A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1507 - 1507: The Banners - Part 3

He stepped back, making room, and Rainheart flexed his neck, recovering from the vicious bend that he'd put in it. He took a moment to look down on his armour, seeing the deep gauge that Oliver's sword had left in his shoulder plate, as it swept towards the man's neck. As of yet, there was no blood, but it hardly seemed to matter.

Vaguely, Oliver was aware of the noise from the crowd. The uproar of the peasantry. It was he that they cheered for. They felt a stronger connection to him than they did some random General. But he knew that, if it was a true peasant that stood across from him, it would just as easily be that man that they cheered for. Such were the fickle hearts of the lowly, desperate to see themselves in any man of their station that performed greatly.

General Rainheart pulled his glaive behind him, his longbeard swishing from the motion. Oliver had to respect that he could manage to fight with such a thing on his face.

He stood his ground, waiting, inviting the General to attack. He was still unsure of himself. He didn't feel as if he could dash in mindlessly, and be certain of his victory. He was rather uncertain of his own strength after all.

This time General Rainheart came more cunningly. He ducked in close, and then he went to kick – but it was a kick that fell short. The mud attached to his boot, however, did not. It flew towards Oliver's visor, blocking the narrow opening, obscuring his vision.

He did not panic. His was not a fighting style built up in a sword school. His skill was built up in battles of life and death, against creatures and men that would do anything to seize their victory, and retain the pulse that ran through their veins. An underhanded strategy was of no especial fright.

When his vision went, Oliver predicted the thrust that came up the middle. He took a step back, and guarded his stomach with his sword. He heard the glaive clang, and by that point, his eyes were clear again, as the mud fell to the ground. The follow up attack, of glaive towards shoulder, was quickly dealt with. Oliver smashed it aside, putting more strength into his wrist. Again, he was surprised to feel the General's weapon give way, against such a brutishly basic use of strength.

It was enough to stagger the man. Oliver took the opportunity, and ran in close. He forced his shoulder against General Rainheart's chest, bulling him backwards, forcing him even further off balance.

It was ever so strange. Zilan and General Khan had seemed like immoveable boulders, the likes that Oliver would never be able to shift. But the man in front of him was strangely human.

"He has no Command to wield, you fool," Ingolsol reasoned, where Oliver did not have the capacity to.

Even hearing it being said, Oliver did not have the mental faculties to put together what it was. His psychology, after fighting Zilan and Khan, told him, on the deepest level, that whenever he faced off against one of these creatures called Generals, he had to use every single fibre of the being that he had in facing them.

Warily, he backed off once more, despite Rainheart's weakened state. All the time that he had spent on strategy lately gave him an acute sense of naturalness. He couldn't put it past Rainheart not to spring some sort of trap on him. The wariness didn't fade.

Rainheart pulled himself up, just managing to keep his balance in time before his feet went out from under him. He clutched his ringing head, and wore a grim smile. "A Patrick Sword. What a pain in the arse," he said.

This time, the General didn't go forward. He made to take a step through the mud, but his legs hesitated before he could. He ended up taking a step back instead. Oliver's predatory instincts made his eyes narrow at that. Ingolsol bid him forward, smelling the scent of fear. But Oliver still couldn't be sure. He couldn't give in to what he hoped to be true. Generals were far too overwhelming, far too monstrous, for him to snatch an easy victory against them.

He took a cautious step forward himself, feeling his armoured boot slid down into the mud beneath his weight. There was a slight delay from the mud's stickiness, every time he wanted to move suddenly. That slight delay was something he became acutely aware of, the more that their combat demanded precision of him.

Rainheart took another step back from Oliver's advance. He held his glaive menacingly in the space between them, holding the distance, but he did a poor job of hiding his breath that was coming unsteady now, from the vicious pain that he felt around his ribs.

The strategy that the General had clearly laid out began to worry Oliver to an even more intense degree. For Rainheart to be putting on such a performance, there must have been a trap, some sort of hole that he was meant to fall down, that would secure the General's certain victory.

He wanted to wait, and allow the General to take the initiative once more, but that did not seem to be allowed of him. The pressure of the cheering crowd bid him forwards. He could feel thousands of expectant gazes boring into his back, with some being far more weighty than the rest. The only requirement that there was of him was a magnificent fight. Though he feared the General that stood in front of him, and the man's ability to end his life so suddenly that Oliver would not see the attack coming, his sense of duty still drove him onwards. He wasn't allowed to play a coy strategic duel, not in an arena like this, not without defying the very specific reasons that the duel had been arranged.

He had to force himself forward, and he did so in the best way he knew how – with all the explosive speed and strength that he had built up. The same speed that had helped him match the Hobgoblin all that time ago, augmented by years of training, and several further Boundary Breaks.