A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"The rank of Captain ought to be taken over by the Vice-Captain," General Blackwell announced. "As such, our list contains more promotions to Vice-Captain than it does Captain. We can only thank the Gods for that small mercy. I do not think I would find much disagreement from my fellow Generals if I were to say that the Captain may be one of the most significant positions in our armies.

They are the bridge between the planning of a General and the actions of a footsoldier. It is always a sombre day when we would see them replaced."

In his telling of it, the footsoldiers seemed to know to show their sombreness as well. Oliver found it odd the way they all averted their eyes, as if not wanting to meet General Blackwell's gaze.

"And then we have the ranks of Colonel," General Blackwell said. "We have but two promotions, for two long serving men. Captain Floren and Captain Wetlin. Both your services extend more than ten years. I hope you will do me the honour of accepting this new responsibility."

The fact that he even had to bear it as a question, rather than a command, brought to mind for Oliver Captain Lombard. Who other than Lombard would refuse such a promotion, with all the gold and honour that it was likely to bring with it? The two men that General Blackwell had named certainly didn't. They were both in their middle ages, with their chests puffed out in pride.

They dipped their heads as they accepted Blackwell's honour. Oliver found himself measuring them, and finding that they were far from being Captain Lombard's equal. Lombard was stern enough that he could have kept whatever happiness he might have been feeling from leaking out – these two men had a long way to go in that regard.

When the talk had shifted to Colonels, Oliver knew very well why the gazes of his men were on him, but he didn't try to meet a single one of them. He had known that he would not be given that responsibility. The talks with Karstly and Blackwell had confirmed it. Even if he had been, he was not so sure he would have accepted it.

Though he found himself disagreeing with both Generals on their course of action, he wasn't so sure he disagreed with the position of Colonel still being too weighty a one for him as of yet.

"…I wonder if blindness has afflicted their eyes?" Verdant murmured. "Do they forget whose sword it was that allowed General Rainheart's victory to take place?"

"Don't, Verdant," Oliver said. "I do not wish for it."

Verdant scowled, but said nothing further.

"And now we move onto rewards for individual achievement," General Blackwell said. "A Stormfront man, no matter what rank, ought to aim for a head worth taking. Our enemy has their ranks clearly displayed so that we know a target from a distance away. It must be noted the courage in that. They offer us a challenge, and our men have taken it head on.

Those unranked men who have seized your share of important heads have already been your promotion to Sergeant. We speak now of those soldiers, those Commanders, those Captains, Colonels and Generals, who have managed to slay those of Violet Commandant rank and above – and we honour them."

The list of names that he had gathered as far as slayers of Violet Commandants went was short enough, but it was one that each man whose name was called up could receive with a great deal of pride. Here, the beginnings of cheers broke out from amongst the men, when they heard particularly outrageous achievements.

For here, it was dangled in front of all eyes, upon whose personal battles their victory had been built.

"Commander Tully. Your Captain has assured us that you have claimed the heads of over three Violet Commandants. An impressive feat, Ser," General Blackwell went on. "For such a feat, you are to be rewarded the extra sum of six months' pay, with a month per head."

"Commander Jacobs. You, too, have achieved a feat worthy of boasting. Four men of equivalent rank to you – and to be still alive to tell the tale. Your future will almost certainly be a triumphant one. You make it clear that you bear the burden of your rank well. Perhaps there will even be room for growth beyond it one day.

You have been awarded the extra sum of eight months' pay."

The footsoldiers cooed enviously, and they got a good look at each of the men. These were the heroes, Gods in mortal flesh. They were who they aspired to be. Promotions were one thing, but it was the head takers that took much of the attention. Two month's extra pay per Violet Commandant head?

They could hardly wrap their head around such money – especially when those extra months were all in Commanders' pay.

The heroes were made even bolder for the fact that the footsoldiers had seen those Violet Commandants themselves in battle. They'd seen the way their half-moon swords had carved their way through the ranks. They were like storms, natural disasters, to be fled wherever they went. For the Sergeants and the unranked, they were to be feared.

They might have dreamed of slaying one themselves, but even in those dreams, they could not fathom taking them head on.

Every detail of those men that walked up to receive such honours were recorded. They studied them. Commander Tully was a man with thick shoulders, like that of a bull. He had a tight, square beard, and a scar covered face. The soldiers nodded at his appearance, as if confirming their personal biases.

'Mhm, you've got to be well muscled like that in the hopes of standing a chance,' Oliver could practically hear them thinking.

But then there was Commander Jacobs immediately after him. A man that was rail thin, with skin as pasty as that of a ghost. He looked like a corpse, freshly freed from the dirt. His eyes were watery, and he had a nervous twitch in his fingers as he walked up. He didn't seem to fit the typical image of a hero… But there was an unsettling element to him.

Where Tully had the image of strength, Jacobs seemed to have the image of unease. They were both different weapons, but unease was a harder one for the common man to understand. They instead saw his frame and thought, 'perhaps it's just skill… If he can do it, with a body like that, perhaps I can do it as well.'