A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

No, there would be many powerful men that would see it as a threat. Old enemies of Dominus'. Men that had done the man irrefutable wrongs – men that had never rested easily without being able to see the head of their slain foe. And now they were the same men confronted with the remnants of an extraordinarily powerful son, progressing at such at rate that it defied conventional understanding.

Of course, such men would deal with such things in the shadows.

All seemed to know that, apart from Oliver himself. Asabel knew, that was why she asked the questions that she'd asked. Tavar knew it would come eventually, and so he preferred to keep Oliver's power cloaked in curiosity, without outright celebrating it for all in the Academy to acknowledge.

But likely none of them had expected it to come so soon. Not even Verdant had seen that far. He'd trusted that with only himself and the Minister of Blades present to see Oliver's ascension, that news of his Third Boundary break would not travel too far too quickly. But clearly, there had been a leak. There could be no other explanation.

"Careful, my Lord, there's poison on those weapons," Verdant said, seeing the hint of glittering green from the torchlight. Of course, assassins would stoop to such means. Even twenty men with two Blessed users couldn't assure them of Oliver's death. He was of the Third Boundary, after all. But Verdant knew that even then they'd underestimated the boy.

Even as a Second Boundary individual, Oliver had been comfortable able to deal with those in the Third.

"Oh, aye, he noticed already," one of the Blessed men said. He had a worn face, and a scraggly beard. A face that Verdant recognized.

"You're Alistar Hoofless," Verdant said. "I recognize that face. Your Lord died five years ago, and this is what you've been doing with your time? You're a mercenary now, is it? You've thrown away your knighthood."
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"We need no list of our sins priest," came the voice from behind them. A smaller man – much smaller. The second Blessed man.

"Ah, and you must be Fabian Small. It is my first time laying eyes on you, but that height, and that white hair, you're unmistakeable. Tell me, do you still fight with a needle as they say? Or have you resorted to brutish weapons like axes now that you've disavowed the oaths you swore as knights?" Verdant asked.

The little man drew the sword from his belt. A rapier. At least, that's what it looked like at first glance – but it didn't have the reach of a rapier, nor its thickness. It truly was a needle, just as Verdant had said. A crude needle, dipped in poison.

He saw the way their eyes were drawn to the greenish hue of his sword, and he shot them a sick smile. "Purple grass has a cousin, y'know. Black grass, they call it. Strange how such a small difference in shade turns it from a pleasant high to a frightening poison, ain't it priest?

You know they say, with the pain from black grass, just before a man dies, you can finally see what he's made of, beneath all the lies and pretences. When you see a man squealing in pain, that's when we really know him. I wonder if I'll get to really know you, priest?"

Verdant drew his sword. "Your like is not even worth troubling my Lord for. Your master has made a mistake. You could say he lacks vision – but then, all mortals do. I did, until Behemothia granted it to me. And now I see.

I see your death."

Alistar laughed heartily at that, a deep laugh, like a snorting bull. He pushed the remnants of his thinning hair away from his sweat-covered face. As much as they tried to play it cool, no doubt they were terrified. If they were discovered, they would hang. A more difficult and dangerous job it was hard to imagine.

"So you know these men?" Oliver asked, speaking up for the first time. He had a dangerous look in his eyes. Verdant could see the golden flecks sparkling in there. He could see the smile gracing his lips. He was beginning to get to know Oliver well, despite their short time together – and this was a side of Oliver he pretended not to see.

This darkness within him, the sort of creature that relished these kinds of situations. But that was the very component that attracted Verdant towards Oliver in the first place. With his vision, he could see the limbo that Oliver held in him.

"Oh, that's a level voice you're tricking us with," Fabian noted, spinning his needle around in his hand. "There's a lot of talking going around about you, boy. A bastard, many are saying. Can't be true born. No one was there to witness the marriage. A bastard boy, slain by a bastard rapier, in a bastard dark corridor.

That seems fitting, don't it? To tell you the truth – this is one of those jobs that I would have accepted even for less coin. I've a grudge to pick with your father. In his absence, I suppose you'll have to do."

"Dominus fucking Patrick. If there's a dead man that would have been better off dying far earlier, it's that bastard. Uptight pompous prick. He made our lives hell even before the old Lord went and got himself killed. Aye, spit on that man and spit on his memory," Alistar said. "It's a shame you don't look more like him.

I've dreamed many a night of killing the fool."

"Killing Dominus Patrick?" Oliver said with a laugh. "Gods, you are fools. Jorah, are you alright?"

Jorah had drawn his sword, joining Verdant. His brow was drenched in sweat as he faced off against the guardsmen. If Verdant had to guess, he would have guessed that the majority of them were true Academy hires, and not pretenders. Bribed individuals. Dangerous.

"My Lord, I would advise that we keep one alive for interrogation," Verdant said.

Alistar laughed at that. "You're fucking mad priest."