A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1514 - 1514: The Unexpected - Part 5

Now their cries that had raised his name earlier on turned instead to shout the name of Gar. They did so with some amount of derision, for none could truly understand how such an unruly and foolish looking boy could have made it so far, but he was a pure peasant none the less. His very appearance was the lowest of the low. For someone like that to climb as high as he had, that was worthy of some respect.

"WE NOW INTRODUCE THE COMPETITORS!" The official said, shouting above the wind. "WE HAVE GAR, THE VICTOR OF BELOW-CAPTAIN MELEE!"

There were a good few cheers at that. Only when it was mentioned did Oliver become numbly aware that Gar had indeed won the entirety of his tournament. That was a significant achievement in and of itself. He'd certainly won a good deal of coin in that, but given that his state of dress was the same, he clearly didn't seem inclined to spend any of that money on making his life warmer.

"AND FACING HIM, WE HAVE SER OLIVER PATRICK, VICTOR OF TWO BOUTS OVER THE GENERALS RAINHEART AND BROADSTONE!"

There were some groans as that was mentioned. Even the peasantry who cheered for Gar well expected Oliver to achieve a crushing victory. The nobility weren't the only ones that mentioned the serve mismatch between Oliver and his opponent. No one could quite understand why the match had even been put together – but Oliver could.

Blackwell stood there, and Oliver fancied that he could see the man's intentions written behind his eyes. The purpose of this match was for Oliver to deliver and absolute and overwhelming beating. To demonstrate, for more than just the military minded, just how far above a normal skilled-soldier he was – and even above an outlier like Gar.

It was purely performative, purely for the sake of their war effort. The lack of honour in it left a sour taste in Oliver's mouth, but he supposed that was who he'd always been. He'd never been able to act with as much honour as he would have liked. He'd always been scraping, and forced to make choices, or else, he'd make questionable choices himself, in a sudden flurry of emotion.

As the referee gave them their rules, and prepared to see the bout commenced, Oliver drew his sword, and pointed it in Gar's direction. He made a promise to the young man that he wouldn't deal him any permanent injury, no matter what happened. Though he could see from the fire in Gar's eyes, that Gar certainly wasn't up to granting him the same sort of privileges.

"BEGIN!" The referee shouted, and Oliver leapt in time with the command, moving as swiftly as he was able, intent on putting the farce to a finish as soon as he possibly could. He went straight up the middle, where he knew he was likely to be fastest, and he started to lunge long with his sword.

His sword found only empty air. It wasn't as if Gar had read his intentions. The youth had simply been aiming to jump to the side from the start. In the same instant that Oliver had dashed forward as if it was the only thing on his mind, Gar had jumped a short distance to the side, as if it was the only thing on his.

Oliver didn't panic, for he had already succeeded in greatly closing the distance between the two of them. A short twist of his hips, and his sword was brought crashing down in an even more powerful sideways slash, set to drive through Gar's shoulder.

'Shit,' Oliver thought, realizing that he'd unintentionally put far more sting on the strike than he'd intended to. He fought to slow it down before it could collide.

"Gughhh…"

A sudden boot to his stomach put all thoughts of redirecting the attack to a halt. It was delivered with enough force to his diaphragm that he almost collapsed.

It took him a good second to recover his vision, and by that point, a sword was already bearing down on his chest. It was mere good instinct that drove that blade aside, and prevented it from skewering straight through his heart.

He attempted to take a step back to rebalance himself, anticipating the follow up attack that would naturally come, and setting his feet against it – and yet that strike didn't come at all. Gar had scampered off somewhere to the corner of Oliver's vision, creating distance, and also forcing Oliver to turn to meet him.

He moved oddly, Gar did, stooped over like an animal. A thin tail of saliva was already beginning to travel down his mouth. He looked at stupid as could be, and indeed, his fighting style felt equally as stupid. He moved as if he didn't have a lick of understanding of strategy, or flow.

'Thank the Gods for that,' Oliver muttered. 'That could have been bad.'

He didn't know how badly rocked he had looked to the spectators, but he could well enough hear how excited the peasantry had become. This was meant to be a one sided match. It would quickly lose that appearance if Gar got in any more blows like those. Oliver didn't have any time to dwell on just how that foot had managed to make its way through.

He stepped forward, knowing that Gar couldn't stage an attack from where he was. He'd let the momentum that he'd built up die out foolishly, not knowing what it was that he had seized. Oliver moved lightly, with a slightly greater degree of respect, realizing that it wasn't quite as easy to overwhelm Gar as he'd hoped. He realized that he'd have to be slightly more technical about it.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Before Oliver could tell what had happened, he was struck three times about the head. One second Gar was moving at the corner of his vision, and the next, he was right in front of him, ringing Oliver's helmet like a bell, striking from the top, then twice to the left. If not for the steel helm to protect him, Oliver's face would have been cut to pieces. But that didn't mean his vision didn't darken from the violence of the force. He knew he was dangerous close to losing consciousness.