A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1444 - 1444: Furthering Competition - Part 4

There was none more pleased than Nila herself, though, it did seem. To top it all off, she looked to the crowd, and gave them the broadest, most beautiful and genuine smile that she was capable of. It looked an innocent gesture, freely given to them all. But her eyes remained on Oliver alone, and she gave the smallest little pump of her fist to go along with it.

"She's done well, my Lord," Blackthorn said, sounding fiercely proud.

"She has," Oliver agreed. "But we knew that the starting round, at this sort of range, would pose no problem for her. Being who she is."

Without issue, Nila proceeded to the next round, along with nine other competitors, including Professor Yoreholder. But Oliver fancied that even though their results were the same, none had shot a finer set of arrows than Nila had. Though, he was reminded too, that the future rounds would only be more difficult, allowing a greater spread in the competitor's skill to be all the more obvious.

Yoreholder found him, as she returned from her shooting, and Oliver found her reaction to be satisfactory.

"Very well. You were right," she said, simply enough. "I didn't suppose that you would be wrong, but I admit that you are right all the same. Where on earth did you find that little creature?"

"Here, in Solgrim, along with everything else," Oliver said.

"That sort of talent doesn't pop up out of nowhere," Yoreholder said. "I wonder who taught her."

"The forests and all the animals in it, I wager," Oliver said. "I don't think she's ever mentioned training. All she's ever done is hunt. Though she did so with a considerable amount of desperation. Her situation was not always as good as it is now."

"She hunted to survive, then?" Yoreholder said.

"At times," Oliver agreed.

"She's an impressive thing," Yoreholder said. "And she has a quality to her that I can see exciting the hearts of young men. I suppose that was what made you fall for the girl, was it? Despite all the consequences that you would bring?"

"…That amongst other things," Oliver admitted quietly.

"Hm…" Yoreholder said. "Well, you had better not let her go. There are still more rounds to the competition, so we shall see just how far she manages to reach. Ah, yes. I suppose I might borrow her for a while myself. You do not mind, do you?"

Nila had been trotting over happily to celebrate her victory with Oliver and the rest of his party when Professor Yoreholder saw her promptly intercepted. Doing as she had earlier, with a hand on her shoulder, and a gentle smile, Nila was powerless to resist, as she was guided away, and subjected to all sorts of questions.

The final act of trouble for that day – as far as Oliver was concerned – was the matter of the Battle tournament. He only had to fight a single round that day, given how they'd planned the tournament, with the understanding that they'd need far more time for the melees on the first day. But even that single round was enough to make his heart sink.

He didn't want all the work he'd put in to be for nothing, but he hadn't felt the strong click of certainty that occurred when he'd passed over an insurmountable wall in progress either. He wasn't sure what he could bet on, if anything at all. The one thought he kept crawling back to was 'I just need to win'.

Somehow, that made it simpler. When victory was the sole condition, rather than testing the new ideas that he'd worked so hard on, it seemed as if there were less restrictions, and more roads to the optimal outcome than would otherwise be available to him. But that didn't do an awful lot to offset his nervousness. He felt as bad as Nila had earlier, with her shaky hands, though he had too much misplaced pride to allow his own shakiness to show.

In the hour leading up to his first Battle round – given that there were other Battle rounds going on – it seemed that everyone that he least wanted to see managed to find him, just in time to make his nerves all the worse.

"Ohh, you entered into the Battle tournament, Ser Patrick? That's wonderful!" Queen Asabel had explained. Oliver had sought her out, just to pay his respects once more, so it wasn't as if she was included in the list of people that he least wanted to see, but she did succeed in making his nerves worse, the way her eyes glowed with youthful anticipation. "I'm ever so excited to see what you do. It surprises me that you did not wish to enter the melee, but I am just as excited to see how you perform as the leader that you are."

"Yes, my Queen…" Oliver had said, feeling his words grow hollow, as her expectations dragged the soul from his body.

Not long after he'd left Queen Asabel once more, General Karstly found him. It had been announced to the crowd ten minutes prior, just what order the different Battle Board participants would be competing – and generally, the names, given that the majority were either Colonels or higher in rank, served to elicit a good deal of excitement.

The name Patrick, when it had been announced, came with as much as a General's name might have. The people gathered were curious, just where the organizer of all these events that they had been enjoying stood. They'd all wanted, for the most part, to see him compete with a sword, for that was what the Patricks had been famed for. But in disappointing them in that regard, he'd only built up their anticipation further for his Battle board contests.

"Very interesting, Patrick," Karstly cooed to him, without even a greeting. He had Samuel at his side, looking as reserved as ever, keeping his lips in a tight line, not letting a single unnecessary emotion sigh through. "I'd thought you despised strategy, given how you fight, but here you are, competing in it. What wonder, eh, Samuel?"

"Indeed, my Lord," Samuel said, replying without even glancing in the direction of his Lord.