A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He jabbed his sword through a man's calf as he ducked, buckling him. He used the corpse to defend the poisoned spear points that came his way. And then with a swift toss, he sent the body amongst the ranks of the last handful of men. A stab to the stomach, a fist to the face, and a slash from shoulder to hip. They were dead within moments.

Alistar didn't have the time to be stunned. He saw an exposed back, and like the mercantile man that he'd become after abandoning his knighthood, he launched his attack, in a manner that all his old comrades would have deemed cowards.

Yet Oliver was already there, waiting for him. The second Alistar raised the sword up over his head, he'd sealed his fate. Too many moves had been allowed to Oliver's effect. In a battle with this small a number, that was more than enough. He was beginning to master the flow of combat in the same way that the spider mastered a web.

Each movement that Oliver had performed led Alistar to his own certain death.

When the sword came flashing down, Oliver had already disappeared. He was already by Alistar's side, not one step ahead of the man, but several. It was a completely different tightrope to walk compared to the battle with the Boulder Crab. There, he'd had to fight for every half-step. Here, the same level of skill bought him a distance that was insurmountable. It wasn't even close.

Oliver's sword was at Alistar's neck, and there was a single chance in hell of Alistar reacting in time.

But Oliver slowed his blade just a little – just enough so that Ingolsol could feast on the fear that lay in the man. As he saw his death approaching with such certainty, it infected his eyes, just as it had infected the eyes of all his comrades. With his position being so perfect, Oliver beheaded him with a single clean swing.

"Gagh!" He heard Verdant shout, and his head flickered towards their battle in an instant. Verdant clutched his side, as the point of a spear was pulled back out of it. He summoned his rage, and with the man so close, there was no way for Verdant to miss. He used his sword like a hammer, and brought it crashing down in the man's helmet, denting it, and his own weapon in the process.

Four men lay dead, and from the looks of it, Verdant had been keeping Fabian at a distance. But with the poison, the tide was beginning to turn. The men stepped up, far more confident than before. Jorah cursed, shielding Verdant's side, as he did his best to fend away the poisoned points that came searching for them.

Oliver joined the fray a moment later. The second he collapsed on their side, three men were dead. He moved with all the weight of a wrecking ball, even faster than he was earlier. Now, after all, it was not merely pleasure that Ingolsol fed on – it was Oliver's rage. A rage for the injury to that which was his.

"Bastarddddd!" Fabian shouted, seeing that Oliver had arrived. He looked beyond him, and saw the remnants of what became of the other side. The shock in his eyes was impossible to hide – but shock was part and parcel of the battlefield. The man recovered himself enough, utilising the same emotion that Oliver now fed on – anger.

"Then I'll take your other retainer with me!" He declared, seeing that he could reach Oliver, he darted forward. His speed for a Second Boundary dweller was almost impossible. He moved like a dancer through his own men. He was in front of Jorah in an instant.

Jorah had been so busy defending the attackers that came from his side that he didn't see Fabian until he was right in front of him, his sword drawn back, ready to deliver a critical thrust. By then, it was far too late for him to do anything. Even if he had tracked Fabian all the way, it was unlikely that he would have been able to parry the strike.
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The little man's sword was just too thin, and he moved too craftily.

Before that strike could pierce Jorah's skin, a force hit Fabian from the side. He was blasted out of his own formation, as though kicked by a horse. He slammed into the brick wall, and the wind blasted out of him, as he slid down to the floor. To his credit, he managed to get his feet under his but a moment later, but that didn't matter now that he couldn't stand.

Oliver stood over him, thunder in his eyes. He reached down not with his sword, but with an open hand.

Fabian had already dropped his own blade. All he could do as Oliver lifted him up by the throat was kick and squeal his indignity. It was no way for a knight to be treated, no matter what deeds he'd done. A beheading at the chopping block would have been far more honourable.

No matter how he kicked and pounded though, Oliver's grip didn't loosen. He pinned the man in place against the wall with his shoulder, as his left hand continued to strangle him.

"Bas—tard…" Fabian managed to squeak out between tiny breaths. Oliver released his throat, and grabbed his head instead, as his shoulder still held the man lofted above the ground. With a mighty thwack, he slammed Fabian's head against the wall. The shock in Fabian's eyes dizzied him, along with the blow stunning him. It would have been enough to leave it there, but Oliver drew his head back again.

Thwack.

Again.

Thwack.

Again.

By the time Oliver was done, what was left of Fabian's head was no more than the remainder of a bloody and cracked egg. Oliver let the body slide to the floor, covered in blood. Verdant collapsed then, his resilience running out. There were only three soldiers left, thanks to Verdant and Jorah's work as Oliver took care of Fabian.

But amongst these three, not a single one of them seemed to have the fight left in them.