A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1490 - 1490: The Realm's Most Valiant - Part 8

"I have been hard on you, since our battling with the Verna," Blackwell noted. "Because I need you to be more than you are. You stand at the centre of a great many things, and still I see that you are insufficient. But that does not mean I do not recognize your efforts. Your strategy, against the Colonel Bookhorne, it was unconventional, and uncouth, and it would not work for long if you fought by yourself. But there is at least a place for it. At the very least, it is of the level of a Colonel."

Oliver had to admit that he'd been angry with the General, even though he didn't have a right to be – and angry for the wrong reasons as well. He was disappointed, when he had exercised the strategy that he had in the Verna. But a worser part of him, he had to admit, had simply been irritated when his competence was called into question. He wished he could have blamed Ingolsol for that, and the attitudes of the Dark God that had rubbed off on him, but he knew he likely couldn't. It was a disagreeableness that had been present in him since he was a child. A large part of the reason he had worked so hard – even though the results were still not as favourable as he would have wished them – was to prove the Generals Blackwell and Karstly wrong.

When the feeling of relief came, and the slight warm, at General Blackwell's acknowledgement, Oliver acknowledged his deep-seated disgust with himself. He wished the praise had meant nothing to him, and that he could simply brush it off. But against the charisma and the Command of a great General, there was no helping it. He nodded seriously.

"It is far from where I wish it to be," Oliver said carefully. "But if you see that there is improvement, then I shall hope that to be the truth."

"You are young," General Blackwell said. "Far too young to be where you stand. You will never be enough for me to rely on, as much as I am being forced to. Do understand that."

"And understand too, General, that I am not likely to forget the sins that you have committed against the Verna," Oliver dared to offer, in a fit of impulsiveness, before he was swayed entirely away by the warmth.

There was a low hum of shock when Oliver talked back to the General, in as foul a mood as General Blackwell was evidently in. And the fist that followed, slamming into the main tent pole, was likely the reason that everyone else had avoided doing so.

"Child!" Blackwell boomed, his eyes wide with outrage. He stormed on Oliver, in the same way that Blackthorn had just a little while earlier, barely able to hold himself back. That was the one difference between the two of them – that Blackwell's hand stopped before it reached Oliver's chest to grab him up off the floor, and he put his rage into his words instead, though he shouted every single one of them. "Do you know yet what war is? Do you know what it means to conquer, to take what is owed to you, as a member of the powerful?"

"I have seen it, General," Oliver said. "And I have seen too that there were other way. I have seen that the dishonourable path is one that men take because they lack the strength to exercise other means."

There was a stunned silence at that, broken only by a loud chortle from Karstly. Blackwell rounded on him with a glare, but Karstly was quick to put a hand up, and beg forgiveness. "Oh, apologies, General. But come now, how could I not help but giggle at that? He's an awfully arrogant thing, isn't he? 'Just get stronger,' is what he's telling you. How amusing."

"Arrogance, indeed, that's what it is, boy," Blackwell said, towering over him. "When you are at war, you do not have the leeway to believe you can grasp further strength. Such solutions are what you snatch when they are in front of you."

"Then, I shall believe that I can snatch up enough strength that I do not have to make such choices," Oliver said.

"Naïve," Blackwell said. "They will find you, against your will. Or are you saying you predicted Ferdinand's death tonight – are you saying that you can see all that will happen, and your solutions to it."

That, Oliver didn't have an answer to. He shook his head.

That seemed to dim Blackwell's rage ever so slightly. He glanced at Nila, as she stood behind Oliver, all but quivering.

"You have things that are important to you," Blackwell said, relaxing. "Your idealism, as far as I can tell, is weak, and childish. But there may come a time when I need that as well. On this matter, it seems that we are destined to disagree. When the opportunity comes for you, as it did me, perhaps you can show me how wrong I was. Until that day, I shall not believe you."

"…Indeed, I suppose we shall see," Oliver said, knowing very well that he had said too much. Even he wasn't sure whether he could believe in his own words. But they were the only hope that he had cling to, as he sought further strength, and gathered more responsibilities, knowing that ever more lives would be placed in his hands.

"So, gentlemen, you know what it is I ask of you," Blackwell said, straightening him up. "Today, war has been declared, in the most cowardly way available. And we shall respond in kind."

Only Karstly seemed unsurprised by that. Every other man in the tent – those that understand what he was referring to, for there were a few who had yet to read between the lines – were left stunned.

The significance of the moment left Oliver's mouth hanging open. He wasn't sure if he'd misinterpreted. He looked to Blackwell, for any signs of reassurance, for some way of telling himself that he'd perhaps seen something other than what the General had intended to put into his words.