A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Well… But you have shown that you are accomplished," Karstly said eventually. "Indeed, I do believe we all saw your battling at the head of the Patrick arrowhead when you were given the opportunity to open this battle. Violet Commandant Chang, was it? That was good work indeed. That was a battle worthy of more than just a single Violet Commandant's head, I would say.

One would not be exaggerating if they supposed that it was then that the battle began to shift in our Stormfront favour. I shall give you an added hundred gold coins, Commander Firyr. If your formality had not been lacking, it might have been more. That is a weakness you will have to work on – but for now, we will celebrate your strength."

Oliver tilted his head. 'That Karstly…' There were so many layers to what he did. Everything seemed to have more than one intention, more than even two. Three seemed to be his bare minimum.

He'd managed to award Firyr for his strength, despite his rank, demonstrating something to the other Karstly men about his own desires for strength above all else, but at the same time, he had placated the Captains by announcing an apparent deduction for his inability to be polite, and encouraging the other Karstly men towards the same. It was far too clever.

"Let this be a lesson, men of mine," Karstly continued. "We are in a position where we must value strength above all things. We are far behind enemy lines. We have naught to rely on but the men beside us – even if that man be a peasant. I am not asking you to forget the lines that separate us all, I am instead asking you to exercise your cunning, and to see the worth in all men.

For as outnumbered as we are, each man of ours needs to be worth three times or more than that of the enemy."

He made it seem like an impassioned speech, but it was the sort of followup that Oliver had learned to expect. Everything was so contrived. It was all a story of Karstly's wielding, but it worked wonders on the men.

As the Captains were placated, the infantry stirred. There were men up there, receiving rewards, that were not even Commanders, like that of Kaya and Karesh.

There were others receiving rewards who had no business dealing with nobles, like Firyr, and then there were others still, from Houses like Verdant's, so famed for things far removed from combat, demonstrating that they too could wield physical might.

General Karstly took the unusual composition of the Patrick army, and he used it to his advantage, cultivating more of what he wished amongst his men. Or so Oliver thought, in part. Another part of him thought that General Karstly simply liked invoking a degree of chaos and discomfort.

With the returning of the Patrick men, Karstly began to wind down his awards ceremony. "That, I do believe, includes the rewards," Karstly said. "You have all fought hard, and with honour. There is work to be done, now. We have rested well, I can see. There are Verna bodies to burn, and fortifications to be solidified, as well as Verna supplies to go through.

I would see it all done before sunset."

He gave that impossible declaration, and he began to march away. Those ten thousand Verna bodies burned all before sunset? Oliver did not think there was a single man there that believed that was possible. It was a matter that would take days to settle. Rarely was human life reduced to such a pile of mundane labour.

Still, that wasn't why the men were stirring again. They hadn't heard the talk of the fire, and thought – like Oliver had – how impossible it was to see that done, and accomplish all the other items on the list that Karstly had announced. Their gazes were directed his way, and their thoughts were on him.

It was the Patrick men that murmured the loudest, as they looked his way, frowns written on their faces. Still, the other men of other battalions did much the same, though with less enthusiasm. Their faces were pulled in frowns, as if they could not understand something, and more than a few shared the slightest of whispers.

Karstly must have heard them, for he paused a few steps down from the top of the mound. He looked up at Samuel. "Hm? Have I forgotten something, attendant of mine? I can't help but think that I'm making quite the foolish error…" He put a hand to his chin. "But whatever could it be?"

Once more, Samuel was forced to put a considerable amount of effort into keeping his face straight. "There is one last item of business on this list, my Lord," Samuel said. "One last name that has not been accounted for."

"Oh, is that right?" Karstly said. "Well, I suppose I am only human. I do not know every soldier in my army quite yet. So we've another Sergeant or Sergeant-Major that has struck down a Violet Commandant, have we? Very good. You men have my praise.

See him appropriately awarded, Samuel."

Now Karstly's eyes weren't even on the man, he was making to walk away again, and there was intention in his footsteps. He caught Oliver's eye for but a second, the smallest of smiles written on his lips.

Oliver shook his head, ever so slowly, smiling a small smile of his own. If that was what Karstly wished to do, then so be it, he thought. 'I do not need such accolades. My goal now is a concrete one. All that I wish for is something that only practice can give.'

If Karstly wished to end the ceremony, then as far as Oliver was concerned, he was all for it. It would mean more time for his own practices. Karstly enjoyed his cunning little ploys, and Oliver thought it best to simply leave them to him. There was no use in growing irritated over them. It was too much wasted energy.

By the time he had finished growing angry at one ploy, the next would already be there waiting for him.

Now Oliver himself turned on his heel, and began to motion with his hand for his men to begin to move. Of course, as was Karstly's way, that was exactly when his call interrupted him – at the most inopportune time.