A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 851: The Strength of Resolve - Part 5

"Make them quiver," Ingolsol said, "and make them kneel." Oliver could practically hear the fanged smile from the sound of his voice. Ingolsol delighted in moments like these, Oliver knew. Almost as much as he delighted in the suffering of others.

With a slow turn of Oliver's boot, and a crunching in the snow, he regarded his men, his eyes scanning over each of them, meeting gazes here and there, searching each man that needed searching, feeling their hearts with the eyes of both Ingolsol and Claudia.

"Now this is a good group," Oliver said, quieter than one would expect from a man making a speech, but it was more a comment to himself. For such a hastily organized group of men, with so many of them having never met before, it was a fine group indeed. He felt privileged standing there, and so he said so. "It is a privilege, gentlemen," he told them.

"You have done well, over the course of these days. Many of you have shown growth, in dimensions that none had expected from you before. Those are facts to be praised, and to be proud of."

"Today, your efforts bear fruit. Today, with the embers of the dead burned in yesterday's funeral pyre, we create a bonfire in their honour. Macalister Fort will be ashes come sunset. We will feast on the supplies that they've squirrelled away, and we will bask in the pleasure of the Gods," Oliver said.

"A Minister at the Academy called these years a time of change. I'm sure you've seen it, as well as I – those bastions of power that build up, over the course of centuries, exerting their will on us men born mere decades ago. Such bastions ought to be impregnable. We're told there are absolutes. Obey the High King. Kneel to your betters.

Fire beats water, and more numbers beat fewer," Oliver said.

"Those, my friends, are chains," Oliver said. "We have the power to overturn them. Today we'll start with the bottom item on that list. More beat fewer men, so the strategists say. A successful siege needs double the men as there are defenders. We'll beat that as well.

We're not numbers, we're change itself. No matter how many men they send at us, we will beat each and every one of them to the ground."

The men's faces were tense, as they struggled to hold their silence.

He recalled what Verdant had said the night before, about being more symbol than man. Being something above men, that men could believe in. It made Oliver flush at the very thought of singing his own praises, but there were worse pains than embarrassment, as he'd learned once again the night before.

"Mark this day men, for this is a day of change," Oliver said. "This is the day when sense is inverted, when chaos reigns, and the strong take the throne. This will be a day that will ring throughout the kingdoms, that will mark its place in the history books. Remember this day, men, for soon you shall be able to claim a part of it.

The Bloody Battle of Fort Macalister they'll call it, and you'll respond, with the scars to prove that you fought alongside Oliver Patrick, and you overturned the impossible. We are the seeds of the future. We will be those bastions of the future, and our will shall be felt for centuries.

The silence broke, as a roar of approval spread throughout the ranks. Surprisingly, it was the ex-slaves that first led it. They'd grown accustomed to their cheering, with their recent victories in their mock battles, and it came easier to them than the others.

But there was another reason too: Oliver's words rang true with them, even more than the rest, for he'd already proved to them part of what he said.

The Skullic men followed soon after, however, and fists were raised in the air. He let them have their moment, and spoke again only when quiet began to fall.

"I am sure you remember the name of Dominus Patrick," Oliver said. "Know it to be the name of the Greatest Swordsman in history. This is my father's sword, and on that sword, I swear to bring victory."

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He drew his blade, and thrust it up into the air, to a round of further cheers, even louder than the last. Names did indeed have power, and Dominus Patrick's name still carried far more force than Oliver Patrick's yet could.

…

…

"My General," Gadar said, giving a brief salute. Talon was once again looking out over his walls. "They are not here yet," he noted.

"It's still only early," Talon responded. "Fear not. They will come. They have no other choice but to come. Rivera ensured that for us yesterday."

"Indeed… Though he almost paid for it with his life," Gadar noted.

"Quite right," Talon said. For some reason, he was smiling at that fact. "Did you find any information on the girl?"

"None, but there is little you can gather when you are trapped inside a fort. At the very least, we can be assured that she never attended the Academy," Gadar replied.

"Interesting…" Talon mused. "Oliver Patrick – I wonder what else he has in store for me. Surprises of that calibre, they're the sign of a worthy opponent indeed."

"I suppose that we can assume she's from Solgrim, or somewhere nearby, given the time Oliver Patrick is said to have spent there," Gadar replied.

"A ghost of the battlefield nonetheless. A virtual unknown to the noble world. But I suppose, in that sense, she's no different from Oliver Patrick himself. Half a year ago, the Patrick name was dead. Not even Dominus Patrick was said to be alive. Strange, isn't it, how things can change?" Talon said.

"I suppose so," Gadar said uneasily. "Though, might I say, right here and now, I do not wish to be afflicted by that same kind of change."

Talon barked an easy laugh. His mask gave him an intimidating edge, but that booming laugh softened it at times. "You worry too much, Gadar. As fun as this has been, there is nothing that Oliver Patrick can do to save himself now. He will die a good death, but it will be death all the same."

"…Rivera is unable to move his right arm, for now," Gadar said. "I thought you might wish to know."