A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1188 The Revenge Strike - Part 3
1188: The Revenge Strike – Part 3
1188: The Revenge Strike – Part 3
It wasn’t long before she picked the three of them off, and then the man with the reins was forced to turn to her, his purple plume dancing madly from the speed that they rode at.
His mouth was wide open, and he was breathing heavily.
He had to make a choice – handle the reins, or handle his half-moon blade.
He decided in neither direction, instead going for a mix between the two.
With one hand on the reins, he attempted to follow the flight of the rapier that came for him, only to be scored across the neck by its sharp claw.
His lack of commitment had cost him.
Blackthorn wasn’t a woman that could be dealt with in such half-hearted measures.
It pleased Oliver to see his men naturally gravitating towards the higher-ranking officers.
It had become a habit of theirs by now.
With his want to capture all the foes that he could, it was even more crucial than it normally was.
Oliver supposed that when their leaders were brought low, it would be easier to round up the rest.
He saw the leaders not just as more men to be slaughtered, but as walking clocks that allowed him to buy some extra time.
Yorick found his own violet plumed man, and he went behind the chariot.
This Violet Commandant, however, had the sense not to take the reins whilst his men were fighting behind him.
With a spear in hand, he warded off all advancements.
It would have been one thing had Yorick been alone.
He was a man of the Second Boundary, and likely evenly matched with such a foe.
He would have struggled to overcome the wall that stood in front of him.
He’d have needed to lay siege without the right weapons in which to see the walls cracked.
However, with his men behind him, it was a different story entirely.
Ten joined him in his assault, and the others began to sweep the line, toppling one chariot after another, avoiding those with helmets coloured anything other than blue.
With ten men beside him, even Yorick’s attempt at slaying his own Violet Commandant was proceeding far more smoothly.
He took the head of the pack, and would go in, charge after charge.
He didn’t seem to be one to stand and fight.
He was a cavalryman after all.
His nervousness seemed to mount whenever he was held in one place for too long.
That didn’t seem to hold him back, however.
For each charge with his men bore additional fruit.
First they dealt with the other chariotmen around the Violet Commandant, and then they began to layer wounds on the man himself, engraving their desire to bring him down into his very flesh.
As strong as the man might have been in individual combat, against such numbers, he eventually wilted, and it was Yorick’s sword that saw the final blow achieved.
A bellowed charge, then a slash across the torso, tearing open the man’s colourful robes, and breaking through the links of his chain mail, scattering blood and bearing bone.
It took longer than Blackthorn’s attempt had – but men were dying, and Yorick was showing his new strength, and his new bravery.
To have a tool that he could rely on, even if it was not yet as sharp as the others, it brought Oliver a small shred of relief.
Then there was Verdant, just a slight distance along the line from Yorick, engaging in a thoroughly different sort of combat.
He had no men around him, not that he would ever need them.
His helmet had been toppled from his head at some point, and now his light brown locks were tussling in its place.
With a mighty swat from his spear, a man was sent flying.
It wasn’t a strike, or a thrust, it was more a clubbing.
The sharpness of the spear managed to inflict a wound, but it was the weight of the strike that did the most damage.
It sent the soldier stumbling back into the driver, forcing the chariot to teeter precariously, before it eventually regained its balance.
The expression on those Verna faces told the full story.
They weren’t even animated enough to express their surprise.
It had been written there once, moments ago, and their faces hadn’t recovered.
It had turned them into veritable statues.
They knew not what they went up against.
“I suppose this is a sort of battlefield that demonstrates Verdant’s prowess more than anywhere else,” Oliver mused.
“Strength being what it is, and the weight of these chariots being what they are… He might be even better at overturning them than I am.”
The Violet Commandant of the cart made his way to the back to meet Verdant, standing his ground alongside his men.
But the fact that he was forced to stand anywhere at all in the face of Verdant was already a mighty error.
Oliver’s Vice-Captain had worked long and hard on his clumsiness, and it could no longer be called a true weakness in combat, but that didn’t mean that the man didn’t still let out a silent cheer when his opponent was forced to face him head on, unable to use any cunning tactics in getting around him.
That was the way to fight Verdant, Afterall.
You used strategy, and technique, in an attempt to lasso his innate wild strength.
Pinned in place, unable to do anything but take an attack head on… The duel was as good as done as soon as that was the case.
And indeed, that prediction was shortly manifest.
The Violet Commandant had worn a Stormfront style chestplate, and at its best, it had shone an impressive colour of silver.
Now, after Verdant was done with it, the only thing impressive about it was how sad it looked.
It was crumpled horrifically in the centre, and tainted from the blood that had spilt from its owner’s mouth and down upon it.
Even the best of smiths would have struggled to restore it.
With that cart dealt with, Verdant calmly plodded his way towards the next, leaving his destruction for the other men to pick through.
Oliver finally took his steps towards going forwards himself.
The centre, he reasoned, made the most sense to attack.
It would give him the most amount of options, as far as redeployment once he was done with his foes.
He kept his eyes peeled for the ruby red of the Rogue Commandants, and it didn’t take long to find it.
