A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1475 - 1475: A Passing Breeze - Part 6

"Whoever ordered it is immensely angry," Torin said with a shudder. "I do not know what has been done to them, but they're so terribly, terribly angry."

Oliver paused at those words. "Angry, you say..?" He said slowly. Indeed, if he looked at the scene around him, it was one of anger, one of passion. He felt like anyone could recognize that as soon as they saw it – but he didn't think he'd recognized it in the same way that Torin had. The young man had looked at it, in his comparative innocence, and he'd been moved towards that emotion, whereas Oliver had been able to look at it in a detached manner, and drawn the same conclusion, though when he had, it had carried far less weight.

"…Perhaps it's more important for whoever caused this to demonstrate their anger than it is to see the tournament cancelled," Verdant said.

"Now that's beginning to make a good deal more sense, as far as motivations go," Oliver said.

"I would say," Verdant nodded. "This seems a rather emotional bit of planning rather than a purely strategic one."

"And would our…" Oliver glanced briefly at Torin, before changing his wording. "…Common enemy, really stoop to such an emotional crime? Would he be that angry?"

"Well, that really depends, I think," Verdant said. "His past measures have seemed detached enough. They haven't been excessively personal, depending on how indeed you do define personal… But, well, I suppose we can't say for certain either way."

"Which means more searching," Oliver said. Mentally, he took measure of the time. "It'll likely be a little while longer before Nila and the others are able to catch up to us… We need to mark the murder locations, and warn others before they venture inside as well."

"A length of rope along the front of it should do well to that purpose, shouldn't it?" Verdant said, severing a loose appendage that had been there to support the roof.

They watched it sag, ever so slightly, with the relieved tension, but none would likely give complaint. The tent had bigger problems now, far more so than a simple sagging in the roof where the water was likely to collect.

With the rope tied in place, warning against any intruders into the bloody tent, they raced onwards, with Torin still in their company, jogging towards the back end of their party. More than once, Blackthorn shot him a menacing look, and every time she did, the young man shrank away, as if before a particularly aggressive dog.

"…I suppose that might be another one," Verdant voiced languidly. There were no outer obvious signs of a break in on this one, but none of the Patrick men gave voice to their doubts. Verdant's eyes were better than those of a normal man, but they were better in an odd way. He didn't see more clearly, he just seemed to see different things.

Torin had to struggle to keep his mouth closed, when he wondered why they were eyeing this particular tent with such an usual amount of seriousness. But the fact that the Patrick men were made him tense up as well.

Oliver drew his sword before he entered. Verdant raised an eyebrow in surprise, but he quickly had his sword out as well, as did Blackthorn. The young Lord Patrick paused at the entrance, gave a stern glare to Torin to follow suit, and when the boy had, he counted down a warning on his fingers.

Straight through the front door they flashed, with Oliver's sword slicing an opening in the closed tent flaps, forcing them all to flitter to the floor.

Another bloody scene awaited them, this one likely just as severe as the last. Perhaps even worse, given the freshness of the blood. It hadn't even begun to thicken yet. It had been spilled straight from the body, mere moments earlier.

A corpse lay unmoving, but a shadow raced. Its reactions were impeccable. The very instant that they'd broken in, the shadow dove towards the other side of the tent, and was under the side wall, without even the slightest signs of slowing.

"Blackthorn, with me," Oliver said. "Verdant, Torin – the woman."

Rather than go under, Oliver cut his way straight through. He didn't have the confidence that he would be able to wriggle under the tightly pegged canvas like the villain before him had, but that didn't seem to particularly matter, when his sword could take care of matters.

As soon as they pierced through, despite how quickly they'd made their decision and followed suit, not the slightest sign of the shadow that they were pursuing could be found. It was an empty world of tents, quite thoroughly, without even the clues to accent them by.

It was almost unnaturally quiet. It was the sort of unnaturalness that a man covering his tracks in the woods left – for he swept away all other signs of life with his own, at times.

Oliver took three cautious steps outwards, his sword low, his eyes looking in all directions. He entrusted Blackthorn with his back, and she had her sharp eyes narrowed, daring anything in her vicinity to move.

In the past, it would have been in such moments that Oliver found himself stuck. The unknown, that which was outside of his own awareness to see. Oftentimes, they were the very problems that found their way so easily into his back.

But now, when his own awareness failed, there were things that he could rely on, beyond himself, no matter how dangerous they were.

"You're asking me to look?" Ingolsol said, his voice thick with scorn. "You ought to beg for it, you know. To ask this of the God of Power, without offering compensation in advance?"

"We will see about your compensation when you find the fool," Oliver replied in his head.

Ingolsol snorted, that personality of his swelling, proffering up a challenge. He was a difficult thing to rely on, at times, with how volatile he was, and how often his whims changed. But on that day, it seemed that his curiosity got the better of his impertinence, and with a rather suffocating amount of pride, he gave Oliver that which he asked for, and showed him the surrounding world as far as the Dark God could make it out to be.