A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1214 The Victorious - Part 2
1214: The Victorious – Part 2
1214: The Victorious – Part 2
Word was sent to the Lonely Mountain, and more of Karstly’s men were exchanged for free troops.
Supplies were sent as well, along with attendants, and amongst those attendants there included Blackthorn’s Amelia and Pauline.
To say that they were distraught at the state of her would have been an understatement.
The two of them had been unable to do anything but weep until their Lady had woken up hours later in order to comfort them.
Oliver still felt their harsh gazes as he walked around his camp, and he did not blame them for it.
His wounds could not have been said to be in a good state either – but he had not rested any longer than usual.
A mere eight hours was all he needled.
The energy that came with a breakthrough to the Fourth Boundary was incomparable.
It was ever so different to the almost terrifying breakthrough that he’d had when he’d prematurely entered into the Third.
There were more than a few matters to dwell on in regards to it, especially when it concerned Ingolsol, but he hadn’t quite found it in himself to give the matter the fullest of his attention.
He kept it locked behind a door in his mind, acknowledging the light that peered through, and occasionally taking a glance past the door to remind himself of its existence, but he otherwise avoided it.
The matter of Lombard’s death preoccupied his mind first and foremost.
On the night that most were celebrating their victory, the Patrick men had held a funeral for Captain Lombard and Vice-Captain Tolsey, and all the men who had once been a part of Lombard’s forces.
It seemed such a cruel stroke of fate.
For them to meet extermination, when the other half of their army had managed such a valiant attempt at survival.
But such was the cruelness that a General’s presence made for, and Zilan presence could have been called nothing if not monstrous. freёweɓnovel.com
The taking of Zilan’s life ought not to have helped with Oliver’s grief, but in large part, it did.
The hatred that he’d felt for the man – however unjustly, given the mutual affair of their war – had pushed him towards new heights.
Now that the man had passed, he couldn’t bear him any true animosity.
There were the lingering embers of anger there, but aside from them, there was only a gaping quietness.
The loss of yet another something in a world that felt all too small.
Verdant had kept an eye on Oliver, despite his own need for rest.
He’d even praised him for keeping himself functional, when in the past such a cutting passing would have taken him far longer to process.
“Incompetence won me it,” Oliver said.
“The only cure for it was more progress… And I was blessed to receive that cure, rather than the death that I ought to have been dealt.”
“If a thousand strategists had gathered, a thousand would have predicted your death at the hands of Zilan, my Lord,” Verdant said.
“The impossible was achieved.
Captain Lombard would not regret such a victory.
To have lost a mere five hundred men for the sake of a General?
Strategically, those numbers are overwhelmingly good.
Of course, that is only strategically…”
“Neither General Karstly and Blackwell has sent me a message,” Oliver noted, playing with a stick from the fire, watching the flames hungry fight to rise up the length of it.
“Their message will come, in time.
No doubt they have other things on their mind,” Verdant said.
“Or could it be that you were looking for a compliment, my Lord?” He said that part teasingly.
A risk that only the priest would have dared to take, given Oliver’s sombre mood.
“Not quite,” Oliver said with the barest smile.
“I simply wait for their judgement.
Karstly gave me a position of responsibility.
He has every right to condemn me for how I handled it.
The same can be said of Blackwell.
Though Lombard was only a Captain, his worth to Blackwell extended far beyond his rank.”
“My Lord, would you allow me to be cruel?” Verdant asked.
“Would that you were cruel more often, then your loyalty towards me might not feel quite so suffocating,” Oliver replied.
“Then,” Verdant began, shifting himself, either to deal with the discomfort of his wound, or what he was about to say, it was hard to tell.
“Might I point out that such a thing is mere self indulgence?
You were given command of a thousand men.
Your duty was to afflict a noticeable effect on the battlefield.
What magnitude of effect would you say that you have achieved, my Lord?”
“I won’t sing my own praises, Verdant,” Oliver said.
“Nor do I expect you to, my Lord,” Verdant said.
“I will sing them for you.
Your handling of Lombard’s loss has been far more sensible than I might have expected from you, given your usual impulsiveness…”
“You’ve a razor tongue tonight,” Oliver noted.
“…However, I would ask even more of you, cruelly so,” Verdant said.
“They are very much a strength of yours, but sometimes, a strength needs to be trimmed, it needs to be cut back, to live for future growth.
I have praised you in the past for allowing them to carry you higher – but now that you eye even higher mountains, my Lord, you would need to move more carefully.”
“Progress, is that what you speak to me of?” Oliver said, surprised.
Rarely, if ever, did Verdant give him advice on matters of progress.
He seemed to believe that it was a domain he couldn’t freely enter into, given the sageness of Dominus’ past tutelage.
“A manner of it, I do suppose,” Verdant said, almost embarrassed.
“I am aware of my overstepping.
I wonder if I even ought to say it.
I fear to change you, my Lord, for all your strengths.
But so too do I fear to see you rise higher.
Karstly has been receptive to your personality… But I fear that the other Generals would not be so.
It pains me to think that for all your strength, you might be robbed of opportunity for the sake of such pettiness.”
