A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1462 - 1462: A Struggling Heart - Part 1

"…You have shattered my pride and worldview entirely," Blackwell said.

Claudia grinned. "To anyone else, this would have been perfectly natural. It is only you that could have seen it as such an extreme. Regain your fire, Lord Blackwell, but do not be overwhelmed by it. I shall be here with you, when you do require me. But in return, I must burden your heart – you must raise yourself up once more, despite the knowledge that you are flawed, and there is softness in your heart. Your battling will eternally be done with a heart filled with conflict. Another would call that a curse, but I trust you have the wisdom to see it as beyond that, Lord Blackwell. You are most necessary, great Lord, for the events of the future. Bear your burden, and bear it well."

It was that Claudia, sincere and sweet, that he feared more than any. She still came to him in that form, at times, though she was older now, closer to his age, she still hadn't lost any of her overwhelming charm. All the way up to the Fourth Boundary, she had overwhelmed him, and made him more aware of his own weaknesses, leaving his heart in eternally troubled conflict. It was to the point that he could no longer hear her voice, without filtering it through a distortion.

To him now, she was a great warrior, one that he could never match, and he had to be content with his defeat in that fact. That weakness, however, allowed him strength, for as he spoke to her, in her armoured form, and was overwhelmed by him, he did so with the knowledge there existed at least one creature in all the world that would not fear him if he went all out. It was only that knowledge that could allow the Bear of the Blackwells to be well and truly himself, in all realms.

His Command whipped about him, in time with a sudden gust of cold southerly wind. Blackwell kept his eyes closed, the Battle board well fixed in his mind. Command could have no effect on the state of the board, he knew as much, but the instincts that lay in the same realm as it could. He loosened them, to augment the logical foundation that he had already built. That aggressive want to overwhelm, that had seen him so isolated as a child. Now, when he opened his eyes, and stared Broadstone down, he could hear the creaking stone rigidness of a mighty General beginning to buckle from him, before he had yet even to make his move.

A daring, ferocious sacrifice – that was what his instincts foresaw. The position that he and Broadstone had been battling with the intention of securing was suddenly shattered by a single rogue move. Blackwell sent his cavalry piece charging in, all to secure a single bowman. It was not an exchange that any could have called equal. Especially with the position that they'd built, where the supreme reactiveness of a cavalry unit was prized above any other.

It seemed a blunder, but it brought Broadstone to a complete halt. He imagined the all out attack that Blackwell was to deliver, and with a cold sweat, he saw how the exchanges would see the position resolved, and how, in the end, that reckless sacrifice would leave all in Blackwell's favour. The single hole that he had opened up in the archers line would be enough to allow a lone spear unit a mighty forward dash into a crushing flank side attack.

All of a sudden, the perfectly even board state had crumbled. Ten minutes passed, with a nervous Broadstone staring at the board. After another five minutes passed, General Blackthorn snorted from his position in the crowd, and turned his attention away. He seemed like he might have walked off, if he didn't have the duty of protecting his Queen to attend to.

Karstly had chortled a laugh five minutes earlier, and Skullic had tilted his head in acknowledgment. Great man after great man gave their approval, while the masses curiously murmured, trying to understand it.

And still Blackwell's fire swirled about him, overwhelming, and unwilting, just as it had been in the prime of his youth, if not even more so. He allowed it to grow and growl, until the moment that General Broadstone raised his hand, sighed, and gave in his resignation.

"General Broadstone resigns! The winner is General Blackwell!"

It was likely not the clear cut conclusion that the crowd would have wanted, but seeing as far ahead as those Generals could, Broadstone was not inclined to waste either of their time any more than was necessary.

Ferdinand was struck by a peculiar problem, and a peculiar sensation in his heart, as he watched the Silver Queen Asabel Pendragon delicately pick her was through the crowd, with a reserved but clearly excited smile on her face, to greet Oliver Patrick, after the victory of Lord Blackwell, Ferdinand's father.

He watched, with his lips twisted into a frown, entirely dissatisfied with the sight of it.

"It isn't anything, my Lord," his retainer Thomas said with a snort. "His sort coil people around their finger as a curiosity. A nobleman with the stench of a peasant, naturally, he'd evoke curiosity in her sort."

"Perhaps," Ferdinand agreed half-heartedly, sparing Thomas just a look out of the corner of his eye. The man was a full decade older than him, and unkempt, despite his high position. The stubble that ran along the jowls of his thick neck did not suit him, and the thinning blonde hair that he insisted on keeping despite the balding nature of his head did not suit him either.

It was hard for Ferdinand to look at the man without a certain degree of distaste, but he kept that hidden well, just as he had kept other things hidden. Thomas, in appearances, was lacking, but in ability, he was not a man that Ferdinand was willing to lose. He had the shrewdness of a man that did not care as much as many about morality. He was willing to get his hands dirty, if it meant getting things done. Naturally, Ferdinand's father, Lord Blackwell, wasn't particularly keen that Ferdinand had kept such men around him.