A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1049 The Sword and the Board - Part 3

1049: The Sword and the Board – Part 3

1049: The Sword and the Board – Part 3

“A fatal weakness, Commandant?” Jericho said.

Amion turned to him with a smile that betrayed not the slightest bit of warmth.

“The cruelty of progress, Jericho, is that rarely is a man ever so accomplished in one thing.

That Commandant of three hundred wields Command far above his station, yet he strays so far from the front lies as to seem afraid of it.

We can make our assumptions.

His weakness lies in close combat.

Or, at the very least, we can assume him to be weaker in close combat than elsewhere…”

“…Isn’t he over the Third Boundary, Commandant?” Jericho said.

He’d known Amion to have noted that earlier.

At that pointed observation, Amion faltered ever so slightly.

“…A Third Boundary Violet Commander.

Yes, indeed.

Odd.

But for that, we can assume an even more pressing weakness.

His youth, his adeptness of Command.

In its unnaturalness, we can assume it to be built on a fatal flaw.

The laws of this world are not easily written.

He is intentionally putting distance between himself and the front.

He fears it.

We can say that with a certainty.”

Both sides looked at the battlefield with eyes that were searching for their enemy’s fear.

Through Ingolsol’s eyes, Oliver could feel the fear of his foes spreading.

Firyr’s victory had done much in that regard.

Panic was spreading like a wildfire, and the whole enemy army seemed to be becoming as malleable as molten steel.

A few swift bashes, and Oliver could see himself knocking it into shape.

And yet, he remained cautious.

His studies of strategy had taught him that caution.

He knew how to use an advantage, as soon as he gazed at one.

Volguard had given him that compliment once.

“It seems as if you accidentally stumble your way towards advantage, and then once you have it, your eyes finally open, and you start to think.”

For that, Oliver had his own excuse.

“Only with an advantage, do I finally have an idea what my victory will start to look like.”

He’d intended this battle to be placed around Firyr, and now it was so.

Their victory condition was the man himself, and the fruits that his labour had already delivered them.

It might have been possible to run all their cards forward there and then, and hope to achieve total victory off the back of it, but Oliver knew that an advantage was something best held onto.

Verdant would have called it the gravity of competence, but Oliver knew it to be just as true on the battlefield.

An advantage left to hang only continues to build, as long as a clever strategist knows what he has, and does not allow it to decay.

“The only real victory condition here is our foe’s head,” Oliver said.

His eyes had not left Amion, and in his mind, he was paving the path towards him.

There were still a good few ranks of men blocking the Patrick men from the enemy Commandant, but that distance was steadily narrowing, and Oliver was putting together the plan needed to capitalise on it.

He turned his head, and caught sight of a rather disgruntled-looking Blackthorn.

Rightly, she should have been at the front with the rest, but instead, she had been forced to wait, doing her very best to keep a pout off her face.

It was an amusing look, if it wasn’t seen in the midst of battle.

But so too was there the possibility of interference from other enemy battalions.

The open path high above them to the left still remained open, should the enemy decide to employ archers there.

Now was when Oliver knew to be careful.

It was right before the steps to victory when a strategist was known to blunder.

It was a wounded foe that fought hardest.

After every successful attack, there was always an opportunity for an enemy counterattack.

And so when there was a shift in the Verna ranks, Oliver was already prepared for it.

When the men that had been slowly making their threat from the constantly advancing Patrick arrowhead instead advanced forward, he met that movement with a sigh of relief, as the expected finally happened as it was anticipated to.

“Here we are,” he said, nodding.

“Now, who is your target?

Firyr?

Or me?”

They were the only two presences on the battlefield currently that would have made for a worthwhile counterattack.

Or, to put it another way, they were the two biggest targets.

Firyr for the fact of the victory that he’d already achieved, and the morale that he was helping to support, and Oliver for the fact that he was the Captain.

As Oliver watched, he finally saw Rogue Commandant Amion beginning to move himself.

His sword was pulled out of its scabbard, and gathering his remaining three Violet Commandants, he began forward through his men on his horse, shouting commands, and helping to establish order where the broken enemy had begun to descend into chaos.

“THE TIME IS RIPE, MY BROTHERS!” Amion told them.

“THE ENEMY HAS REVEALED THE WEAKNESS IN THEIR SIDE!

WE GO FOR THEIR COMMANDANT’S HEAD!”

It was a confident call that the Verna men responded to with excitement.

They were given a way out, something to blame Chang’s death on.

The way Amion phrased it made it seem as if it was all part of a cunning strategy, and the men eagerly seized that conclusion, ignoring the other alternatives.

Pressure was put on the arrowhead, made worse at its very tip.

When an arrowhead was pushing forward, it was the tip that was the strongest, but so too was the opposite true if the enemy was able to match that penetrating force, and push back on it.

Firyr was made to fight against six men at a time once more, and the second row of men, with Verdant, Kaya and Karesh were made to do something similar.

Even Jorah and the third row of men were caught up in the combat, facing down against the impossible pressure.