A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1151 Equal Scales - Part 6
1151: Equal Scales – Part 6
1151: Equal Scales – Part 6
“Concentrate!” Lombard hissed, as he brought his men ahead of Oliver’s, and rounded them to the right, to widen the gap that Karstly had punched through the encirclement with his retainers.
Needing no more of a word than that, Oliver pulled himself up, and put all that he had into the attack.
It mattered not how it had come about, what mattered was the results.
Karstly was moving with an almost fiendish diligence, as he destroyed whatever he could get his hands on, smashing through tents and supply piles alike.
Oliver did the same.
Opportunities like this were rare – they needed to inflict as cutting a blow as they could whilst they had it.
With such a thought in mind, Oliver drew up his own mission.
He was a man that needed something to aim for, so that he could slaughter that goal with the fullest force of his attention.
He rallied his troops under that cry.
“THE ENEMY RESTS HERE!
WE CUT THEM NOW ENOUGH TO LEAVE A MARK!
TARGET ANY MAN WITH A PLUME ON HIS HEAD!
WE HUNT OFFICERS UNTIL THERE IS NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THEM LEFT!” Oliver bellowed.
He gave his cry, ahead of the other Captains, and his men responded with eagerness.
“””URAHHH!”””
Like him, they needed direction.
With something to aim for, and a mission to accomplish, they could fight as effectively as they were able to.
Some semblance of order was already struggling to establish itself within the encampment, as women and children rushed to get clear of the charging Stormfront men, and soldiers that had been off duty rushed for their weapons, and tried to form whatever lines of defence that they could.
Now Oliver could see the plumed men amongst them.
Red, violet and blue.
The blue were plentiful.
They tried to guide the evacuation of the women, and what few children there were. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
Oliver steered clear of them.
He didn’t need the blood of civilians to muddy the morale of the troops.
Instead, he targeted Violet Commandants almost solely.
He picked out three from a distance, and he split his men apart in order to hint them.
“FIRYR!
HE’S YOURS!” He said, sending the first Firyr’s way.
The man had been itching for a fight, and he was sprinting almost as fast as the horses, making sure he wasn’t left out of the action.
“YES, CAPTAIN!!” The man bellowed, dragging his men off with him.
Like the Stormfront officers, inevitably, those Commandants were followed by splattering of men, even now that they were firmly out of formation, and plunged into chaos.
Nevertheless, they presented little opposition for a motivated Patrick Commander.
“BLACKTHORN!” He said, pointing his finger off towards the next man.
She went away wordlessly, like an arrow released from a bow, slamming into the man that had been labelled as her target a few short moments later, ignoring the gathering of nearly a hundred men that he had attempted to surround himself with.
Oliver sent Yorick off next, with Verdant to deal the killing blow.
Then he sent away Commander Jorah, scattering his army in four different directions until he was left by himself.
Ordinarily, it would have been an action that he refrained from.
He always wanted to be part of the fighting himself, he wanted to have his share of the danger, but after his battling with Amion, he had learned that there were things that a Captain could accomplish that were worth even more than his presence on the frontline.
He wheeled around on his horse, fighting to keep the creature calm as the screams rose up in chorus around him, along with the fires, and the smoke.
He tried to drink in the situation all at once.
All that he could see.
Those fleeing, terrified Verna women.
He had to set his opinions of the scene aside.
Why were women on the battlefield?
He’d already asked himself that question before, but it seemed to be a Verna custom.
They helped to run the camps and…
None of that mattered.
The women were a distraction.
Their bodies and their flesh served as barriers between Oliver’s men and the soldiers.
Some of the other Stormfront men ignored them entirely.
They were content to ride them down.
Oliver saw a Blackthorn Colonel lead his men straight through the group.
It was war, and he was right to do… He was, but it left a sickly feeling in Oliver’s stomach.
For victory, they could do a number of things here, but to slaughter the women that made their way in front of them?
It wasn’t a particularly appealing offer to him.
He preferred Karstly indirect method.
The General and his retainers had stolen torches from their stands, and they started their blaze wherever they could, setting fire to whatever was in reach, and tearing apart any men that dared to get in their way.
It was mindless, chaotic destruction.
They were in the enemy’s encampment.
Everything here had some level of importance.
All they needed to do was whirl around and cut at whatever was in reach, and they would do damage.
But Oliver wanted more.
He’d waited nearly an entire week to be set free, and he was well aware that this opportunity was not likely to come again.
It was all very well listening to the orders of Generals, and trusting in their battle strategies, but when it was that Oliver took to the battlefield, he wished to ensure that he left his mark.
He saw the arrows that he had sent in the form of his Commanders land home.
Four heads fell from their shoulders.
Four Violet Commandants were left dead, along with nearly two hundred of their soldiers, that ought to have been mark enough, but it wasn’t yet enough for Oliver.
“RETRREATTTT!” Came the cry, far too soon.
Those were Stormfront words.
Karstly was cutting his way back outside of the encirclement again.
It was easy to guess why.
Even without looking up, Oliver could sense that the timing of Khan’s response was right.
There were already chariots coming their way.
Khan had set them loose, seeking to tie up the battlefield, and make the cost of the tactic that he’d fallen too as minimal as possible.
