A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1397 - 1397: Childish - Part 3

"I've bloody well noticed," Greeves spat.

Oliver held up his hand. "But that distraction, I think, might prove to be entertaining…"

As Greeves continued to fume, Verdant betrayed his curiosity. "Do you have something in mind, my Lord?"

"Well, something that will certainly exasperate the Guild, and Ferdinand, I do think… And, to be honest, I think Lord Blackwell might be a fan of it. It's beginning to tick so many boxes, that the joke I'd intended to tell might have to be the very strategy I put forth…" Oliver said.

"Spit it out, boy," Greeves said. "You're wasting time, and time is of the essence."

"But it's actually funny, Greeves," Oliver grinned. "They've made an absolute mess of the competition that we proposed, dragging it into the darkest waters. This reply is perhaps the funniest we can get, I think. Surely they'll understand it."

"Come on, say it already," Greeves said. Even Skullic had paused his reading for a moment to listen in.

"We proposed a competition, did we not?" Oliver said. "And they ruined it. So let us hold our own competition."

His grin could not have been more delighted. He barely held back his laugh. From the looks around him, no one else really understood his joke. "Come on, is it not the most ridiculous reply you can think of? They are going to all these troubles, enacting all sorts of maliciousness, and we just host a competition, as if everything is merry?"

"What do you mean by competition?" Greeves asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Indeed, my Lord, that is what I wish to know as well," Verdant said. "I do not think you would look so pleased without due reason, but when one mentions the term competition, there are many things that they can mean."

"Ah, true enough. Apologies," Oliver said. "A tournament, then, to put it better. We'd said before that we intended to highlight the importance of Solgrim in the martial world, given that this is where Dominus Patrick, the greatest Sword to ever live, made his final battle. What better way to do that than to give host to a tournament? Now is the perfect time to do it, just when the campaign has finished, and there have been all sorts of fine men rewarded, and the populace are wanting to celebrate. A tournament, a festival. There will be many men who did not have the opportunity to prove their worth on the battlefield, and look – and opportunity. Does it not tick too many boxes?"

The reaction from Greeves was not as good as Oliver had hoped it would be. The man did not even crack a smile, his frown only deepened. Verdant, however, was beginning to nod his head. "A competition, you say…" Only in repeating that, did a smile rise to his lips. "I see what has sparked your amusement, my Lord."

"Ridiculous," Greeves said dismissively. "We're at war. We don't have the time for festivities."

"Do you not see, merchant, the brilliance of it?" Verdant said. "It is a problem of coin, is it not? Of traffic, yes? Solgrim's primary traffic, currently, is trade, from here to Ernest, and that is what the Guild has targeted. But with a tournament, overwhelmingly, the traffic would be of a different nature. It would be enough to cover our expenses for the longest of times. And, the positions will be reversed, if it's successful enough. Ernest will have to come and beg to us for a part in it, so that they might share in the prosperity of the trade."

"A bloody tournament?" Greeves said. "Have both of you gone mad?"

"I would warn you, merchant, about addressing my Lord with the proper titles," Blackthorn said, her hand by her sword. "…By the way, Lord Patrick, might I fight in this tournament?"

'That's your actual motivation, isn't it!?' Oliver thought to himself, glaring at the girl, but he managed to retain his cool in his reply. "I do not see why not. This ticks another box for us. It'll be a chance for our new recruits to get some experience in, and a chance for some of our other men to knock the dust off. I admit, I have been negligent in my duties in training them, so that comes with quite a bit of importance for me."

"My apologies, Lady Blackthorn…" Greeves said through gritted teeth. "But do you lot not realize how difficult this thing will be to organize? You seem to imagine that we might attract such a crowd that the bloody walls will be teaming with people. How do you propose we do that?"

"Oh, we will have far more people than our walls can contain," Verdant said with iron certainty. "We will have to use the lands that surround it. Lord Blackwell will facilitate us in that, I do think."

"You're going to use Lord Blackwell to help you, when you're competing with his son?" Greeves said.

"We're ignoring the competition with Lord Ferdinand," Oliver said. "It's quite childish, really, but given that he chose to fight as he did, I don't feel like we need to bother confronting him directly. We'll just beat him indirectly through this tournament, and all shall be well, no? I'm sure he'll feel appropriately chastised, and we can all enjoy ourselves in the aftermath."

"It's not that easy, Ser Patrick," Greeves said, managing to stick to his titles, even as he growled. "You won't get a crowd big enough for it to matter. Not in the next three weeks. Maybe if you had months of planning… but yer practically springing this up out of nowhere."

"Uhhmmm, Boss, do you reckon I could fight in this tournament?" Judas asked. "It's been a while since I've been swinging my stick, y'know."

"Bloody, be quiet, you oaf!" Greeves fumed at him.

"All will be welcome, Judas," Oliver told him. "Obviously, I'll have to think through the specifics, at some point… But I'm sure there won't be a world in which you'll miss your chance."

"Pissin' brilliant, thanks, Ser Patrick!" Judas grinned, clenching his fist.