A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"""AWOOOOOOO!"""

Somehow, he had the men raising their fists. It had seemed almost joking at first, but that joking had soon twisted its way into true passion. The smile had fallen from Karstly's face, and his voice had hardened with his expression, until each word was enunciated by a stabbing finger, and his eyes were aglow with passion.

His very cadence invited those cheers from all those hopeful men, daring to believe what their General told them. Daring to believe that here indeed they would find what they were all looking for – which, universally, was something more than they already had.

Even Oliver, for all his doubts about his man's character – if not his competence any longer, given all that Karstly had shown him – could feel his heart stirring. It was a language that he had spoken since young, and that he'd begun to long to speak once more. It was the language of progress, and Karstly had raised his fists, heralding its call.

"In the name of Claudia, we shall achieve it!" Karstly told them, riding the waves of their shouts. "We will snatch it from the strong, and we will make steel out of it! We will see strength in our enemies, and we will armour ourselves in it! We will look at the world through a seeker's eyes, and we will record all that it is willing to give us in the service of further strength.

Thus, we do swear it!"

"""AWOOOOOOO!"""

Even men that were not particularly religious grew fervent when he invoked Claudia's name at the right time. Feet stomped on the ground, and armour clacked. Again, from Karstly, Oliver saw the impossible achieved. Men that had just endured two battles back to back – and he'd somehow turned them back into starving tigers already.

"Enough," Karstly said, holding up a hand, and cutting off their cheering ever so suddenly, right as it reached its height. "Return to your duties, and do so with the future in mind."

So it was that four thousand men saluted at once. They had lost nearly a thousand soldiers getting through Khan, yet here they were, after having endured two battles, still full of energy after a long night of rest. Their high morale seemed almost like madness to Oliver – yet it was a madness that he was beginning to share.

The Patrick men drifted back to their quarters with the rest of them.

"It's not right. Both me an' the Captain got punished just because of who we are," Firyr said. "If we were like those other stuck up bastard nobles, they'd have had nothing bad to say about us."

"I think that's exactly the point," Jorah said. "They want you both to behave more like that. You at least, Firyr. I do not agree with the sanctions against our Captain, at least. For that is how we fight. We could not have done battle any other way.

And would we have beaten Khan without it?"

"Seeing Karstly make such light work of Phalem, I think we probably still might have won…" Kaya said glumly. "The man is a monster. I don't think he's going to make any allowances for us. We're nothing special to him."

"I don't think it's that bad," Jorah said. "He respects our strength at the very least, but not enough to let us operate as we wish. I suppose it's just a matter of learning how true armies operate, isn't it? But that was always bound to be the case."

"What are you thinking, my Lord?" Verdant asked, as the two of them quietly listened in on the conversation shared by their subordinates.

"I'm in agreement with Jorah," Oliver responded, quietly enough that he wouldn't intrude on their discussion. "The battlefield that these Generals fight on is a different sort to the one that I'd expected. Karstly's strategy extends vastly enough that us being out of place is a problem… But I still don't like having such a fleeting grip on my own fate.

I would like for there to be something on the battlefield that I can be allowed to face down, and emerge victorious over, with some sort of significance."

"You mean like Rogue Commandant Amion?" Verdant asked.

"Indeed," Oliver said. "But I find it hard to expect that we will get such a straightforward opportunity in every battle. I suppose we can only get stronger, and then when opportunity comes, as always, we will be better equipped to seize it."

"And in the meantime, you would take care to not step too far out of line?" Verdant asked, clarifying Oliver's point.

"I would. He supposes that he understands us. If he is a good General, he ought to be able to make use of us properly now that he understands the temperament of our men, and how it is we wish to fight. Even as we try to fight more like a normal army, we won't be as effective if he doesn't have a good handle on us," Oliver said.

It felt odd to him to give his authority away to another man like that, to talk of himself as if he was a tool to be used. With Karstly, however, he found that his reluctance to be lesser than it would ordinarily be. There was a degree of excitement that came in serving under a man like Karstly, with all his strange strategies.

Oliver wondered how exciting it might have been to play a true role in one of them.

"It is a good opportunity too," Oliver said. "For me, and for the rest of us. I had forgotten what it meant to follow another man's orders on a battlefield. It ought to make me a more accomplished Captain if I can put myself in my men's shoes every once in a while."

"That is indeed one way of looking at it, my Lord…" Verdant said carefully. "But I can't help but think that you would be better placed for the title of Colonel, if not something higher. Though you only have three hundred troops under your command, those three hundred that you do have exert an influence no lesser than that of a thousand. What could you do with that thousand?"