A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Blackwell too nodded his satisfaction. They would have hoped it would be so easy from the start – that Skullic would have been able to dismantle them in such spectacular fashion so readily. But it was the illusion that their lesser numbers presented that made them so difficult to deal with. As soon as Skullic imagined himself to be dealing with a far mightier force, he knew exactly what was to be done, and was able to deliver it with the sort of reliable overwhelm that had made him so celebrated.

"Hmph… Took him long enough," Karstly said with a snort, receiving a raised eyebrow from Samuel in the process.

"It bothers you that the first victory goes to Skullic," Samuel noted. "That was a stiff blow from Tiberius. It could have flattened him."

"And pathetically, it almost did," Karstly said. "The victory goes not to Skullic, but to Queen Asabel, who was kind enough to hold his hand when he was beginning to lose his head."

"Come now," Samuel said, not unkindly. "We both know very well that numbers present themselves as an illusion, as far as this man Tiberius is concerned. Another man, less adaptable than Skullic, might very well have lost us the battle there."

"That was only his opening blow, Samuel," Karstly said. "It is pathetic that we're celebrating to this degree over the slaying of a mere thousand men."

"We celebrate the disarming of a trap – the overcoming, even if small, of a piece of Tiberius' strategy," Samuel said.

"There is far worse to come. And they're wasting far too much energy on the smallness. Tiberius is angered now. We've trampled his banners. He'll come at his worst, and they hardly seem prepared for it."

"We've wounded him, General," Samuel said. "We've wounded a creature that seemed invincible. That there is an achievement worth noting. Our soldiers will fight better knowing that the enemy can bleed."

"...I aim for more than to simply wound him," Karstly said, unsmiling. "Prepare yourself. I doubt we will escape the confines of Tiberius' next attack. And when it is our turn to plunge into the darkness, I shall hope that you can keep your head, Samuel."

It went without saying that Tiberius was not inclined to let Skullic's insult go unpaid for. The cheering of Blackwell's army brought his smile to twitching. There was true fury in his eyes – a maddening sort of fury. He nodded to himself, stilling the smile before it could burst into true rage. "Very well," he murmured, "very well." He rounded upon the pale-faced man that he had been speaking to earlier. "No comment? No reassurances for your Emperor?"

"You will find victory regardless, Your Majesty."

A sword flashed, and his head was set to flying. A cold, ruthless act, directly in opposition to those warm spirits bellowing from the other side of the battlefield. The headless body of plate armour crumbled after its head, blood spilling out of it, as it spasmed in its death throes. The silence that it soon brought, as those cheering voices faded, brought another nod from Tiberius' head, his great golden, multi-tiered crown wiggling as he did so.

"Now that's more like it," he said. "You did well, Cerberus. I had wondered how we might quiet those yapping dogs, but it seems that your idea was far better than mine."

He sniffed when the corpse remained as still as the dead were likely to. "Well, I can't say you've ever been much of a talker," he said. "Very well, let us see how we might twist this. We spy their weaknesses, as obvious as a lighthouse on the shore during a dark night. They, however, celebrate them. A most minor victory, of the most troubled sort, and they celebrate them! That's madness, if ever there was a name for it. Very well, we can use madness to our favour as well. Very well, I say, we give them no quarter. We toy with them no longer. We throw it over their heads, softly, and gently, a goose-feather pillow, and we suffocate them with it."

He gave the order, and the entirety of what remained of Tiberius' front row was set to marching. Nine thousand heavily armoured men, of the same sort that had caused such a deal of trouble for Skullic earlier. That was a painful reminder for them, if their silence was to be taken for anything. The colossus that they had feared a finger of could afterall move. And this time, it was set to attack the fullest length of their hill. And what good even did that hill do them, if the previous engagement was to be taken as evidence? All the advantages were in their favour, and still they had struggled so mightily.

There it was, as the coldness once more set in, and the enemy in front of them seemed to grow in size and in menacing. Those that would receive him, and every General in Blackwell's army, observed it with a degree of grimness. Skullic's victory had brought that wave of morale, but only for the strength that those thousand men had shown. Only for the difficulty that they'd proved in defeating them.

At the same time too, however, Skullic had presented a solution. He had shown what magnitude of creatures they were, and how much caution they ought to be treated with. That was a thin ray of hope. To battle, immediately from the start, with the same level of vigour that he saw the enemy finished off with. That was about all they could aim to do.

From atop the hill, the Generals gave their orders. Their archers took their positions, and they began with their hail of arrows. The spearmen too, at the front of their ranks, began to stiffen.

"QUICK VOLLEYS NOW, QUICK VOLLEYS!" Broadstone called, setting a steady rhythm to the tone of his voice. He would not have minded if they used the fullest capacity of their quivers there and then. He simply wanted to see a good degree of volume brought down on those marching men, before they could set foot at the bottom of the hill.