A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

And now he fell into silence once more, as he read off the number. The Commander in question had a grin as wide as a cat's sitting on his face. One hand was on his waist, and the other cupped his chin. It was a sickening level of smugness. His own men growled at him in dismay, even if they cheered for the mighty feat.

It was a feat enough to stop the cheers of the footsoldiers, and turn them into an awed silence. This was a hero upon heroes. They'd celebrated the others as such, and they hadn't managed half the kills that he had. As a mere Commander, he'd slain more Violet Commandants than some Colonels had.

They studied him, as he walked forward with his exaggerated swagger. They saw the size of him, and thought him to be bigger than an average man. They took in every detail of him… and their efforts rewarded them with nothing but puzzlement.

"Hah, you hear that Karesh? You're a thousand years too early to be challenging me," Firyr said, pointing at him. Ever since he'd crossed into the Second Boundary, the Karesh that had seemed so close behind before was now a great distance away, and Firyr never tired of rubbing it in. He pointed his fun, loud enough for a good portion of the surrounding men to hear it.

Then, he walked his way up. His walk was as thuggish as his tongue was. There was a man there that one would expect to find outside of taverns, robbing patrons of their hard earned coin. Somehow, the soldier's uniform that he wore seemed foreign upon his soldiers, despite how clearly well used it was.

"…You are to be awarded the sum of eighteen months' extra pay for your work," General Blackwell finally continued.

"Thank you, General," Firyr said, giving him a sloppy salute.

General Blackwell stared at him. Broadstone glared. Rainheart frowned. And General Karstly hid a giggle behind his palm.

"Are you a Serving Class man as well, Commander? Quite the feat that you've achieved," General Blackwell said.

"Actually, General, I believe him to be a peasant," Karstly told him in a feigned conspiratorial whisper, speaking as loudly as he would have if he hadn't bothered to lean in close.

"Yeah, I'm a peasant," Firyr said with a shrug. "Anyway, thanks for the award, General. I'll send more heads your way in the next battle."

He scratched at his nose, and then hurriedly extended his hand, as if trying to speed up the whole transaction. With a blank expression, Blackwell took it. The vacant look that he wore didn't fade, even after Firyr had returned back to his own men. He had a hard time gathering himself before the next announcement.

He saw two more names of Patrick men written beside each other, and once more, he decided to read them out together, in an effort to move the awards ceremony forwards.

"Moving on, then," he said, coughing into his hand. "We have the achievements of Commander Verdant Idris, and Commander Lasha Blackthorn. Lasha Blackthorn has secured the heads of fifteen Violet Commandants during the course of her battles, and Verdant Idris has secured the heads of thirteen.

Lady Blackthorn is awarded thirty months' extra pay, and Verdant Idris is awarded twenty-six months' extra pay."

The soldiers looked, as if begging that they wouldn't once more come from the same group of a few hundred men, but their expectations were sorely disappointed when Verdant and Lasha detached themselves from the front line of Patrick men.

They were numbers enough to suck the souls out of the men. Cheers didn't come anymore. They were less heroes, and more demons. It was a level of strength that they could no longer fathom.

"How'd they manage to get that many?"

"They had more battles than the rest of us."

"They went with Karstly, didn't they? They had Khan… Then that Phalem… Then… Pissin' hell, what comes after that? We only had one army we had to fight against, that isn't fair…"

"Oh, you reckon more fighting and you would have matched them? How come you didn't get a single Violet Commandant's head in your battling then?"

"Well… That's…"

"Well-served to the two of you," Lord Blackwell said, greeting Idris and Blackthorn. "You take after your father in terms of you might, Commander Blackthorn. And you, Commander Idris, seem to be a black-sheep amongst your folk. I had not expected that such strength would arise in a family known for its prowess in matters outside of the battlefield."

"I am still far from my father, General," Lady Blackthorn said, bowing her head as she shook his head.

"As I am far from mine," Verdant said, doing much the same. "I was allowed a clumsy strength, it seems, but even with it, I fail to match my father."

"Those are two great men to attempt to rival," Blackthorn said. "One day, I do not doubt that you shall manage it. You are both of an extreme youth. In another decade, I imagine you will be commanding armies of your own."

"I cannot imagine that, General," Verdant said with a measured smile. "I am sworn to serve my Lord, and that is what I intend to do."

"An admirable dedication," Lord Blackwell nodded. "And you, Lady Blackthorn. Surely you would not deny the world the existence of another Blackthorn General?"

Lady Blackthorn shook her head. "As of yet, I cannot imagine it…"

"For what reason?" Blackwell pressed, holding her there longer than he had intended to.

"Captain Patrick will be General long before I," Blackthorn said. "Until he sits the position, I would not dare to imagine myself in it. I have learned the battlefield by his side."

"…It seems that your Captain inflicts in you an unusual loyalty," General Blackwell said. "But in sticking so closely to him, his flaws become your flaws. You restrict yourselves."

"Pardon, General," Verdant said daringly. "But are achievements of the Patrick men not noteworthy? I would never dare to believe I could have earned your acknowledgement in any other place."