A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1561 - 1561: Shifting Tides - Part 4

But even that struggle, and basic torture that he had applied to them, still had not been enough. The results were significant, but they were still not the results that he wished for.

The harshest Patrick men, in the form of their Sergeants, split up amongst the thousand, to pay attention to individuals, and ensure that not a single man could slack off. They were put through the motions, forced to fight and swing their sword on the spot for an entire hour, and they were set to do another hour more, if Oliver's schedule was to be followed. They were made to do the most basic of strikes, but it was the endurance, and the total body strength that Oliver was looking to see built in them.

Never had he watched them train so intently. When he realized that an hour had passed – judging from the cloudless sky and the sun that shone down on them, and made the snow glisten – he was hit with a distinct feeling of surprise. Before him, he suddenly felt as if there were a thousand curiosities. He had tried, as much as he could, to find the cook that he had been looking at earlier, but in his searching, he found himself distracted by another man.

There was a hopeful soldier clearly struggling. Younger than the rest, this one was, or perhaps it simply due to his face. His face made him look incredibly youthful, though his body was tall, lanky, and completely devoid of muscle.

He worked with relentlessness to keep up with the rest of them, but it had only taken him a matter of minutes before he had started to breathe heavily, and he'd needed to claw deep, in order to find his hidden energy reserves. Oliver had expected him to give up after a mere fifteen minutes, but here he was, after an hour, fighting – and all the while, he seemed a change man.

He had started with his own brand of anxiety. Moving too quickly for the commands that were called out, his hands twitching, his eyes nervously looking from side to side. Then exhaustion had kicked in, and his flow had changed. His movements were underscored by several more dramatic ones, each one far too broad in order to be kept up. His chest had heaved, and his arms had sagged, and he had seemed quite a defeated man. Then, he had stabilized once more, and his rhythm was a quieter thing, like a steadily dropping of water, landing in a puddle somewhere quiet. He did just enough to survive, and he did it continually.

Oliver stared at that little droplet of water, with the highest level of fascination, unaware of the deepness of the purple that ran through his eyes. Verdant had caught a glimpse, and raised his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise managed to contain his reaction enough that Oliver did not notice.

Behind Oliver's back, Verdant motioned with his head to Blackthorn, pointing out of the curiosity of their Lord, the smile on his face, and the intentness with which he watched. Blackthorn gave a rare smile of her own watching him. There was more warmth in her expression then than in a thousand of her small polite smiles. It was like a mother watching over her child. Verdant's look was not too different. They both knew the enormity of their Lord's task, and they were content to see him so relaxed, after seeing him seem so grim in the days before.

The lanky youth kept swinging his sword, and once more, was he forced to change. Something shifted, and the youth found that exhaustion would no longer allow him to keep his previous rhythm. Oliver had no idea what he was operating on now, but somehow, he kept going.

Occasionally, he saw the man next to the youth shooting glances his way, concerned. He was struggling far less. He seemed almost suited to the task that he'd been given. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, but his breathing was under control. Oliver fancied he saw a soldier in that man, and next to the youth, his own difference in rhythm and flow struck him as being so entirely different.

There was a magic to it that Oliver could not deny. It hit him with the highest level of excitement. It was not feigned interest, done simply because it was expected of him, in his position of highest command. It was the sort of interest that he couldn't pull himself from, and he really didn't want to, for to pull himself from it was to return to the aching void of trying to solve a problem that he did not have the resources to solve.

He realized something, in watching the other man continue to glance over at the youth, and he realized that, without that man watching him, not even providing encouragement, but simply by being there, the youth would already have stumbled.

Oliver frowned at that. He didn't know why he knew that to be a true thing. All the man was doing was standing next to him, but the flow that he saw to exist in the youth, and the rhythm that he had gathered in the past hour, it hardly seemed to be sufficient to keep him going. He ought to have collapsed a while ago. But somehow he was, and the only explanation he could point to was the continued attention of the man next him.

"Verdant," Oliver said.

"My Lord?" Verdant asked, leaning forward, so he might better hear him.

"Do you see the man that I am looking at?" Oliver said.

"The young man, or the other next to him?" Verdant said. "I have seen that you have been watching the two of them for a while."

"Make that man a Sergeant," Oliver said.

Verdant did not need to ask which man he meant.

"Now, my Lord?"

"Now," Oliver agreed. "Give him the title now, and for the rest of the training session, give him a Sergeant's duties… Or no, wait… Wait…"

Blackthorn was just about to run off to carry out Oliver's command, but he quickly found himself changing his mind. She paused, in place, like a stalk standing on one leg.

"…No, he'll be a Sergeant for the new recruits," Oliver said. "Have him do what he is doing now. Support the men in the little circle around him. But loudly announce it, if you would. I want to see what happens."