A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1698 - 1698: The Cause of a Tempest - Part 6

"…You had the option of fleeing?" Lasha said.

"Nevermind. Nevermind. Nevermind. I prefer it when you're quiet, you know. When you do choose to speak, you seem to enjoy picking the sorest little points to press your finger into," Oliver said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lasha said. It was a familiar enough sentence to Oliver, but the way she said it was even more familiar, with her nose up in the air, and a look of the utmost condescension on her face. It was very much as if he was standing there talking to Nila.

He shook his head. "You're spending too much time around each other. I'm not sure if that's a good thing anymore. Someone like you shouldn't be allowed to talk like Nila. You'll freeze a man's heart straight through."

Lasha shrugged in response, choosing that moment to default to the fundamental silence that she was so naturally inclined towards.

The men gathered themselves, and they had their mounts circle around the edge of the forest again, by Oliver's command. The scouts had disappeared from their view, to give their reports back to Tavar, and the rest of the officers marching in the column, but that didn't mean that there was no one present. Even Oliver kept his awareness cast firmly outwards, knowing full well that, even after learning to utilise his senses to a higher degree, his lack of outwards focus, ever since his days training with Dominus, was his eternal weakness.

He had the Minister of Blades check his own findings, along with Blackthorn, who had just as keen instincts as some of those creatures that roamed through the forests. Both of them shook their heads. "They seem to have returned back to the column," the Minister of Blades said.

"Then we shall return to the column as well," Oliver said.

For the degree of recklessness that he was forcing on them, even the Minister of Blades had nothing to say anymore. All they could do was tighten their hands around the reins of their horses, and pray to all the Gods, that by some miracle, they could both obey Oliver's orders, and not end up slaughtered for the fact.

From the forest, the path that Tavar had his men marching on dipped down into a shallow valley. The road was still wide enough for twenty or so men to walk side by side, but when their army was as large as the one that Tavar commanded, that still sent the entire column snaking long and thin across the countryside.

Oliver had them cling to the trees for as long as they could, but soon enough, they were very much out on the open plains.

They were spotted the instant that they stepped out. Horns were blown, and those marching men flew into a panic. Some rushed to collect their bows, and others began to form into formation.

Oliver dwelled just a short distance away, bringing his horse to a halt, and casually leaning against its neck, resting his back after so long spent upright.

His men were forced to wait along with him, even against that bristling wall of men that seemed ever so keen to punch them through with arrows.

Just before the archers could make their way into proper formation, Oliver, just as casually, turned back around toward the forest, making his way out of range again, but still very much keeping to the openness of the plains just alongside the trees, so that the enemy could still see him, and the threat that he presented.

"…This is a strange manner of fighting," the Minister said. "You did the same thing in the battle with the Emersons. What do you look to, when deciding to make such manoeuvres?"

"Nothing, really," Oliver replied, his gaze still firmly fixed upon the enemy ahead of them, feeling the timing of the troops, and the way they organized themselves. "I'm more just feeling them out. I suppose at one point I used to analyse the way that I thought, and I'd excuse it as me just applying pressure to the enemy… But now I think I realize I'm no better than Gar. I just do what feels right to me, and there isn't an excessive degree of logic behind it."

"Hm," the Minister said. "Whatever it is, it's working. That is – if it was your intention to see a horde of cavalry sent our way."

Whoever gave the order for that cavalry to be sent galloping across the plains certainly hadn't spared any quantity in doing so. They must have been three hundred men – with more men rushing to join in, as they found their way away from the confines of the column – galloping across the plains. And not on the little scouting horses that they had encountered before. These were true, infantry breaking, tough beasts.

"Is that our signal to turn?" Blackthorn asked. She had the best sense out of all of them as to Oliver's instincts. Though what he was now was even stranger than what he had before, there'd still been the seeds of strangeness in his actions of the past, and she could almost, barely, at times, grasp at his intentions. Though it was in the same way one might grasp at the flowing water of a stream.

Oliver waited a handful of seconds, holding them in place until he gave his answer. The cavalry had made their way to a full gallop. More horns were sounding. They were close enough now that they could hear the individual orders of their different shouts. Only then, did Oliver turn.

"Come, let's go," he said, plunging back into the trees of the forest, along a trail that they'd visited before.

The Yoreholder men hesitated in following him. It seemed a reckless maneuver once more. It was like Oliver was inviting a trap to be brought down on him. The forest, and all its confines, were the perfect place for a pincer attack to be performed by the enemy. If another party of men was sent from the south, then they'd be sandwiched between both those in front and those behind.

The Minister of Blades gave them a bark to stir them into action, however, and in they went, disturbing the branches of low-hanging trees, making them drop their burden of snow as they went.