A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1850 - 1850: Old Boulders - Part 7

The change had come so easily in him, as if it had been waiting for the longest time to happen. It made Oliver wonder why he hadn't come to such a conclusion far earlier, but he quickly shook his head, and cast those doubts from his mind. That was how the naturalness of Claudia's will manifested itself. It often seemed so obvious in hindsight, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

One thing was sure, however. The Verdant Idris that now brought to bear his will on Tavar's flank, fought with enough pressure and enough want to rival the force of a General. Oliver had asked him to cause a splash in the sea, and Verdant had over delivered.

Tavar himself inclined his head in a smile that ought to have been more strained than it was. "Verdant Idris," he said in approval. "What a strange life you have indeed led, and what a man you have turned out to be. It is has been my privilege to watch over you."

He said those words, even in knowing that his own position was made far more difficult for it. Hod watched just as eagerly, fighting back to retain his sanity, he straightened himself up, and analysed what he saw with the logic that he was so used to, along with the new information that he had gathered. He watched, and he waited for Tavar to retaliate, and utilise the tactic that he had feared. But Tavar could do naught, except attempt to counter Verdant's attack directly. "So it was right then… He knows to fear the breaking of his men. And he knows to fear the building of pressure that we are able to exert."

He watched, half-expecting for that breaking to happen then and there, for the Verdant Idris that had presented himself was far mightier than what Hod could have supposed he might be – far mightier indeed than what any could have supposed he would be. For him to break through the Third Boundary when he had, right in the moment before them. That wasn't something that any of them could have predicted. Yet, it did seem that Oliver Patrick himself was dissatisfied with it.

Oliver saw the transformation in Verdant, and as much as it made his heart warm, it made his eyes harden. For Verdant was not the only one who had gathered such a degree of experience alongside him after so long. His men had wandered through hell and back with him. The likes of Blackthorn, of Jorah, of Firyr. He wondered just how much they had been unknowingly holding back.

"I hold too tightly," he told himself, breathing in a deep breath, feeling that strange feeling of distance in his heart that he had begun to cultivate in the weeks leading up to his battle with the Emerson's. A feeling that almost felt like an attack on himself, for the insignificance it made him feel. It was as if he didn't exist – but there seemed to be some strange worth in that. To have the courage not to move, not to do anything, not to be anything at all.

He began about serving his control, and seeing it dealt elsewhere, with the remaining number of men that he had employed.

"Jorah," Oliver said. "A thousand men to you, to attack independently from my desire, and to bear open a corridor towards our enemy."

His words would not reach Jorah, with the distance away that he was, but with the help of his messengers, his order would. He could see Jorah's reaction from a distance – those eyes wide. A man that had yet to know the command of such numbers. A man still of the First Boundary.

"Fool," Oliver muttered with a smile. "You have always been far more gifted than I have made use of you for… Ah, then that would make me the fool, wouldn't it?"

"For Karesh, and Kaya," Oliver said. "Know command. Be Captains of your own accord, unbound by the will of a Colonel above you. An independent three hundred for each of you… And to Firyr, and Lady Blackthorn, I send you five hundred, an intermediary between the two. Not yet Colonel, but still above Captain. You both dislike leadership, but you will both find a way to make use of it."

No one seemed happy with the command that they were given. Each one that received it, and were told that there was no superior above them, not even a Colonel, seemed more alarmed than they were excited. Oliver carved his army up, bit by bit, sending his men in different directions, under different commands.

He knew Judas to have been fighting as best he could, though lacking the now alarming amount of experience that Oliver's other men had gathered, he still proved himself to be a terrible and reliable force on the battlefield. For him, Oliver took a risk. "Judas. You're more a thug than a soldier. But there's something to you that I don't understand. If I give you a hundred men now, would you honour me with them?"

He looked up, and saw Nila still positioned on her high roofs, firing arrows at the rest of the battlefield. He wished to reach out, and do the same for, to show the trust that he had in her, by giving him command over the last of his soldiers, but he hesitated. He knew that she wished for it not. She wished to leave the battlefield as soon as she could. Hers was a war for defence, and not for progress.

Oliver bit his lip, and then followed through. "Forgive me, Nila, but I do require you. These remaining few hundred, you'll use them well. They'll listen to you – everyone always knows to listen to you in the end."

Soon enough, there was no one left for Oliver to give orders to. He was a lone man, a General only in title. He had split his army up entirely, and ordered them to go about the battle in their own way, to move according to their own motivations, against the giant suffocating presence of Tavar. Against another foe, they might have hesitated to move at all, but for all the pressure that Tavar exerted, one could not stand still, even if they feared the move that they were about to make to be the wrong one.