A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1871 - 1871: Fighting the Void - Part 3

Once more, he covered their retreat with his bodyguard, but no longer did he do it as a man that was floundering against the endless sea. In his mind, there was started to be built a solidness. A solidness against an illusory enemy, but it was a solidness nonetheless. Calmly, he held the foes back. They were a thousand men, on the front lines of those ten thousand, all warring for him, and his Boundary Broken bodyguard. They held them off, as a feat of heroism, slaying them by the tens, and then the hundreds. He shouted his satisfaction to those men that fought alongside him.

"That was well fought, gentlemen," he said. "With me now, we'll see that we regain some of this lost ground."

Those bodyguards, they were the men closest to him. Trusted officers some of them, and Swords the rest. They were privy to a General Skullic off the battlefield. They knew what sort of man that he was. Even they had been beginning to wilt, like rich fragrant herbs ruined by a drought. But the honesty of Skullic's praise, the certainty behind it, and the genuine satisfaction that he had for them, that managed to bring them back from the brink. They held themselves a little more strongly now. They'd found something of an oasis in the desert.

Skullic reformed his lines, and he gave an order that was both swift, as it was dangerous. "ANGLED THEM HIGH, AND GET ME A STORM OF ARROWS!" He said, despite how close the enemy already were to their own lines. It was almost a waste of projectiles, but against ten thousand men, there could be no waste. Even if they slew only ten, it was a mark against the current that they so sorely needed.

His Captains heard that command, and they found that they liked it. That sort of risky decision – that was very much in line with their General's usual style of battling. Good Skullic men they all were, well blooded in their defence of the Skreen, and well accustomed to their bows by now, from the weeks they'd spent endlessly firing them at their attackers. Their storm of arrows, despite the ridiculously poor conditions of the shot, had an effect far greater than Skullic could have hoped. They achieved a height in their arc that lent them a nasty damage when they did come to falling. The bowmen had almost angled them straight up. And when they came crashing down, even on plate metal, they sent a good couple dozen of well armoured soldiers falling – and by Skullic's eyes, almost a hundred of that ten-thousand strong illusory enemy that he did fight.

He was beginning to find it now, their weaknesses, and their place of want. Four thousand men against ten thousand. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so bad. He was laying his basis for his strategy, and beginning to find a degree of freedom in his flight. Steadily, he was making it work. Four thousand against ten thousand – had he not overcome worse odds in the past? And what man did they have leading them, those ten thousand strong? They were nothing but a barbaric rabble.

"They cling to their standards as a false deity," Skullic said, loud enough so his men could hear him, as they shrank behind the length of their spears, fearing that wall of titanic soldiers that would come for them again, without fear, as they had before, knowing truly that they'd once more been pushed back. "A barbaric practice. We've dealt with savages before, gentlemen. Let us take their Gods, and crumple their standards, and show them the will of Claudia."

He said so to silence. The men were poised, with a sharp string against their necks. They feared even to move. The pressure was building to a degree that they could no longer fight properly. Skullic could feel that – the Command flowed properly now. He knew where he stood. In his mind, once more, against ten thousand men, even if it was merely four thousand that he held, and even if they were beasts, rather than soldiers, he would not crumble. He could not. He had too much faith in his own ability.

He gave them all an easy smile. "Gentlemen," he said. "If you were any quieter, I fear I'd be able to hear the words you all whisper to your lovers under your breath. Give your General some noise, and I'll show you just how easily we do shatter savages."

He was too relaxed, all of a sudden. He was like an entirely changed man. It was that easy confidence and charisma that had won them over so many years ago, despite how young he'd been back then. That was the General that they'd chosen to follow, believing that he'd have a place of greatness in the Stormfront. Believing, in time, that he could even be the grandest General those lands had ever known.

The floundering of all, that racing around and chasing of tails, it was all forgotten. The men remembered who it was that they served. Skullic didn't need to shout. His calmness was Command enough – his good humour, and his care for the men. Those too, they were Command enough. What they saw in front of them was the terrifying beast that had beat them back twice before, but now, with their General at the head of them, it didn't seem quite so terrifying.

"URAHHHHH!" One man cried mindlessly bellowing from behind the length of his spear, glowing with anger, as he glared down the armoured man set to come in line with him.

"FOR THE GENERAL!"

"FOR THE QUEEN!"

"FOR THE STORMFRONT!" Skullic shouted, giving up a cry of his own, swept up by the passion of his men. That was a cry that the rest of his soldiers echoed – a great wave of morale that swept not only from them, but along the whole line of Blackwell's soldiers. As far as General Blackwell, that cry was echoed, even by men not yet fighting. For indeed, was that not their cause? It was the Stormfront they cared for above all else – the Stormfront that they sought to free from corruption.