A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1898 - 1898: After Victory - Part 1

When Karstly looked over his shoulder too, he found that Samuel was gone. Not only from eyesight, but from all senses. There was no man there, other than Blackwell himself, who seemed to have retained his footing, and even he was floundering, splashing around in that endless swamp that they were so sure that they had all crossed through.

"Who will defeat who?" Tiberius asked, that horrible, cruel smile. With the cut on his face running so deep that the teeth could be seen through his lip beneath. It seemed as if there was a second creature underneath, trying to push away the mask of human skin, to allow that monster to come truly out.

Such a creature, with such a presence. Something that they'd touched so easily before, and now one that seemed impossible to reach. Was it truly possible to have placed such a creature on the backfoot? Karstly wasn't sure. He didn't doubt the fire that they'd built, but he doubted the true extent of it. It seemed to run too swiftly, and allow them too much too quickly. There was a dishonesty in the progress that they'd written.

"SEEEEEEE? DO YOU SEEEEEE?" Tiberius said. "I GAVE IT TO YOU! NOT CLAUDIA, BUT ME, YOUR EMPEROR! I ALLOWED YOU THE PROGRESS YOU SO DESIRED! KNEEL BEFORE ME INSTEAD, AND GRANT ME YOUR THANKS!"

The words struck a chill in the heart of Blackwell in particular, who alone, had seen through the nature of that which governed Tiberius. A fact that he had not anticipated. Just as he had sacrificed progress once, and order, so that he could rebuild again, right in the heart of Tiberius' formation – just as he had done that, he did not anticipate that Tiberius could do the same to him. To drag Blackwell's progress and their strength beyond their limits, to the point where Claudia's laws no longer supported their truth. To falsify them, weaken them, corrupt them, and degrade all of them in the process. To make them the same wretched creatures that Tiberius himself was. To fall victim to baseness, to the point of hedonism. Was that not the blood that Blackwell had spilled now, was it not to the point of gratuitousness?

And all so the man could inflict the ultimate cruelty. So that he could rob them of their honour, and rob them of their duty.

"You abandoned her," Tiberius said, as if he was truly disappointed in them, though there was a chilling edge that came with his sincerity that made him all the more terrifying for it. "You abandoned the very woman that you all swore to service. Lamentable, really – but I suppose that is the measure of a monarch. In the strength of her subjects."

Blackwell did not want to turn around. His stomach had gone cold, and the world around him had entirely changed shape. That light that they all clung to, in order to beat away the darkness, it had vanished entirely. The purity of it that they'd been allowed to dance in for a time was replaced. The swampy landscape of Tiberius was there once more, stronger than it ever was – it was absolute now, unfightable. It robbed the world of nobility, and had it carry the stench of a monster's den.

Where Blackwell was unable to look, Karstly carried the burden. Ever his own man. Even defeat, he would see it with his own eyes. Though the moment he did turn, he wished he had not. He found in himself far more of a heart than he did realize.

A sword ran through the chest of a woman that to his mind stood above all others, to the point that he hardly held her to be a human being any longer, but some creature above them all. A silver crown fallen into the snow, drenched in red. The reaching hand of a loyal knight, breathing his last, and then another sword that fell, piercing him through the back, finding his heart, and stilling him for all eternity.

There, in Karstly's heart, he found a strength of feeling he would never have wished to let loose. He found a truth in himself that he could never have admitted. An iron grip he'd kept on his heart. A coldness he'd practised, in defence of a fragileness that he did not imagine. Cruelness he'd carried out, almost to prove to himself the fact of his own coldness.

It did not matter now. There was no more pantomime, no more masks to wear. The stage was entirely Tiberius' and in front of the audience of that Emperor, Karstly reached a hand towards his own face, and felt the beginnings of a mad smile, as he lost the last bit of his sanity.

Even in victory, and even now – if they included the Emerson number of ten thousand, in their promised capacity as defensive escort troops – with thirty-five thousand soldiers at their command, there was to be deliberation.

The convincing of the Emersons, and the negotiations in that regard, had been the icing on a cake that was already set to be delicious. General Blackthorn could not hide his growing excitement, as the rest were beginning to grow rather exhausted from the efforts of the day, and all the days before.

He'd slammed the table with a fist. "There's good news!" He roared. "The Gods favour us, Minister. The plan now is obvious. We end this war for good, and it will be our victory!"

Minister Hod tolerated the outburst with a thin smile. He was not as quick to celebrate their victory as the rest of them. "The problem of Tiberius still remains, I should remind you. Until that man is cleared off the battlefield, we cannot rest."

"No, but we have some breathing room at the very least," Oliver said, in agreement with General Blackthorn. "Our men are weary from the fighting. We've bought time, and advantage."

"You have all performed beyond what it is that I expected of you," Hod admitted. "And you have done well enough to deserve praise."