A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Quite right, but I do not wish to perish here," Karstly said, putting a hand to his cheek to flick off a line of flowing blood. "Least of all to you, Phalem. So unaccomplished. Khan was one thing – but you. You're a lesser."

"You know my name?" Phalem said. The insult was overwritten momentarily by the surprise of having the enemy know his name.

"I know many things," Karstly said. Phalem could have come to that conclusion himself, hearing Karstly speak the Verna tongue even more adeptly than he himself did.

"Then you will lose many things when you die," Phalem said with an air of finality. He could afford to delay no longer. He shouldered his way past his Rogue Commandants, allowing space for himself to do battle.

Karstly shrugged. "The world shall lose more than me. But with your death – I will gain much. All those supplies I see stacked up in your corners. I am quite excited to try them. What do Verna rations taste like?"

The taunt prompted a strike from Phalem. He could bear the insults no longer. No man had the right to behave so confidently on the battlefield. This was a place, of all places, where honour should be upheld, for men's lives were made equal. With the span of a single sword stroke, every one of them could be reduced to the same bloated corpses.

General Khastly caught the blow. He had more than enough time to let it swing past him, but he seemed to catch the strike with his sword more as a demonstration than anything else.

CLANG!

The sound of steel on steel rang out, and Karstly's sword arm remained unwavering. "Indeed, General Phalem, I do suppose that is about what I would expect from you."

The Verna General's eyebrow twitched, as he put even more strength in his sword arm, only to see his sword pinned in place. "Impossible!" He declared out loud, not out of disbelief, but outrage. He drew his sword back again, and swung another strike, even faster this time. He was confident in his physicality.

If it took mere reckless brutishness to hammer Karstly into the ground, then that was exactly what he would opt for.

Even that, however, was a mistake. The pull back had been too rash. Karstly was not a foe that he could afford to take such chances around. The General's sword flashed, and a sword slash appeared across Phalem's front. It was not a deep blow, but it was more than enough to anger.

Phalem finished the strike that he had started, using his short half-moon sword more as a hammer than a blade. He threw a swift blow, intending to launch a barrage. Karstly caught the first, and then knocked aside the second as it came, interrupting Phalem's rhythm. Once more, though, Phalem dared to strike.

"Another mistake," Karstly said. Phalem had given a step, and he hadn't put up his defence to acknowledge it. Another slash across his torso punished him for that fact.

The Verna man growled, feeling the redness of his cheeks growing even redder. Never had he been so infuriated.

"DO NOT LOOK DOWN ON THE VERNA!" Phalem bellowed, raising his curved sword above his head to deliver a blow with all his strength.

General Karstly deflected it almost contemptuously. "Look down on the Verna? General Phalem, it is you that I look down upon. I could not make such short work of any other General amongst your ranks. But then, I suppose this is why you were stationed here, wasn't it?

They judged the chances of anyone making it here to be slim, and they supposed that in a fort like this, with ten thousand men, even you couldn't bungle it."

The Verna man was purple in his fury. Every one of Karstly's words was hitting a sore spot for him.

"Contemptuous… invader… You look down upon us, as all Stormfronters do. Your arrogance knows no bounds!" Phalem said, putting as much power as he could into a horizontal slash. Again, Karstly deflected it with ease.

"Once more, Phalem, you make a mistake. Yours is an ancient people. I have learned much from your texts, both on military matters, and in the arts. It is you, exclusively, that I look down on. I pity Khan. He and I fought such a proper battle, and then his subordinate had to go and throw everything that he had gathered away…" Karstly said, shaking his head.

Phalem's mind went white. The only thing he wanted to do was murder the man in front of him. He could not even think to speak. His arm flung out before he even knew what he was doing. It was the most perfect blow he thought he'd ever delivered.

But that perfect strike was merely met with a sigh from Khastly. "Do you know nothing of combat? Do you think you can miss again and again, and you will be no weaker for it?"

His sword had moved, but Phalem struggled to find what he had sliced. That was, until, his hand began to fall from his wrist. Not only did his sword miss the target – it didn't even manage to stay pointed in the right direction. It fell, and pierced the ground, the thick hairy hand still gripping it tightly.

Karstly took a moment to acknowledge the defeat in Phalem's eyes.

"Now you see," Karstly said. "You called this an invasion. It is not. It is a conquering. And with your lands, I have conquered your spirit. Your head will make a fine addition to my name, Phalem."

His sword struck again. This time, Oliver thought he could see a degree of mercy in Karstly's blade. There would have been safer ways for him to finish Phalem off, but Karstly went straight for his neck, cutting his head from its shoulders with a single swift blow.

It rolled to the floor, dragging the golden plumed helmet with it. Only when the head landed to Karstly's smile fade, and only then, did he give an honest word to the deceased.