A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1481 - 1481: A Passing Breeze - Part 12

She wriggled free of his grasp, growing red, still very much disoriented from her sudden tumble. "W-well, that's not going to work," Nila said. "It would seem that the killer is more skilled at acrobatics than I am."

"Quite," Oliver said. "Let's see… It's going to be a matter of impossible slowness to keep you jumping up from the ground… But no one else can follow the tracks like you can."

"You probably could, couldn't you?" Nila said. "If I told you what to look for, I think you'd be able to see them. It isn't impossibly complicated. It's just dusty outlines on a white canvas. If you're looking for them, I don't think you'll be able to miss them."

"…I suppose I'll try. If I describe what I'm seeing as best I can to you, perhaps you can translate it," Oliver said.

"And here are the guards, as if on cue…" Verdant murmured to himself, turning to face the contingent of ten guardsmen that had come bustling in their direction, just as they were about to leave. "Greetings, gentlemen."

They saluted, recognizing the sigils sewn into Verdant's coat in an instant – those of House of Idris and House Patrick. "Lord Idris!"

"Excellent timing," Verdant said to them. "The tent in question is where I point now with my finger. Go inside and relieve our friend Lady Blackthorn from her duties, and send Torin out along with her. We will be leaving the bound killer and the victim in your hands. For the honour of your Lord, ensure that you look after them."

By the time Torin and Blackthorn came to rejoin with them, Oliver had found the barest handhold on the sides of the tent, where the interior pole stuck out by the slightest margin, and he hefted himself to the top of the tent with a quick flourish.

"Show off…" Nila said accusingly, narrowing her eyes at him, wondering if he did it that easily merely to spite her. Naturally, Oliver didn't miss the look, and despite the situation, he had to give her a triumphant glare.

"It's the jump that was the issue, though," Oliver said. "It's far from being an easy affair…"

He eyed up the thin outlines of the tracks that Nila had mentioned as he crossed the roof, and he committed them to memory, hoping that the knowledge of them would allow him to identify the other tracks that they sought in the future. Then, he was on the edge of the roof, with no more footing to get him closer, and there was a gap of nearly three metres between him and the opposite tent.

It was a moderately difficult feat to do, even at a run, but on the canvas roof, there was no running to be had. There wasn't even solid footing to jump off of. That Nila had managed to get as close as she had, despite all that, was the real feat of wonder.

"That killer is a slick bastard for getting this," Oliver muttered. Not only was the canvas a complete drain on any force that he wished to build up, it was also moderately slippery as well. He tried to set his feet, but he could find no good position.

"Do not slip, my Lord," Blackthorn said, with a voice that most would have said was devoid of emotion, but Oliver by now could recognize the taunt in it. As far as retainers went, she was secretly the most petulant of them all.

"Damn you," Oliver sniffed, knowing that nothing would amuse the woman more than if he were to slip. And Nila as well, by that measure. He spent another second to get his footing right, and eyed the distance again, feeling as if it was growing larger. Then, he simply worked up his courage, and jumped, despite his better judgement, and despite being quite certain that he would fall.

The explosion through his legs was absorbed just as quickly as he had expected it would be, and yet the height and distance that he managed to achieve regardless caught even him off guard. He went skidding safely onto the roof of the next tent with a good distance to spare, and no sign that he would ever fail such a jump.

And then there were the tracks again, right in front of him, and Oliver announced them with a good deal of triumph. "We've got more tracks, Nila. I'm going to keep following them."

"Right. Are they lighter than they were before?" Nila shouted up to him.

"A little," Oliver said.

"We'll have to be careful. Follow them while they can, and when they grow really thin, we'll have to make sure we're still heading in the right direction," Nila said.

"Got it," Oliver replied. He hopped to the next tent, and then to the tent after that, clearing five tents, building up a certain degree of rhythm. His men – and Torin – followed from along the ground, weaving in between the rows of tents.

It was far from a straight path that the killer had cut. At the fifth tent, he had a sudden ninety-degree turn in direction, and instead of following along the same row of tents, he skidded to another, and this one was an even bigger jump, nearly five metres long.

"By the Gods… How are normal men making these kinds of distances?" Oliver muttered. Only by the fact of his Fourth Boundary strength did he think he was making it quite as easily as he was. But five metres… Five metres began to drift into the realm of impossibility, towards something that was almost god-like. He could well believe it if someone had trained their entire life for such a thing, but these conditions, with the canvas being so slippery and so absorbent of his force, it ought to have been an impossible feat.

And he jumped it regardless, before his retainers could even catch up.

"Ahh, Gods be good, that was close," Oliver said, barely skidding onto the tent roof.

No one commented on the fact that, it just being 'close' seemed barely enough to describe the magnificent distance that Oliver had leapt. More frustrating still was that there was another creature, apart from their ever impressive Lord, who had managed to do the same. It certainly brought to mind a sense of wariness in regards to the man that they ought to be facing, if, in even one realm, he could push their Lord to the point of high effort.