A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1435 - 1435: Muddy Greatness - Part 4

He wondered why it was that the Patrick men, settling onto that field of battle, seemed to do so with a distinctly different and more intense aura than those around them. They took to the arena, as if they were going to actual war. As if the people around them had done something to offend them. Their menacing was enough to make the other combatants frown, when they saw the seriousness with which the Patrick men were glaring at them.

Oliver wondered if it was a product of Firyr's indoctrination, or something that he himself had done. For, even the newest of recruits – and of which, there were a handful that had made it all the way through the first few rounds – were overtaken by the will to win. Fierce determination settled over the lot of them. Jorah – of all the people there, that Oliver would have expected it from – was taken by it too. He ought to have been sensible enough to know a degree of calm. He ought to have been fighting in the Commander and Captain's tournament in actuality, but when it came to the Commanders' seedings, Oliver had thought they ought to have a degree of flexibility. For it was certain that they would all be of the Second Boundary.

And given that Jorah was one of the few Commanders on that battlefield, he seemed determined not to show himself up, for the rank that he held. His seriousness was no lesser than that of Karesh and Kaya, who prided themselves on their fighting skills.

Oliver saw some people point, as Kaya bashed his bladed gauntlets together, as if they were trying to decide what it was that they were looking at. There was no sword on Kaya's hip for him to fall back on, and no evidence of any other weapon save for those.

Karesh was enthusiastic enough that his hands were shaking. This was even more important to him, as one that chased after Firyr's footsteps. He seemed to believe that he ought to be stronger than Kaya, for the tools he could bring to a battlefield were less subtle, and, especially against the Verna, he hadn't been able to find a use that was exclusively his, in the same way that Kaya had been able to find unusual effectiveness against the shieldbearers.

For that round of the tournament, given that the majority of the Patrick men who'd been in charge of overseeing things before were occupied now as participants, it fell to the Blackwell soldiery to take over the enforcing of the rules.

They introduced it, and once again reiterated the rules that had been mentioned by Oliver, and at the start of every bout since, and then they rung the bell for the fighting to begin.

"Good luck, comrades," Oliver murmured under his breath.

Karesh dashed off enthusiastically, as did Kaya. Jorah chose to hold his ground – a strategy that the other soldiers on the field seemed to employ. For the victor was not determined by who cut up the most men, it was simply determined based on survival.

Right out the gate, Karesh found a soldier with his back turned to him. He could have cut him two, with the position of his sword, but he was forced to kick him in the back instead, sending him flying into the mud, so he could more easily pick out a pocket of exposed skin to draw blood off. That he did quickly enough.

"URAHHH!" He bellowed, with a rush of adrenaline.

"Now there's a start that suits Karesh," Oliver said. "He needs that on the battlefield too. He's far too nervous until he's slain his first man or drawn his first drop of blood."

"Indeed," Verdant said. "For a greatsword wielder such as he, that nature seems only to benefit the wielding of his weapon."

"Is Kaya going to get himself knocked out already?" Blackthorn said distastefully, noting that Kaya had already found himself cornered by three soldiers wearing the same surcoats. There were no explicit rules against such alliances between men of the same noble factions, but naturally, it was frowned upon, when the tournament was meant to be a free for all.

They grinned, as they backed Kaya up. They seemed to think him to be the weakest out of all the possible candidates, given that it was not quite obvious what his weapons were. His hands were empty, after all, and there was not a single soldier in the tournament that the same could be said for.

He let them back him up all the way to the ropes. Two spears held him in place, preventing him from dodging off to the side, and then a swordsman came up the middle, carefully selecting the blow that would cut him, without wounding him too severely.

He stepped in closer, closer was necessary, if he used the range of his sword to his fullest. It was the attitude of a man so confident in his position that he no longer felt the need to allow for careless mistakes to happen. Evidently, he felt more sure he could land a properly shallow cut at this range rather than further back.

But it was a step too close. The second he came, Kaya pounced, without a trace of nerves. He was used to being surrounded on the battlefield, after all. He'd developed his own way of dealing with such things. He drove a fist straight into the man's gut. His blades struggled to pierce the chainmail, it seemed, but Oliver had a feeling that Kaya had simply twisted his punch so that he wouldn't risk dealing his foe a deep wound. That punch to the stomach was followed by a blow to the skull. It was an armoured knuckle that hit the man, splitting open his lip, and loosening a tooth in a rain of blood. The blades just missed their target, freeing Kaya from the consequences that would have otherwise fallen on him.