A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1362 - 1362: The Problem - Part 6

"And how do you suppose them to be doing, outside of what Firyr has already said?" Oliver asked.

"As I said, they're motivated… They're eager for a battlefield," Jorah said, scratching his chin. "Almost too eager. I fear that if they're not blooded soon, they'll start to develop strange ideas as to what battling is all about… They're believing it to be some grander than it actually is, and be disappointed by the result. Ah, but that is not to rush you, my Lord.

You need not go out of your way to accommodate them. They will manage."

"I expect we will find another battlefield soon enough," Oliver said. "Skullic has been tasked with a retaliation on the Yarmdon. I do not know when he wishes to set out for it – he has not discussed his plans with me that far yet – but even barring that, he has muttered about some rebel force or other that he has been asked to put down by the High King.

I think it to only be a matter of time before we are sent to do his bidding."

"You don't seem too glad about that fact, my Lord," Jorah noted.

"You don't suppose?" Oliver said.

"Well, if you would forgive me for saying so, I think I recall a time when you were excited for the battlefield," Jorah said. "You were even excited for campaign. But you do not seem so excited by this."

"Perhaps not," Oliver said. "I am not so eager to travel the same tracks, in the same way that I did before. It has been made obvious to me that I am lacking. Continuing to battle with all my lacking ways of doing things… It doesn't strike me as being particularly fruitful."

"Do you not suppose yourself to be overthinking it, my Lord?" Jorah asked. "I might be overstepping in saying this, but do you not think that, it is only natural you do not yet measure up to everything that a General might expect of you?"

"Yep, you're overstepping," Oliver agreed, with a mischievous grin on his face. "So go and draw your weapon, Jorah, let's settle this with a duel."

Oliver already had his sword out. It was sheathed in its scabbard, and he'd tied the scabbard securely in place with a bit of string, before he'd even left his house for the training grounds. With it, Oliver was well aware that his intentions in coming here had been made clear. With Jorah' calculating gaze, it was clear that he saw through it in moments as well.

Jorah gave the smallest of sighs, and a smile crept onto his lips. He seemed to understand that on that morning, Oliver was in no mood for serious discussions. He had moped on the issue for long enough, and he was well aware that he was being greedy in expecting to climb so high so quickly – but that was simply his nature, and the more he indulged it and thought on it, the more he would.

Jorah did not have his helm on his head, nor did he have his spear in his hand. He only had his chainmail and surcoat on, and his sword at his hip. Nevertheless, with Oliver challenging him, he did as he was told, and swept his blonde hair out from his eyes, so that he might return the point of his sword back at Oliver.

"You ought to cut that hair of yours," Oliver said. "You've left it growing since before the campaign, haven't you?"

"I've had a mind to, my Lord, but I haven't seemed to be able to find the time, nor the right woman to trust with the cutting of it," Jorah said.

"Hmm… Who cut Kaya's hair? His doesn't look too bad," Oliver said. He'd managed to spot his other retainer carrying out his duties as he arrived, and it had been evident then that his hair was recently cut, with how short it was at the back.

"That is exactly what I wish to avoid, my Lord," Jorah replied. "Pauline saw his cut, and so he has not been able to say a word of complaint, but I do not understand how he can show his face in public without wearing a helmet."

"It's not that bad, is it?" Oliver said. He tried a testing little jab at Jorah's sternum, with the sheathed tip of his sword, to see if he could unsettle the man with the smallest amount of surprise.

At that speed, however, Jorah was easily able to swat it away.

"You must not have seen it up close yet, my Lord," Jorah said. Though he was amongst the most serious of Oliver's men, Jorah had his blade naked. He was ever a stickler for foolish risk, but apparently even he could not fathom a world where his sword could ever reach Oliver, sheathed in its scabbard or not.

Oliver stepped into the strike daringly. It was slow enough that he could afford to. He laughed as he saw Jorah's eyes go wide, with the blade coming so close to the flesh of Oliver's neck.

"T-that was dangerous, my Lord," Jorah stammered warily.

"If you would put some more intent behind your strikes, I would not need to increase the dangerousness of them myself," Oliver said back. He jabbed at Jorah's sternum again with a light lunge, trying to fire up a more competitive battling spirit in him, despite the youth's certainty that no matter what he did, it wouldn't be enough to get past Oliver.

Jorah rushed in again. He feigned a strike at Oliver's side, but then swept low, and went for his leg. Oliver could tell that he held back there – he seemed to expect that the feint might actually catch Oliver off guard, and so he accounted for it.

Once more, Oliver punished him with recklessness. He stepped straight into the path of the blade, and only at the last second, did he raise his leg, allowing the sword to pass straight under his foot.

"My Lord…" Jorah said, his eyes wide with terror.

Oliver had to laugh at the expression. "See, Jorah, if you pull back your strikes, I'm going to have to make them more dangerous. I already said that, didn't I?"