A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

At that point, even Verdant did not have the quickest answer. "I do not understand what Blackwell is thinking," Verdant admitted. "But I will confess, my Lord, that I do believe myself to be glad for this time away from the battlefield, as premature as it might be. I have begun to doubt myself."

To put it so bluntly was uncharacteristic of Verdant, but Oliver had seen it himself in the last days. There had been a distance in Verdant's eyes that normally seemed so focused on whomever they were conversing with. He was not the only one either.

"Now is likely a good time to go," Verdant said. "The men, as excited as they were at the awards ceremony, seem as full of doubts as the rest of us. We cannot forget that the swords of our comrades were held at our backs, whilst we were forced to witness a massacre.

Sure enough, we saw that it was part of a grander strategy, and not done only for the sake of cruelty… But it gives a man a glimpse under a mask that he thought to be something else. Time seems a good solution to that, more than any."

There was a grinding of teeth from Oliver. He didn't like it. But in the same instance, he quite realized that no matter what option was presented to him, he wouldn't like it. The presence of Ingolsol only imbued that emotion with more strength.

There was a mystery to the Dark God that he had yet to truly acknowledge, and the more he left it untapped, the more he could feel Ingolsol's strength growing behind closed doors, and inciting him to recklessness.

"I hate it," Oliver said, honestly giving voice to the immature emotions circling about in his heart. "I hate following other men, Verdant. Why is it that I cannot do as the others do, and accept the orders that I am told to do? Blackwell is clearly wiser than me, and so is Karstly… Yet I cannot reject the thoughts that crawl into my mind, bidding me to go in a different direction.

Is this a fatal weakness? Can I go no further because of it?"

Verdant put a hand on his shoulder. "It is," the Idris man said honestly, more a priest then than he had been in a long time. "A soldier that cannot obey has little use. We have caused trouble on this campaign for all our achievements… And yet, even in saying that, I cannot in good conscience counsel you against yourself, my Lord. For without you, I do not think I could have kept myself of right mind.

If the entirety of the Stormfront army had stood and watched, without protest, I would have thought myself to be mad. Your weakness is the sole torchlight that I have to go off in navigating this darkness."

"I would go a step further, my Lord, and I would ask you something, on the nature of the progress that you guide yourself with, and you seem to know more than any other," Verdant said.

"I will stop you there, Verdant. Others know more than me. I only have the teachings of Dominus to guide me. He put into words what others do by instinct," Oliver said.

"And yet achievement shines so far above claimed knowledge. You are of the Fourth Boundary, my Lord, if we ignore the bitterness that currently fills us, we would see the profundity of that, and begin to properly take it apart, as we have not already," Verdant said.

"…"

"I shall continue. The progress that you know much of… Would it label your weakness as indeed a weakness?" Verdant asked.

"It would. It hinders me in this domain that I aim to climb highly in," Oliver said. "I had labelled a General as my path, all those years ago, and now I have failed to climb to where I need to be in it. True Generals have seen what I am, and they have rejected it, declaring me better for a Sword. And though it angers me, I cannot deny them. I know I do not have the same constitution as they do.

They declare it to simply be my youth… and perhaps they are right. I do not know what will change in me as the years pass. But even if they are right, a part of me cannot acknowledge it. I do not see myself killing a part of who I am."

"Indeed. Is the nature of your progress, as you know it, not to build?" Verdant said. "If you were to deny something, it would only ever be temporary. You would include it eventually, even if it was the worst of darknesses."

Ingolsol seemed to purr in agreement with Verdant's words. That had been the very first step for Oliver, to integrate that which he had denied in the form of Ingolsol. He had been able to survive the blight, but that had only been a mere precondition to starting the journey. It hadn't come with strength alone.

"So I say, my Lord, if it be a weakness now, by the light of it, I believe that it will be a strength later," Verdant said. "Your way is rejected amongst Generals, but only because of its lack of efficacy. I still believe in seeing you that competence might reign.

By the might of your sword, even if you are lacking in a General's qualities, by that sheer might alone, you have declared yourself to be a fine Captain. The finest, some might dare to say in light of your recent achievements. You ought to have seen the footsoldiers when they looked upon you. General Blackwell was honest in his praise – only honesty could incite a fervour of that sort."

"And so what is it that you tell me to do?" Oliver said.

"Do not deny yourself," Verdant said. "This time away from the battlefield will do you good – all of us. I believe that given time, you will find your own way, my Lord, and it will be a way that all we loyal servants of yours might be glad to follow. Mighty we can acknowledge Blackwell and Karstly to be, but their way has left us all disillusioned."