A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 980 - The Chance to Break Through - Part 5

980: The Chance to Break Through – Part 5

980: The Chance to Break Through – Part 5

He thought he looked calm, which surprised him, but as soon as he looked at his eyes, that illusion of calmness was given away.

They were the tiniest little specks of light, but both the purple of Claudia and the gold of Ingolsol danced around in his pupils.

The two of them felt as much anticipation as Oliver himself.

‘Three years,’ he told himself.

Three years since he had begun training with Dominus.

Three years since he had inherited his sword.

Three years that he’d spent fighting on battlefields of his own, and leading – and now here he was, right on the edge of a true war, under a mighty General.

‘Watch over me, Dominus.

See how I’ve improved.’

He clenched his teeth, grinding his jaw.

His heart thumped his eagerness.

He hadn’t passed through to the Fourth Boundary in these three years, but he did not lament that fact.

Not with all the progress that he’d made.

He’d finally managed to stabilize his early entrance into the Third Boundary, and he’d managed to make even more progress on top of that.

If he was feeling particularly optimistic, he might have even said that he was tickling the very edge of the Fourth Boundary itself.

He ached to see what that sort of strength meant on the national stage, and now it was finally his opportunity to do it.

A flag was raised up ahead, bearing the dragon of Queen Asabel Pendragon.

It waved left, and then it waved right, repeating the motion three times.

The signal to advance.

The front ranks lurched forward.

General Karstly rode at the line’s very head, his white horse kicking up tufts of grassy dirt as it went.

His officers went after him, as well as his flag bearers.

Now, those flags were raised high.

Now, the first person that they saw would be Verna army in front of them.

There was no reason to hide from sight anymore.

With that, Oliver raised up his own arm, and his own flags were thrust into the air.

The sigil of the elusive beast – the ideological culmination of all predators, stained on a flag of red.

It was a flag that his enemies in the Stormfront had learned to fear.

It was a flag that he’d raised many a time before purging a rebel faction.

Now, it was a flag that the Verna would learn to fear as well.

The wagons began to move in front of them, along with the Blackthorn infantry under Gordry.

Finally, Oliver was allowed to put the barest heel to the side of his horse, enough so that he wouldn’t overtake the infantry in front of him.

As Oliver went, his army came a split second later.

Those that had served with him moved without delay.

They were as much a part of him now as his own body.

He needed no commands to tell them the instant that they needed to move.

The new men under Yorick were a fraction slower.

As too were the Blackthorn men under Lasha.

She’d moved just in time with Oliver, but her men had taken another second before they knew to catch up.

Now, at once, the army was moving, disappearing down the hill after General Karstly.

The Blackthorn men in front of them began to jog.

A steady, thudding jog, their army jostling from the movement, the sound of tossed metal thumping with each step.

The wagons kept time with them, and with a foot to Walter, Oliver kept time with them as well.

His horse was a ball of energy beneath him.

Walter urged to be let loose into a gallop just as thoroughly as Oliver did.

The chains that bound them would not allow it, however.

Not yet.

The Patrick infantry began their jog.

It was very much a pack on a hunt.

They did not march in step with each other, like all the men around them did, but nor were they disorganized.

Their order came from the man that led them, allowing all the individuals their quirks, whilst guiding them towards a single goal.

Finally, Walter’s hooves hit the edge of the hill, and they were speeding downwards, going along with the rest.

The sun was just beginning to set in the sky, and the downwards slope had been reduced to a shadowy pass.

It was far steeper than Oliver had expected it to be.

Steep enough for a horse to slip and lose its footing.

It was a surprise that even the wagon wheels were handling it, going as fast as they were.

It was not something that the oxen would have been able to keep up with – it was a stroke of good planning that they’d been switched out before they’d left.

To Oliver’s side, Verdant kept his pace impeccably, always staying just half a horse length behind, never daring to get in front of him.

The downward slope rounded a tight corner, and suddenly they were turning.

Had they been going any faster, the wagons wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

Even Walter needed to correct his steps to allow for it.

Now they could see Karstly up ahead.

He was just nearing the end of the slope.

There were trees to their left, and cliffs to their right.

It was at the end of the slope that they would finally be able to see the enemy that was in front of him.

After the corner had been rounded, the marching men sped up again.

The infantry were less at a jog now, and more nearing a sprint.

It wasn’t an all-out sprint, but it seemed a dangerous enough pace to be at just before the start of battle.

Again, Oliver matched it gratefully.

His sword was ready at his side, catching any stray flickerings of light that managed to make its way in between the trees.

He was beginning to feel the rhythm of the moment now, entering the fog that surrounded every battlefield, as he grasped for its prior flow. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

The measure of his own breath, the seemingly disconnected falls of thousands of footsteps, the turning of wagon wheels.

All of them created a symphony of significance.

They were all the pieces from which the flow of battle was set to arrive.

Oliver drank them in, hungrily.

He was a different man now – he’d donned the mask that’d learned to wear so many times before.

The mask of Captain Patrick.