A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

There came then a roaring explosion of cheers, from a morale that should have been extinguished days before. With each sentence that he spoke, General Blackwell wove the threads, turning their sin against the Verna into something like a challenge. Making it seem a feat to be proud of.

'And off the back of my supposed achievement,' Oliver said, smiling self-deprecatingly. 'You win, Blackwell. You and Karstly both.'

"Seven Rogue Commandants. That alone would be achievement enough. And yet our Captain Patrick has claimed the head of General Zilan. For his significant contributions to the victory of our campaign into the Verna, Captain Patrick shall receive two years' worth of a General's pay – for indeed, these are the achievements worthy of a General," General Blackwell said.

That caused a stir. Even Oliver had to pause for a second, as General Blackwell's eyes fell upon him. There seemed a degree of earnestness there, despite everything.

With a push on Oliver's shoulder from Verdant to remind him to move, Oliver picked his way forward, to a roar of cheers from the men. He did not make the mistake of thinking that those cheers were exclusively for him. It was a fire that Blackwell had brewed, and in brewing it, he had claimed ownership of it.

Oliver shook the man's meaty hand, feeling the strength in it as he did so. Just that passive bit of strength that Blackwell was able to muster unblinkingly was enough to remind Oliver that there were still distances in the Fourth Boundary that he had yet to travel to. The augmentation offered by Command was not a gap he could hope to overcome straightforwardly.

"You did well, Patrick," Blackwell told him. "I mean that when I say it. You did not meet my expectations, but in this area – in achievement – you most certainly surpassed them. You have rushed ahead in a zone that most men would give organs for, but you have stagnated elsewhere. Your blade runs ahead of your mind. I can not endorse giving you a rank above Captain.

These are the achievements of a Sword. It is your very blood that you are fighting against."

Oliver nodded. He felt he had more to say to Blackwell. He wanted to condemn him once more for the savagery that he had committed against the Verna. But this didn't seem like the time, nor the place. He could feel the other Generals studying him, and he could see Karstly smiling at him.

This was their environment, Oliver knew, and he found himself agreeing when Blackwell said he wasn't any closer to being a part of it.

With no reply to be had from Oliver, Blackwell said no more. The young Captain returned to his men amid a roar of cheers. Even in that roar, the Patrick men made sure that they shouted the loudest, louder than anyone could possibly hope to. It was enough to pull the other cheering soldiers out of their hypnosis, just to stare in wonder at the noise that they were capable of making.

"You have done well, my Lord," Verdant said, smiling as Oliver returned beside him. "Those promises that you made, you were able to meet them."

"Ah, those promises," Oliver said. "Barely. Those that I made before the campaign began, I have been lucky enough to make some of them. Those made on the campaign, however… I wonder how it is, Verdant, that I can feel weaker than I did before I arrived."

"You are tired, my Lord. Much has happened. Your achievements were overshadowed by a wrongness that ought not to have been committed," Verdant said. "It makes you no weaker for it, in reality, but it doesn't surprise me to hear you put it that way."

Oliver fell into his thoughts, as the ceremony continued. The tension that he'd had at the start of the campaign, that will to perform to the highest extent that he could, he noted that it had drained out of him in its entirety. He no longer felt the excited rush to see his sword tested. Tired was the only thing that he had in its place.

He wanted to return home, and then in thinking so, he worried for the state of it.

He was snapped out of his thinking when a name that he recognized popped up. There had already gone General Broadstone and General Rainheart. The latter had been awarded more than the first, and was given two years' extra pay for the shattering of Zilan's army. For Karstly, however, Oliver expected a good deal more.

As did the rest of the Stormfront men, if the expecting silence that descended was anything to go by.

"General Karstly," Blackwell began. "Your contributions to our campaign have been significant. Integral would be a more fitting term. From the start to finish, you have been an important pillar in ensuring the Battle Board balanced in our favour. You began this campaign in obscurity, and now I say that you shall end it with the beginnings of legend.

We, the men of the Stormfront, salute you, and we take honour in seeing your story unfold."

The men thrust their fists up into the air, cheering that fact. Even Oliver, with the grudge that he felt beginning to grow against Karstly, could not deny that the man would play a pivotal role in history. He already had. In their single campaign, he'd cemented himself as instrumental in the Stormfront's future, and the terrifying thing was that he still seemed to have more room to grow.

"You began the campaign with difficult orders that I was forced to give you. You received such orders eagerly, and with a contingent of a mere five thousand men, you broke through Khan's ranks, and within the same day, you slew General Phalem, and you captured the Lonely Mountain from him. Alone, that would be a remarkable feat. Yet you returned.

You have ensured that the enemy knows to fear your name. You made certain that even Khan could not ignore you. And then, in the closing stages of battle, you slew another General in Harme, cementing our victory. For your achievements, you shall receive the added sum of ten years of General's pay," General Blackwell said.

"As young as you might be, already do I see the potential in you to become a Commanding General on the next Stormfront campaign."