A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1720 - 1720: A Kingdom At War - Part 3

Oliver hardly thought about where he stood, or what effect he intended to have on the men. He would simply start the day with a point of his sword at Gar, and the other Sword would jump up, an animalistic curl on his lips, and the two would fall into combat outside the doors of a beautiful noble home, right at the front of the training men.

It was where they naturally ended up, but it was also naturally where the peasants ended up look, when Firyr stood at the front, with Jorah, Karesh and Kaya, and took them through their drills, they could see the fierceness with which the two fought. They could see the furious light in Oliver's eyes, as he almost childishly chased after something.

Professor Yoreholder often attended those practices herself. Not to join in with the drilling, but to shoot her bow at targets a great distance away whilst the rest trained. "It's the atmosphere I rather like," she'd said with a smile, after Verdant had politely enquired after the reason for her frequent visits, more for the sake of diplomacy than anything else.

She'd nodded her head towards Oliver to illustrate that point. "It's almost a shame, do you not think, Lord Idris?"

"Hm," Verdant said, considering the question with that thoughtful look that he seemed to have permanently etched on his face. "That would depend on what you mean, Lady Yoreholder."

"The look on your face tells me you know exactly what I mean," Yoreholder said, "yet you are reluctant to say it. You see the same thing I do. There stands a boy, who fought such a magnificent victory. We stood on the same battlefield, did we not?"

"We did," Verdant said.

"And was the man that we fought alongside the same as the boy we see before us?" Yoreholder asked. "Who we placed our trust in, to find us a path to victory, when we were outnumbered and outclassed so mightily? Who we burdened with a responsibility beyond reason?"

"In the most physical sense, I do believe it was," Verdant said.

"Aha, but even you acknowledge that there's a marked difference between the two, as they do exist?" Yoreholder said.

"My Lord is a complicated man," Verdant said.

"I see not a man before me," Yoreholder said. "He is still far, far too young. Seeing him as he is now, it inspires a deal of regret in me. He's such a precocious young man, but it's easy to forget, he has not even passed his twentieth year yet, and look at all we have forced upon him. We, Blackwell – the Kingdom. For the corruption that he has been born into, and for the misdeeds done to his father, we have made him carry a banner that should have been ours to bear."

"My Lord would have sought it out," Verdant said. "Even if it had not found him, my Lord would have found it regardless. That is the sort of man that he is. Even in the forests, in the middle of obscurity, greatness would find him. Such is the gravity of competence, Professor Yoreholder."

"I do not disagree with you," Yoreholder said. "You're not wrong. A creature like him could not possibly burrow itself away, and expect the world to ignore it… And yet, I find it regretful that it was done so soon. How can he still throw himself into his swordplay, with such an innocent expression on his face, after the burdens that he has endured, and continues to endure?"

"That, again, is the sort of man that my Lord is," Verdant said. "One moment, he will stand there on the battlefield with you, as you say, and bring twenty thousand men to their knees in a vicious deadlock, and the next, he would be what you see here. I think, in part, that is my Lord's charisma, no? That he is all the fierceness that you have seen from him, but that there is this side as well, that childishness, that warmness. The ability to care for each man he sees in front of him. For all he has endured, he has not lost his compassion. It has both wounded and empowered him. It is a realm, I believe, we have the Lady Nila to thank for. He was not always able to relax himself so freely."

Nila too was not such a far distance away from Oliver as she practised. She stood only a few metres away, firing at a target of her own every now and then, and stealing glances at Oliver in between rounds. The two of them would break into a smile, at each pause in competition, as if they were truly glad to see each other each time.

"They're terribly in love," Professor Yoreholder said endearingly. "A flame that smoulders despite the coldness of war. It warms us all."

"You do not disapprove of the unconventional matching?" Verdant asked. "More than a few have commented on the Lady Nila's station."

"How could I?" Professor Yoreholder said. "However could I? That sort of happiness… my goodness, Lord Idris, you could spend a thousand lifetimes searching for it, and still not find it. I'm almost envious. But how could I dare to envy him, with all the burdens that he is forced to carry? What a strange little creature our Lord of Patrick is. To be all that he is, all at once… Why, one would have be made entirely of water to fill that strangely shaped container."

"Or air," Verdant said thoughtfully.

Lady Yoreholder looked at him strangely. "…Or air," she did agree. "Besides – your Oliver Patrick has proved another thing, has he not? The utility of the peasantry. They're improving far, far too rapidly for my taste. It is almost insulting. What say you, husband of mine?"

The Minister of Blades had made sure his footfalls were heavy, so that his wife could hear his approach. Verdant dipped his head out of respect to the man, as he joined in the conversation. "They have found their passion," the Minister of Blades agreed. "He shows them the joy of combat, when he trains like that."