A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1484 - 1484: The Realm's Most Valiant - Part 2

For how much of their own men that they saw, it was moderately strange to Oliver that they hadn't encountered any of the other parties – in Karstly's own independent teams, if he still had them out – who ought to have been investigating alongside them. He had to wonder if the Patrick men had been trusted entirely with the investigation. He certainly had not spied any of Ferdinand's men himself, though apparently, Firyr had chased them off when he'd encountered them earlier. Oliver wondered if that was perhaps the reason.

It wasn't until the sun was really beginning to press on the horizon, and their time limit was threatened to be reached, that they encountered one such other party that they would have expected to have encountered far earlier.

They were almost entirely on the other side of the encampment now, the side that was nearest Solgrim. It seemed that the killer had an intention of looping back through the village, thinking that his chances of losing his pursuers would be greater from in there. Oliver had to respect the thought, though Blackwell and Karstly had made sure that their perimeter was firmly stationed around the entirety of the tournament area, cutting off the normal road that would have led into Solgrim.

A figure of substantial size had secured a part of the surrounding area for itself. It stood with its back to them, warning away any passersby that would have otherwise have used that road. They looked at him, but otherwise gave him a wide berth.

Oliver narrowed his eyes, wishing to slow down, but the dogs kept dragging at their ropes, pulling their party forward, and Nila did not seem to have recognized the obstacle in front of them quite yet. She'd taken responsibility for finding the man almost entirely upon herself, it seemed, from how withdrawn she was now, in the focusing on her task.

"Father," Lady Blackthorn noted, her voice containing a slight bit more emotion than normal. Nervousness is what Oliver would have assumed, but with the Lady Blackthorn, it was almost impossible to properly recognize it.

Whether he heard that from the distance that it was spoken at, or whether had sensed their approach, the great General Blackthorn turned to them then, his eyes hard, and his presence as menacing as ever. He carried with him all the warning signs of a wild bear. A man wasn't meant to stand near the likes of him. Even Oliver, as strong as he had grown, felt an incredible amount of wariness when in the presence of such a man.

Only the sigil of Asabel's House, sewn into the back of Lord Blackwell's cape, along with the own sigil of his House, gave Oliver the confidence enough to be near him. More out of trust for Queen Asabel than himself.

"Slow, Nila," Oliver told her, pulling on her sleeve to warn her.

"Mm? Oh," dazedly, she pulled on the dogs' ropes, and murmured a few quiet words to them, to dull their excitement for the chase, and to keep them to heel.

"Lord Blackthorn," Oliver said, halting, just a few steps from the man. "To what do we owe the honour?"

"You're late," he accused them. He pointed a fist towards the sky, not a finger. "Your time is almost up. Is this the level of your competence, Patrick?"

"…Time is certainly running out," Oliver acknowledged. "But that doesn't explain to me what you are doing here, my Lord. Unless your intentions were to slow us down?"

Blackthorn growled at him. "Do not irritate me with diplomatic jabs, boy. They do not work on me. Say what you mean, without your little political talk. Or else, draw your blade, and face me properly, if we are to have issue."

"Naturally, Lord Blackthorn, I have no wish to fight a man of your calibre," Oliver said. "Especially not when I am busy, as you say. I merely ask after your intentions. Do you stand in my way because you need something of me?"

"I do not like your tone, Patrick," Lord Blackthorn said, taking a step towards him, quickly discovering that he was the far bigger man. He was at least two heads taller than Oliver, but Oliver met his eyes head on, and did not move. "Do you think you can match me? Mm? Where do you find the confidence for this arrogance?"

"I do not believe I can match you, my Lord," Oliver said, though the gold flecks in his eyes, betraying his rising emotions, did not seem to stand by that statement.

"But you would be delighted to try," Lord Blackthorn finished for him, curling his lips up into a menacing smile.

As quick as a flash, his fist struck out, and slammed Oliver in the stomach, just below his ribcage, winding him in an instant. From there, pandemonium ensued. Verdant and Nila showed no hesitation in drawing the blades they had on hand, and pointing it at the massive black mountain of a General. Lady Blackthorn herself only hesitated for a split second, before her sword joined the other two, and there were three blades pointed at General Blackthorn's neck.

Somehow, surrounded by men as he was, with Torin nervously hopping from foot to foot, wondering whether he ought to join in, Lord Blackthorn still seemed so far from being on the losing side. "Why do you stand like a fool, Blackwell boy?" Blackthorn growled at him. "Are you joining in, or aren't you?"

Torin reached for his blade nervously. "…I have sworn to obey the orders of Captain Patrick."

"Then, obey them, and sheath your sword," Oliver said, managing to straighten himself back up, despite the lacking breath in his lungs, and the dizziness that now afflicted his head. Lord Blackthorn's fist had fallen with all the force of a charging horse. It took more than a little pretending on Oliver's part to act as if it hadn't affected him. "If Lord Blackthorn had wished for a true fight, he would have used a weapon."