A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"I do not look far enough away that I could ever see an endpoint," Oliver said. "I can only see weaknesses that need solving, and I don't think anything else can take my attention until they are done. This game of Generals, when I spoke to Blackwell years ago, I said I wanted to try its path on a whim. Both he and Karstly say I am better suited as a Sword.

That could well be… Perhaps I could try and fly to the same heights that Dominus once did, as foolish as it might be to aim that high… But in the end, Verdant, I think I simply hate to lose. Years of victory have given me pride. I can feel it growing more strongly by the day. Those merchants in the Guild of Ernest… Blackwell, and Karstly… My pride dares to compare me to them.

Something in me tells me that I ought not lose, no matter the distance between myself and my opponent."

Oliver knew exactly what that piece of him was. It was the Fragment of Ingolsol. The pride of a God that knows itself to have power enough to rule all of the heavens. It distorted his vision, and he knew it to be doing so… But he could not deny, it was a beautiful dream, and a beautiful battle.

"Oh, you do not know the half of it, Vessel," Ingolsol said.

But it was Claudia too that had tainted him. Both their visions had bound him. Ingolsol's pride, and Claudia's want. Ingolsol knew the throne already belonged to him. Claudia wanted to count the stars, and feel the changes of heights as she walked towards it, step by step.

Quietness followed those words. Oliver realized that he had spoken with a passion that he ought not have given voice to. No longer was he right on the knife's edge of existence. He could no longer be quite so easily quashed. And still his hunger had not dulled – it had only grown. His want to challenge the strong, and to overcome them, had bred into an all-consuming thing.

"You're a terrifying man, my Lord," Verdant said with all the honesty he could muster. "After all you have already achieved, I can not find it in myself to doubt you. I wonder how Blackwell and Karstly would feel, if they knew how relentlessly you pursued them? I wonder how all the Lords of Stormfront would feel, when they realized that hungry eyes were cast their way?"

"Oh, did I speak a threat to these Lords?" Oliver said. "I thought I had only made mention of merchants and Generals."

"You speak a threat that could be heard as far away as the High King," Verdant said. "I do not imagine you would allow yourself to lose to him either."

In response, Oliver showed his teeth. It was less a smile, and more the bearing of a predator's fangs.

"Nila, sweetling, you cannot mope forever," Mrs Felder said. "It has been two days already. They are looking for you. The more time that passes, the more worried they grow. I can't keep sending them away forever."

Nila lay curled up before the fire, more like a cat than a person. Her eyes were only half open, but even that small glimpse of them was enough to see the sadness that lay inside.

"I can't, mother," she groaned.

"You must," Mrs Felder said, gently, but firmly. She gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Nila, dear, you must."

"I can't trust myself," Nila said. "I'll do it again, and it'll be even worse."

"Even so, you have to try," Mrs Felder said, with iron certainty. "You will regret it, if you leave things the way they are."

"I already regret it, mother," Nila said miserably. "It could not have gone any worse than it did. I tried… I did what I could… But I could not have hurt him more. I feel terrible. He has enough going on already, and I have only added to his wounds."

"Little Nila," Mrs Felder said, stroking her head. "Ought you not to have more faith in him than that? Is he not the hero of this village? Did he not come home and share news of his slaying of a mighty General? Do you believe that your unintentional wounding of him could keep him down forever?"

"…No," Nila said. "But that isn't any reason to add to it again. They're busy now… There's some sort of plan going on. Greeves is up to no good, and Oliver… is… interested in it, I think."

"Then isn't that more proof that he's on his feet, mm?" Mrs Felder said. "You're curled up here, for fear of how you've hurt him, but he is busying himself. Would a wounded man be able to keep busy."

"He would…" Nila said. "I should just die, mother. It would be so much easier for everyone. We could resolve all of this, and I would be—"

With a chop of her hand, Mrs Felder struck Nila's head. It wasn't particularly hard. She hadn't done it to hurt the girl. But it was enough to get her to stop her sentence.

"No more of that," Mrs Felder said. "I will not lose a daughter. Now, you get up. And you bring Oliver this, by way of apology."

Mrs Felder forced a small box into Nila's hands. The girl stared at it numbly, and rubbed sleep out of her bleary eyes. "A lunch box..? But it's way too early for that."

"It's past noon," Mrs Felder said. "Up with you now. Wash your face, and I will help you with your hair. I know it's a struggle for you, sweetie. But I can't let you give up – not when I know how badly you wish for it to work out."

Nila groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was stand. When she did, her head felt dizzy, as if she was sick. No matter how much she slept, she still felt tired, and that was only truer now. She was as exhausted as she'd been weeks ago, during the battle.