A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1159 Two Generals - Part 4
1159: Two Generals – Part 4
1159: Two Generals – Part 4
In response to that, General Karstly shrugged.
He was cradling his helmet under his arm, and running a hand through his white-blonde hair.
He seemed the very image of a spoiled young nobleman, without the slightest shred of responsibility.
With how carefree his attitude was, it was hard to believe that he was in the midst of making such an important decision.
“He left the choice in my hands.
I did not mention Patrick by name, but then, to a man like General Blackwell, I did not need to.”
At that, Lombard exhaled hard, and firmly affixed his eyes to ground, refusing to say any further.
“General,” Yoran pressed.
“I must beg you to reconsider.”
“I am reconsidering,” Karstly said.
“…Then I would ask that you put me in command instead.
On this campaign, I might not have won as many heads as I ought to have, but I think we can all agree that it is simply from the lack of opportunity.
If you were to grant me that opportunity, then I would make good use of it, my Lord,” Colonel Yoren said, bowing his head.
“Mm,” Karstly put his finger to his chin, and tilted his head back and forth.
“Very well, Colonel Yoren, for the duration of this campaign, you shall be demoted to the rank of Captain.”
“What..?” The Colonel’s expression was beyond stunned.
He looked as if his soul had left his body.
The few officers that had been edging closer to him on their horses suddenly stopped doing so, as if to escape a diseased corpse.
“If you believe yourself to be capable of such things, and it be opportunity that you were lacking, then I will give you a role in which you might seize that opportunity for yourself,” Karstly said.
He said so firmly, an edge to his voice now.
His playfulness was gone.
He was a man laying down the law.
“With a thousand men, Captain Patrick, can you push for victory on the battlefield to our right?”
It was all too familiar a temptation for Oliver.
Karstly seemed an especially terrible man, as he extended that golden hand of his, and bid that Oliver take it.
It was the sort of thing that Ingolsol would have done, if he’d been given the leeway in which to carry the plot out.
There was a man filled with an emotion difficult to understand.
He seemed to want to see chaos wherever he looked.
There could have been no other reason for his continual prodding.
His goals were beyond Oliver’s understanding.
Madness was about the only word that he could box the man in with.
Any sane man would have refused then.
The Karstly forces that remained were all in a union.
The decision was a foolish one.
To accept Karstly’s offer would be to go against the will of all those men, and have the army turn against him.
There was a proper process to things.
If they thought a man to be receiving special treatment, they would drag him down.
And yet, from another direction, Oliver felt a relentless pushing.
From Ingolsol, there was a growling like a hungry tiger.
Oliver shut off the sounds of the Fragment’s voice, for the sake of his own sanity, for he knew how easily Ingolsol would have talked him into it, but still those growlings were heard, and it made Oliver’s own stomach rumble.
He felt half starved.
Even Claudia urged him.
She could smell progress in the air.
The sweetest of all flowers.
Now that they were in the heart of spring, and bordering on summer, she would not turn away from all the possibility that the season offered them.
If Oliver wanted to find escape in the land of the living, he couldn’t have found it there either.
Aside from Karstly’s gaze that seemed to spear right through him, puppeting him according to the man’s will, he could feel the pressure from his men, urging him to agree as well.
They were like wolves, the lot of them, wanting to share in a kill.
They wouldn’t let him go if he said no to it.
Verdant did everything that he could to keep his expression neutral, but the ever-calm man had instead failed miserably.
He could not even keep his black horse still beneath him, such was the man’s excitement.
He almost seemed ready to speak on Oliver’s behalf.
From Blackthorn, there was no safety either.
She tilted her head as if she couldn’t understand his hesitance.
She reacted as if the offer was the most natural thing in the world.
The truth was, all of those Patrick men did.
They had been taught, under the Patrick banner, that rank didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter where a man came from, or how long he spent in the chains of a slave, or under the shackles of poverty.
What mattered was his strength once he picked up his spear, and he fought for the sake of victory.
In that sense, they could see no one other than Karstly in the entirety of their campaign who had secured the accolades of their Patrick Captain, nor the Commanders under him.
“I did promise you men, that competence in my army would be rewarded,” Karstly said.
“It just so happens that now is an opportunity for that competence to be capitalised on.
If he fails in his duty, then he will likely never rise past the rank of Captain, so black will the stain on his record be.
Is this a responsibility that you are so willing to carry, all of you?
To lock down a twenty-thousand man army with a mere one thousand men?”
A few heads were hung at that, from the especially overeager men.
When it was put in those terms, it most certainly seemed like a poisoned chalice, yet Karstly continued to extend it to Oliver regardless, bidding that he drink, and he become stronger for it.
“It is unusual not to have heard an answer from you yet, Captain Patrick,” Karstly noted.
“You struck me as an impatient man before.
I wondered just what you were running so quickly towards, and now you’re standing half still.
It matters not.
You do not have a choice.
We have spoken about this before.
I gave you a week under Samuel, to improve your strength to the best degree that you could.
Now execute on it.”
