A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1282 - 1282: The Sword's Lacking - Part 8

"It seems a little late for that," Verdant announced, loud enough that Firyr and the other men could hear him. Naturally, even when Oliver approached quietly, Verdant was always likely to find him.

"Oh, shit," Firyr said, throwing a hurried salute up, as an example to the rest of the men. They must have trained that, for unlike their work with the spear, the salute of a fist that they slammed into their sternums was swift.

"At ease," Oliver told them. "I'll be interested to see what the work you've put in has amounted to," he said, pretending that he hadn't already seen them at work already."

The men could not have looked more nervous. Oliver could see the fear streaming off them. Firyr had to fight to hide his smile. He'd broken their pride within the week, and put fear in its place. Though Oliver supposed that wasn't too difficult to do for the already broken slaves – what they needed was building back up.

The men engaged each other again. It was like seeing a wrestling match between twenty people at once. There wasn't any real technique there, but at least they kept their spears lowered, and they attacked with their points this time.

Firyr had told them to use their legs, and try to lift their opponents off the ground, but only two men managed to do that through a twist of their hips, resulting in a nice thrust. Others half-jumped. It certainly lent their strike more than force than it would have through arms alone, but it was far from the force that would have resulted if they'd managed to twist at the hips.

"What do you think, my Lord?" Verdant asked.

"It's good," Oliver said, speaking honestly. "There's a process to it now. They've men like themselves to learn from. How many men do we have now? Four hundred? There's still a few more to go… But we'll have a solidness established soon enough."

"Indeed. It will not be long. Another few weeks, as you say, as we should have the numbers. After that it will just be a matter of seeing them trained," Verdant said. "Have you given a thought to what battlefields we might take them on? I am sure Skullic could find us more work of the sort that we have done before."

"…I had not," Oliver said. In truth, he was avoiding thinking about it. He didn't want to see a battlefield again until he found something that could rival his understanding of it. He'd added strategy over the years, and he'd grown stronger, but his fundamental idea of a battle was the same. He wouldn't, if it was even possible to challenge that.

Verdant nodded, without pushing the issue. Oliver had not explicitly voiced his intentions toward Verdant, but he seemed to understand them. "There is much to be learned outside the battlefield as well," Verdant said.

"Those are my thoughts as well. Governance… I'm trying my hand at it a bit, Verdant," Oliver said. "It isn't sticking like I hoped it would, though. I find that I can understand what is laid out before me, but it is not bringing the change I hope that it would bring.

When I think of the battlefield, it remains the same… Of course I didn't expect changes to be instant, there's enough I know about progress to know that it wouldn't be. But I had hoped a different view on a different task might bring influence. Instead, I find myself looking at governance with the same eyes as I would the battlefield."

"That seems only natural to me, my Lord. When one has an excessive skill in one area, it will colour the way we see the world. I wonder who it was that said 'one sees the world through the lens of one's craft?' I forget, but that seems to be truth. An expert smith might see the world through a process of forging. Or some other such thing."

"Speaking of forging, Greeves made a suggestion," Oliver said. "I thought I should ask you, in the hopes that you might be opposed to it, for I might be a little too excited about the idea. He has designs to steal some craftsmen from Ernest."

"In order to draw more of a crowd to Solgrim?" Verdant asked.

"PAAAAAAATHHHHHHETICCC! AND IN FRONT OF YOUR CAPTAIN!" Firyr roared, when the spearmen were finally done.

"That's the idea," Oliver said. "Solgrim will be the tree that grows from Dominus Patrick's memory. I like that idea. I have been unable to do anything for the dead, even though I bear the responsibility for many of their lost lives. My father, Dominus Patrick, gave me much.

To give the nation more reason to remember his name, and to have his legend continue through the statue we have here and the visitors we are sure to draw, that seems as fine a blow as I can deliver to the High King."

"I think it to be a most wonderful idea, my Lord," Verdant said. "But as I am sure you are aware, there will be consequences."

"I realize."

"And I might add that…" Verdant paused his next words to look at Firyr, as his shouting increased in volume, and Oliver gestured with his head a distance away, where he hoped it might be quieter. "I was going to remark that, it seems as if you're picking a fight."

"Greeves said much the same," Oliver agreed as they walked. "I'm very well aware that it's a picking of a fight with the Guild, but what about it? If they've the competence, they'll be able to hold on to those craftsmen, and if they don't, then they will go to us. It's a natural order of things."

"I wonder if you do not see it yourself, my Lord?" Verdant said.

"See what?"

"You've been wishing to find a new way of approaching the battlefield, and I suppose war in general, and in doing so, you have purposely distanced yourself from it, in the hopes that you might see it in a new light. Do you not see that this 'fight' with the Guild is another battlefield that you have found for yourself?" Verdant said.