A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1510 - 1510: The Unexpected - Part 1

His distractions brought up a followup strike from Broadstone, as the man broke out of the fortress that he had created in order to pick up the attack. Once more Oliver was forced to dodge the strike, unable to counterattack.

He felt himself beginning to drift towards the backfoot. His strategy had been poor, and now he was paying for it. He was made to be more patient. Broadstone was able to edge forward bit by bit, without putting himself at an attacking risk. All the momentum was on his side. Oliver knew if he were to attack recklessly then, he really would begin to pay for it.

Light jabs were all he could muster. Gently at first, with no sting on them, just enough to establish range, and build something small. Then, he leapt sideways, creating more angles for himself, with an increasing level of subtly. Two strikes that looked exactly the same soon enough had entirely different effects. Broadstone's feet were forced to stop their advance, as once more the flow began to shift, and he had to acknowledge the momentum that Oliver was building up.

That very momentum, like a grand river, carried away Oliver's own doubts in it. His sword seized the entirety of his mind and his muscles, and he attacked over and over again, by that rhythm that he had grown so used to, that exclusive magic that was the long-forged sing of his sword, complete with all the pain and complexity of his mind. It was a degree of strategy that he failed to illustrate properly on the Battle board, but with sword in hand, even a man as stoic as General Broadstone had to raise an eyebrow at, as he felt himself strangled by forces that were not so easily countered.

The General earlier seemed quite happy to stand there and weather Oliver's assault, for his defence had appeared nigh on impenetrable. But now, he urgently tried small things of his own, the subtlest little manoeuvres, in an attempt to crush the grand wave coming his way, before it weathered the walls of the defence that he had set up.

With the slow and deliberate steps, the mud around General Broadstone's feet began to increase. It didn't look like much to the casual observer, but it was just enough to bother Oliver and dampen his way forward, as Broadstone himself staged a small retreat, limiting the power of Oliver's growing momentum.

Oliver wanted to hastily bull through the slippery mud, but it was the one thing on the tournament field that kept his head glowing with alarm. More than once had his feet travelled further than he thought they would. There was an unpredictability to the soil, with it seeming wetter in some places than it wasn't others, or at the very least, more well trodden.

The sensible option for Oliver, as Broadstone beat back, he knew, would be to simply circle around, and attack him from the side. He'd lose momentum, but at the very least, it wouldn't be poor strategy. He wouldn't fall into the same trap that he had at the very start of the battle. Naturally, however, Oliver's standard courses of actions tended to be far from sensible. Whenever a reckless option presented itself, he took it. Rather than going around the mud, he leapt over it, surprising even General Broadstone, as his sword came crashing down from above the General's head, slamming into his guard.

Finally, Oliver felt the General beginning to buckle. He was made to take the same retreat that he'd planned before, but even more rapidly, allowing Oliver even more space to lend to the wave that he'd built.

Valiantly, Broadstone tried a small strategy of his own, in flicking mud, and establishing distance, but though his strategy was sound, there was a difference in strength and speed that slowly wore him down. Matching Broadstone in a swordsman's strategy, Oliver began to overcome him with the edge that he held in pure physicality.

With the foundation of battlefield flow that Oliver had created, he was allowed increasingly reckless strikes, with no recourse being offered to his foe. He looped a long blow towards General Broadstone's upper thigh, and the General was made to stoop and bend a fraction too late to receive it. He barely got his sword under his, but he didn't stop much of the force, and it ran straight through his upper leg, staggering him.

Oliver stepped in close, grappling the man, pulling his head down before he could stand upright again. Broadstone was far taller than he. He found that most of the nobility indeed were. That didn't make much difference, however, when Oliver had a palm on his head, and was cranking his neck down with the fullest of his bodyweight.

He reigned blow after blow with the hilt of his sword straight into Broadstone's chin. Broadstone could do nothing but take them. In attempting to dodge them, he'd only allow Oliver keener targets, and the room to operate his sword to draw blood. He took all the blows that he could, but even a boulder of a man like Broadstone was inclined to crack eventually. He wobbled, falling near to unconsciousness, and then Oliver let his sword slip from his hand, so that he might deliver the final blow with his fist.

Broadstone had enough leeway to see a single arm raised, but Oliver had more than enough time to pick his way past the guard. He shattered Broadstone's nose, bringing forth the well of blood that would claim his victory.

He stepped back, before going any further. Lost to flow he might have been, but it wasn't the same degree of fogginess that he'd allowed of himself in fighting Rainheart. The same level of fear hadn't been present for him to dig so deep.

The official got between them, as soon as the moment was offered up to him, and he announced the victory.

"STOOOOPPP!" He shouted. "FIRST BLOOD HAS BEEN DRAWN! THE WINNER IS SER OLIVER PATRICK!"

"Two Generals he's defeated this morning, you would have thought he'd be happier," Nila remarked, as she and Verdant saw Oliver prepared for his final bout of the day.

"They were mere exhibition bouts," Oliver said. "I wasn't officially part of that tournament."