A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1491 - 1491: The Realm's Most Valiant - Part 9

"We have ignored their threats for too long," Blackwell said. "My House was left on the brink of destruction, when we did march towards the Verna. Oliver Patrick's domain was nearly burnt entirely to the ground, if not for the influence of Queen Asabel Pendragon – one of the few royals, as far as I can tell, that is worthy of bearing the title."

"For over a decade, there has been unnaturalness afoot in the kingdom," Blackwell said. "When measures were taken to ensure that Arthur Pendragon did not inherit the crown that was rightfully his, we have been forced to live in a blanket of lies and deceit, with no man daring to voice his true opinion for fear of the consequences. I am one such man. Before today, I would not have dared to breathe a word. Before today, I have been forced to stay quiet, for fear of the destruction of all that I have built up. Before today, I have been a coward. I refuse to give in to cowardice any longer."

He slammed his fist into the tent pole once again, to accent its words. Another crack appeared along the thick wood, threatening to bring the tent down around them. Oliver felt his heart stirring. More and more, did Lord Blackwell confirm his suspicions.

'Right here, in this moment, is the entire kingdom about to change?' Oliver thought in wonder.

Ingolsol sensed it. Claudia sensed it too – the changing of the tides. Something had been built, a great fire beyond all their controls. Beyond Blackwell, beyond Oliver, beyond any man at the tournament. Something had caught fire, and they were all slaves to its bidding. There was no resisting it now.

"Oliver Patrick, your father's name, and that of your House, has been dragged through the mud, for the same politics. The greatest swordsman to ever live – who here denies it?" He looked around at them all, daring any man to give a voice.

"I can not, at least," Karstly said, smiling. "The Sixth Boundary – we will never touch its like again. There is a Sword that I would have delighted in wielding."

"The greatest swordsman to ever live, and for politics, it has not been properly recognized. We lost a great hero in Arthur for the same reason. We have been deprived, gentlemen. The Gods give us gifts, and corrupt mortal hands snatch them away. Today, they have snatched away too much," Blackwell said. "Today, our enemies have declared that if we sue for peace, they will only continue to press, and to take more and more, until there is not an ounce of flesh left on our bones, or a single crop growing in our fields. Together, we men, achieved the greatest military victory of our era – and what has it bought us? The death of my son!"

He brought his fist to strike the pole again, but brought it short, seeming to know very well that with such a powerful blow, he really would go through the tent pole this time. He gritted his teeth, and ground them instead.

"You gentlemen are gathered here, because you are trusted, and because you are necessary," Blackwell said. "Together, we overcame the might of the Verna. Together, I say we join again, and we overcome a corruption that has been left dormant for far too long. Together, I say, we join, and we take back the Stormfront, in the name of Arthur Pendragon, and in the name of Dominus Patrick. We shall fight for the King who ought to have been, and for the Sword that touched the Gods. Declare it, gentlemen, and let us be to war."

After such a passionate speech, one would have thought the reactions would be immediate, and certain. But all glanced around at each other, hardly daring to move – even Blackwell's own retainers did not seem to know how they might respond to the magnitude of their Lord's declaration and ambitions.

Only one man had the overwhelming arrogance necessary to break through, and that profound sense of individualism that was so unique to him. He was a man that cared about the poetry far more than the outcome. Karstly had been searching for the entire decade of his twenties for such opportunity. He was not a man to let it go once he had found it.

With a flourish of his cape, he knelt before General Blackwell.

"We have fought together once before, General," Karstly said. "You recognized my capacity. If you are to fight an entire Kingdom, you will see several Great Generals that you can entrust. I ask for the position that should rightfully be mine."

"And you shall have it," Blackwell said. "You will bear such a title, and you will be granted the Generals that you require for your purposes."

Karstly's grin was downright menacing. Enough that Blackwell likely had second thoughts as to whether he ought to be giving a man like him that degree of power, as dangerous as Karstly was. "Then we are in agreement, Lord Blackwell. You have my loyalty."

Beside him, Samuel knelt as well, knowing better than to interrupt the plans of his Lords. Then Blackwell's own retainers were quick to follow suit, knowing how ridiculous they looked, in letting outsiders bend the knee before their Lord before even they had the opportunity.

Soon enough, the entirety of that tent was kneeling, save for Torin, and Oliver Patrick's party. Lord Blackwell stared them down. "Need you more convincing, Ser Patrick?"

"We have our common foe, do we not?" Lord Blackwell said. "You, more than anyone, have been tested. You, more than anyone, ought to be kneeling before this cause."

"…Perhaps," Oliver said. "But can we win, Lord Blackwell? If it were as simple as raising arms, do you not think I would have done so before, as much as I have been tested? The same can be said of you – as much as you have been tested, if there was an opportunity to, you would have raised up arms sooner."

"The life of my son was not claimed sooner," Lord Blackwell growled. "I will carve a victory out of nothing if I have to."