A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1752 - 1752: The Lion's Den - Part 1

"Again, I am flattered," Minister Hod said. "But we are still outnumbered five to one – and it still does stand that it is Tavar and Germanicus that we face off against. I would ask that you cast from your minds the possibility that this might be an easy battle. What we need, truly, is time. There are two major forces that have yet to truly show their hands. And that is of our Commanding General Lord Blackwell – and also, the man that calls himself Emperor Tiberius. Tiberius is attempted to be held by the combined might of Karstly, Skullic and Broadstone, but even they together are unlikely to be able to hold him. Do understand. You might naturally focus on the battlefield in front of you, but the battlefield is more than just Ernest. It extends along the entire northern half of this country. Leave ourselves too open, and we risk interference here in Ernest from Tiberius. A consideration that Tavar too has to make, from the likes of our Blackwell, and Skullic, Karstly and the rest of them."

He made his point, and a good few of the officers found themselves thoughtfully nodding along with him. "There are many little forces that still have yet to settle," Hod continued. "That of Pendragon control – of Queen Asabel and Blackwell managing to settle their rule there. But also of Germanicus' adherence to his role as King. Of the adaptation of your peasants to battle, General Patrick. And I would say, of the adaption of yourself to the role of total command. Even I supposed that your decision to defend Ernest against the Emerson's to be a reckless one. But in that, General Patrick, you exceeded my expectations."

Now Oliver could feel everyone looking at him, and he could feel a pressure building up on his shoulders.

"…I agree with the Minister," Blackthorn said. "Whatever it is you have shown the likes of the quivering General Fitzer, we are yet to see here. If you would complain, and ask us of the different directions that victory might flow in, then you ought look at yourself, boy. For you are still clinging fearfully to something that is no more."

Hod nodded. "Time," he said. "Time for our peasants, time for Oliver Patrick. Time for Blackwell. Time for Asabel, and Karstly. Both we and Tavar look for further time to improve our pieces. There is this battlefield, and the ones to the east – but there is also the question of the growth of the monsters that we do hold. A storm we do sit in. And what brings out the potential of a Tiger better than that constant crushing need for victory? The inability to rest, for the gravity of the situation that they find themselves in? We walk in the realm of prophecy. It is only natural that the events we see transpire will carry just as much the whiff of the Gods as they do that of men."

More fire, more smoke, more rubble to wade through.

At this point, Blackwell had caused his fair share of damage. If the Pendragon kingdom were to be seen as a single giant castle, then Blackwell was the single wrecking ball that had so brought down so many of its grand walls.

Ancient bricks lined the streets that he waded through. Even his horse wasn't sure footed enough to pass through most of it. At times, Blackwell asked a question: "was this damage recent?". For even he himself was no longer quite sure. He could frame an estimation based on the flames.

That question was a disguise for another question. "Was it I that caused it?". His officers had enough discretion to know exactly what he was asking, and they'd give their response tentatively enough, knowing very well that the high-ranking noblemen that rode through the city with them were listening in on every word.

Everywhere they went, the reception was hostile. They were the conquerors, the tyrants, and they were very well treated as such. Pockets of resistance had popped up everywhere throughout the lands that they had conquered. The swiftness of their campaign, after the fact, became their weakness. Blackwell didn't have the men to garrison in every city that he'd brought to the ground.

Already, there was blood on his armour. He'd beaten through a hundred pitiful men that had dared to form a militia against him. They'd claimed the city as their own. At first claiming themselves to be protecting the people of it from the likes of the tyrants that had taken over the country – but as always in such cases, when those who ought not have access to power sudden found themselves in charge of an awful lot of it, they soon started to make themselves into their own kinds of tyrants.

It was a cry for help that Blackwell and his men had come to answer, but from the looks of the civilians as they passed them on the street, one would never have thought so.

Blackwell heaved a long sigh. There was too much work to do. For his status, he knew he was the best placed to resolve such issues. He needed to ensure that the captured territory they'd secured was going to be useful. That they'd be able to garrison men in the various fortresses and actually control the land that they'd smashed through.

Now with a crown on Queen Asabel's head, it ought to have simply been the case that the men and women would acknowledge their new sovereign, but they didn't seem quite in a hurry to forget the destruction that had been caused on Queen Asabel's way to the throne.

They saw her very much as the grand puppeteer that had controlled the actions of Blackwell, and Karstly, Rainheart and Broadstone. But it was Blackwell's instructions that they operated on. The swiftness of the violence that they had executed had been of the sort of necessity that Blackwell had deemed necessary for their victory in this war.