A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1437 - 1437: Muddy Greatness - Part 6

"Naturally, I wouldn't disagree with you there," Oliver said. "But I think as things stand, you soldiers have already put in work enough. You can stand to enjoy it."

"Ah, but we are enjoying it, my Lord," Jorah said. "Like you, however, we enjoy the winning most of all."

Oliver scratched his head. "It seems like my twisted personality has brushed off on you. Apologies."

In the short interlude between the end of Kaya and Jorah's round, and the beginning of the first of the Captain's bouts, the crowd stirred in a way that it hadn't since the entire tournament began. It was likely a mixture of expectation, along with the time of day. Already, the sun was beginning to push beyond noon, and the spectators and soldiers alike went looking for something to eat, forming massive crowds around the many food-bearing stalls that had been set up.

As soon as they secured their bounty, they went rushing to the perimeter of the arena, so that they might each and spectate together. There was such a rush of people gathering just around that single central arena that their mass formed ten rather messy rows of people.

They still hadn't yet begun to put on any battles in the arenas to either side of it. The plan had been to do simultaneous events only if they felt themselves hard pressed for time. As things stood, time did not seem to be too much of an obstacle, and so Oliver held off, in the hopes of keeping the ground that they'd cordoned off free from becoming a muddy bog – just as the central battlefield now was – too quickly.

Along with the crowd, there began to gather the participants, and what an impressive sight they were when compared to the likes of the men that had gone before them. These were men, who, nearly without exception, were nobles. It was rare that they did not sport an armour piece gilded with jewels. Every piece of metal seemed to be polished to a shine comparable to that of a mirror. Despite the filth that they walked on, they'd managed to keep themselves impossibly clean.

They exchanged bows with each other, handshakes, and chivalrous nods, as they waited for the bell to be rung, and for the rest of the participants to gather. They were all rather serious men, with many soldiers under them that they had to serve as an example towards. All apart from Firyr, who could not have looked more out of place if he tried.

"Ohhh! Lord Idris! Lady Blackthorn!" He could be heard to shout, as he hopped over the rope cordon like a child, and went rushing over to comrades, as if just spotting his friends amongst a crowd. "How goes it? This should be an easy one, eh? Should we have a competition, to see how many we can put down? From the looks of em', they ain't up to much."

"Gods, he's loud ain't he?" A voice to Oliver's left took him by surprise.

"And he's managed to quickly secure the hatred of everyone else on the field," came the response, in a voice that Oliver would never manage to mistake.

"Greeves," Oliver noted. "And you as well, Judas. You look battered."

"…Well, y'know, it didn't exactly go my way," Judas said, scratching his head.

"You were fighting?" Oliver asked.

Judas looked hurt. "Were ya not watching?"

Oliver raised an apologetic hand. "Sorry. Are you out already, then?"

"Nah, he's put on some pathetic performances, but this lout of mine is still in it," Greeves said. He seemed rather pleased by that fact. "Obviously he's unlikely to win it, but he can still manage to win back some measure of respect after all the embarrassment that he's secured."

"It wasn't that bad, Boss…" Judas protested. "I just got clubbed."

"You're lucky that didn't bleed," Oliver said, noting the large welt on Judas' head.

"Try and block the blow with your weapon next time, rather than your head, eh?" Greeves said.

"I noted you in the earlier rounds," Kaya told Judas. "I thought you did well enough, all things considered."

"Really?" Judas said, practically beaming at that. "Well, y'know, it's nothin'. I just got to do what I got to do, y'know. My little girl was watching after all. Can't let myself be shown up too much."

"Just surviving a few rounds at all is a notable achievement," Oliver said. "The majority of the peasantry have been knocked out by now. You're carrying the torch for them."

"That's a lot of pressure…" Judas complained.

"Why are you saying that like you have any idea what he's talking about?" Greeves said, slapping him hard on the back. "There's not a thought rolling around that empty head of yours. Just do what I pay you to do, and crack anyone in front of you over the heart with your club."

"At the very least, it doesn't seem like you could make things any worse for yourself than Firyr already has," Jorah commented. In the short order of their conversation, Firyr had managed to pull in all the hatred of the surrounding nobility, and he loudly condemned their talent – in speaking to Verdant and Blackthorn – and talked about how easy it would be for them to run through the competition.

And so, when the bell rang, it came as no surprise that nearly half the field came rushing at Firyr.

"Idiot," Oliver could just barely see Blackthorn mouthing the words, as she sprung to full speed in an instant, and began to flash her rapier through the charging mass.

With all their attention on Firyr, they didn't register her blows. She managed to secure shallow wounds on three of them, before she even needed to take a backwards step.

Firyr bellowed his amusement, and rushed out to meet the charge head on. Verdant sighed, and went after him, realizing that, in the interests of getting their Patrick men as far as possible, he would have to at least help Firyr through the worst of it.