safe. The sheer force of a charging warhorse was enough to shatter a man's bones and tear his muscles apart.
Even falling from a