A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1281 - 1281: The Sword's Lacking - Part 7

"You are strong, Ingolsol, without a doubt," Claudia said, spirited by Oliver's refusal. "You could bend the world to your will, as mighty as you are. But you have never listened to that world, you have never felt your way around it, or attempted paths that were any less than a straight line. You thought those paths to be beneath you – and so your sense for this world we inhabit is flawed.

Your power is your weakness. That is how we defeated you then, and even if you are to break free, we will defeat you again by the same mechanisms."

"Tsch, rubbish," Ingolsol said. "You take advantage of my own fledgling knowledge. I admit that I don't know as much as I ought to, for I have only recently been reborn. But your words hold no sway on me, Claudia, even if your resistance is admirable. I think, perhaps, when I take the throne, it will be your subordinance that I will cherish the most."

Oliver suppressed a shudder, as he was struck by a sense of déjà vu, though he couldn't where he'd originally heard such a phrase. He stood, thinking the conversation to be over, but Ingolsol dangled before him one more tempting offer.

"The girl that troubles you so," Ingolsol said. "You have the means, and the power to fix that. Why not rely on all that you've built up, and give her a little push down the right path?"

Oliver knew full well what the God meant when he suggested that. He meant subordinance, not advice, to pull the strings of a puppet. Revulsion filled Oliver at the idea. "Suggestions like that are why I will ensure I remain cautious around you, Fragment."

He knew he would find no place of reason in that quiet room any longer. The talk of his Fragments was too loud. Instead, he found a duty for himself, that could be called in need of attendance.

He'd left the training of the new recruits in the hands of his subordinates, though he knew that he ought to have paid them more visits himself. In the past, he could not have imagined leaving as much distance between them and himself as he had recently. It almost felt as if he was avoiding his responsibilities, but he knew not what else to do.

He came upon the training ground, where a group of twenty soldiers were locked against another group of twenty, with padding around the tips of their spears, transforming them into training weapons. Seeing it, Oliver was struck by the same sensation that he'd begun to feel. The sense of stagnation – the falling into old patterns of thinking that he knew already to be lacking.

His sword had found itself transformed out of necessity, and he'd managed to dip his toes into the world of the Fourth Boundary. But his overall view of the battlefield, and combat, had remained the same. It locked him in place, preventing him from going any further in any martial idea.

It reminded him of what he already knew – that there were far more barriers to break in the realm of combat than just the Boundaries that the Gods had set.

Even with the burst of progress that ought to have been offered to him in any Boundary Break that Claudia had played a part in, Oliver found himself rooted in place. To be struck by a resistance in a domain that not even the explosiveness of a Boundary Break could solve – that pointed to Oliver that problem he faced, and the boulder he attempted to shift, was a weighty one.

He watched the new recruits do their battle. They were as raw as the usual men that Greeves got. Peasants, criminals and some ex-slaves. Large and beastial men. It was a wonder they didn't descend into a full on brawl when they saw their training techniques begin to break, in favour of their old ways.

Oliver reasoned that the presence of Firyr was likely to thank for that. "Alright, break! Break!" Firyr shouted, getting in the middle of them, as they started to fight not with the points of their spears, but the shafts.

"That is fucking pathetic," Firyr spat. "Aye, I told you that you could use your own weapons eventually, but even a kid knows how you're meant to hold a spear."

"It's not strong though…" A man complained. He'd turned his spear until it was horizontal, in an attempt to push the enemy over, rather than run them over.

"You fool! You know there's a point on the end of it, don't you? It's not strength you're trying to run them through with, it's precision," Firyr said.

"He said 'precision,' Karesh muttered from another corner of the training ground. "Don't you think he's getting a bit too cocky lately? You know Firyr doesn't talk like that."

"He's always like this with the new men," Kaya replied.

"But… You said for us to run them over," the same man complained to Firyr. "There isn't a point on it now. Isn't it better to use it my way?"

"Stupid. A spear is made to thrust, even if it's padded. Stand there, like the brain-lacking bit of wood that you are, and take this strike," Firyr said. His own short-spear was wrapped up for training purposes. The man stood still as he was told, but he didn't look too enthusiastic about it.

Firyr didn't even measure the distance, he didn't give any sort of warning. There was just a single swift thrust, accented by an explosive twist of his hips, and the large man was caught in his stomach, and carried off his feet.

He was practically foaming at the mouth as he rolled there, trying to catch his breath after being winded. "Does that look weak to any of you fools? It's only weak 'cos you're just using your arms. You're meant to use your legs. Push with em, like yer trying to lift them off their feet, rather than just tapping them. You try that again, and you make sure that it's better.

If Ser Patrick sees the state you're in, he'll have all of our heads."

It confused Oliver to see that the men seemed actually frightened by Firyr's threat, as if they genuinely believed he would go out executing new recruits for lacklustre performances. As far as the reason behind that went, he could only imagine it to be a result of Firyr's brain washing.