A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1506 - 1506: The Banners - Part 2

General Rainheart was the first of the two, and General Broadstone was set to follow, providing Oliver was well enough to continue fighting.

Oliver had to wonder just what Lord Blackwell supposed might happen in putting him against two mighty men. He doubted that he could beat the Generals handily. He thought at best, they'd be putting on a good fight, and perhaps that was what General Blackwell wished to show the masses – the might of the men that he would have as allies, when he announced his war to them.

It was in a daze that Oliver arrived at the tournament field. He'd been looking at himself in the mirror that Greeves had seen sent through Judas, so Oliver might admire his own armour, and then in the next, there was mud at his feet, and rain pounding down on his head. The visor of his helmet was lifted, and Dominus' sword was in his hand. He waited, as the referee called out the rules, and as he stared General Rainheart down – a familiar enough man to him, given how they had worked together to see Zilan defeated.

The crowd was full of all men of importance. He'd given Queen Asabel a knowing nod, searching through her expression, to see how she might have found herself the night before, with the weight of war weighing on his heart. He worried for the woman, but there wasn't an appropriate opportunity to enquire after.

Nila had wished to be there, but Lord Blackwell's aggressive scheduling had seen her dragged away for her own tournament. They were nearing the final stages of the archer's competition, and now they were to duel each other with blunted arrows. The two opponents would start a great distance away, and the first to land a shot on the other would pass through. He quietly said a little prayer of good luck for her in his head, knowing that she would be beginning at the same time as him.

He'd told Lady Blackthorn to go with her, to watch. He didn't wish for her to be all alone, with no one to witness his competition, and he knew very well that his own men would not stand to be anywhere else than by him. With Blackthorn's tournament rearrangements, everyone was freed now from their burdens. Kaya and Jorah had been allowed one duel each, and they'd both fought a valiant fight against stronger men, and just barely come up short. It was a proud showing, but Oliver knew they could have done far better if not for the time constraints that had been put on them. He felt moderately bad knowing that he was likely part of the reason they'd been robbed of their opportunity.

They didn't let their discontent show on their faces, however. It was nervousness that they wore. Nearly fifty Patrick men stood gathered to watch their General fight – though a large portion of them still had not yet been told that General was indeed his new and official rank. Blackwell had made sure that such news was held back for now, until there was a more appropriate time to deliver it to the masses.

Then there was the man himself, Lord Blackwell, standing alongside General Karstly, with the grimmest of expressions on his face, and a look of the utmost expectancy. When Oliver looked to him, the man practically glared back, oozing Command.

"Damn it," Oliver muttered. "You won't just let me enjoy this, will you?"

He was already asking that he go all out. Beyond that. Blackwell wanted a miracle displayed, for the efforts of his war. Oliver knew his role, even if he didn't wish to. The fights had been organized exclusively for the purpose of making a grand performance. For inspiring would be allies. That was the effect he had to have – he had to make a spark. And there was only one way he knew how to do that, and it was the same way he always had. He felt the whims of Claudia and Ingolsol stirring, and as the referee finished his rules, he gave into them.

"Be the great fire," something whispered to him. Whether it was Ingolsol, or Claudia, or a mixture between their two voices, it was hard to tell.

The referee disappeared, his words not translating into reality for Oliver. The only thing that certainly began the bout for him was the sudden arrival of a massive threat. General Rainheart in front of him in an instant, without an announcement of ceremony, and his glaive was being swung at Oliver's head, full of killing intent.

Oliver's eyes widened ever so slightly. He felt a dull recognition. These bouts were different to the tournament bouts, where a man would actively be disqualified for killing his opponent. The Generals had no such restrictions. There was too much pride on the line. To lose was to kill their reputation, a fate almost worse than death. The victory condition was still to first blood – but one did not need to hold back an ounce in getting there.

He dodged lightly out of the way, feeling the glaive rushed past him. He had a strange sense of being away from his body. The world was transforming too fast in the last day for his mind to completely keep up. It was fully his body now, and his instincts, that dealt with the flow of information. There was a strange sense of liberation in that.

The sword blow that retaliated in the opening that Rainheart had created was a sword fuelled entirely by instinct. It came crashing down, with perfect time, and with overwhelming strength, smashing into Rainheart's guard.

The man's eyes bulged in surprise. His feet sank into the mud. His torso bent backwards. The sword came within a single finger of his neck, before it came to a halt, and the man was able to just barely throw Oliver off.

Oliver tilted his head, unsure. He looked at his hand, wondering where such strength had come from. Normally, that thought would distract him all the further. It would have weakened his sword play as he dwelled on it. But he couldn't then. There was too much chaos in his mind for anything to seize his attention entirely.