A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1476 - 1476: A Passing Breeze - Part 7

The fact that the Dark God included the insects at first was no doubt a jab on his behalf, to see Oliver irritated by the excess of information. It was to the point that it made his head hurt, and he had to frown heavily until Ingolsol had his laugh, and peeled back the layers, to isolate that which was exclusively human, or a large animal.

For as far as the radius was – twenty metres in each direction – there was a surprisingly small number of people. Less than thirty, all told. And naturally, being the sort of God that he was, Ingolsol saw them all judged in advance. He took the measure of them, by his own condescending metrics. Some, he had labelled as being so lowly, that they barely warranted the time on his radar. That was the case for all but a handful.

Some, he took note of, for the swirling emotions that they harboured in their heart. That was the case for a surprising number. Individuals riddled with anger. It made Oliver want to go off in their direction, but their positioning didn't make sense for the shadow that he was looking for.

The only presence that made sense, as far as proximity to him, would otherwise have been the least likely candidate, if he had looked purely at the heart of the individual. For this life form seemed to have no presence at all. No intentions. It was as background a creature as one was likely to get.

Oliver gestured with his head to a tent, three rows away from where they currently understand. Blackthorn did not stop to ask how he knew. She simply nodded, and the two proceeded together, step by step, towards where Oliver supposed the target to be.

He crawled along, moving as slow as a cat stalking a bird. He didn't look at the shadow directly. He did not even know truly where it was, so well had the person camouflage themselves. He only had a vague sense for the location in which they stood.

He stopped, just metres away from where Ingolsol had pointed the creature out to be. He gave it the briefest of glances, and saw nothing. Not a single hint of fear, not a single hint of stirring, just complete void, in the darkened area between two tents. He picked up his feet again, and started to proceed onwards.

Then, just as he began to round the corner, leaving that tent permanently behind, he lunged, with all the speed of a Fourth Boundary man. He pierced the air, fighting against what his eyes saw – which was nothing at all – and tried instead to swipe in the broad area where Ingolsol had told him he would find his quarry.

When he did strike flesh, it was not only his victim that found themselves surprised – Oliver too was moderately shocked to see blood on his sword.

"Gurhh…" came the complaint, as Oliver's sword pinned the woman through the shoulder, and flat against the ground. Through the tight black costume that she wore, the only thing visible was her eyes – and even those did not exist, when she had them pointed downwards.

In his head, Oliver had thought the creature to be a shadow, but he hadn't expected – even after seeing her head on, during their brief chase in the tent – for his first assumption to come so close.

"Lordddd Patrick," the woman drawled. "To what does I owe the pleasure?"

The blood spread out from her wound in the shoulder, dying the blackness of her uniform a different colour, bringing her back in the real world, so that they could look at her head on, and actually define her.

With Blackthorn's sword pointed straight at the woman's throat, there was no movement to be had, even if she had more tricks up her sleeve than what she'd shown them already. And Oliver did not doubt that she did. Even with her pinned to the floor by his sword, Oliver could not help the terrible unease he felt towards her. There was something terribly off.

"You've been busy," Oliver said.

"Have I? Wells, I'm always workin' hard to please yer Lordship. Are you pleased, my Lord?"

"…You butchered a woman," Oliver said. "That much I can say for certain. It would not be surprising if you had maimed more. For whose purpose do you act?"

"Purpose?" The woman giggled. "Why's someone like me need something like that?"

"Ferdinand Blackwell," Oliver pressed, driving past her tittering, and launching his questions with a swiftness. "Who killed him? Was it you?"

"Oh? He's dead, is he? Inttteresssting. Keke. I didn't suppose I'd be hearing that. Someone's got the jump on me, they have. I didn't even think to give it a go. Well, maybe… Maybe if I was lucky… But that's too difficult a kill, that is," the woman said. "Why's you asking me, anyhow? If he's dead, you's got to have caught who did it, eh? Or are ya telling me, one of ours managed to cut down one of yours, and he wandered away scot free? Keke! Now there's a laugh."

Blackthorn pressed her rapier tighter to the woman's throat as a threat – but it didn't seem the sort of threat to work on her. The woman talked even more animatedly.

"Oh, c'mon, Lady Blackthorn," she said, rising up into the point, drawing blood off it. "You'd be doing me a mercy, you would. Why's you think I'd be scared of shiny steel, eh? I couldn't make a tool off it if I was scared of it, now could I? See you nobles are a silly folk – you just doesn't think of stuff like that, do ya now? Yer assumptions, they're pig-headed, they are."

"How many have you killed?" Oliver asked. It was a shot in the dark. The woman had no reason to answer. But he had to admit that he felt a strange sense of truth from her talk about Ferdinand. His gut told him that she hadn't been involved, but then he wasn't sure to trust his gut on her either, for she seemed to warp the world around her.

"Ooohhh, good question," the woman said. "Mm, to date, a three hundred and two. We're going for a thousand, I reckon."

"Today," Oliver said, irritated.