A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1044 Impatient Warriors - Part 4

1044: Impatient Warriors – Part 4

1044: Impatient Warriors – Part 4

“Idiot,” Firyr said, noting the lack of practicality.

That condemnation only made Chang’s strikes come faster.

Three this time.

It began with a strike towards his chest, of the same type that he’d thrown before.

Firyr didn’t make the same mistake again.

He blocked, and he twisted his shaft, sending the point far off to the side, escaping any injury.

And then, for the two strikes that followed, he simply shifted his head out of the way, and ducked the final finishing cut.

“Missed,” he said again.

Even after that perfect sequencing of parrying, he couldn’t be happy with it, for he had no time.

There were too many enemies for him to be satisfied.

If he was to cut them all down, he needed to be even more efficient.

“By the Gods…” Karesh said, his mouth falling open.

At one point, he’d been intending to compete with Firyr.

For the longest time, he’d thought them to be relatively evenly matched, with Firyr just ahead of him.

But the Firyr that he saw then, right in front of him, was nothing like the Firyr that he’d known.

This Firyr looked almost like a God.

“Not almost,” Oliver said.

“Exactly like it.

This is your power, Claudia, unspoken though it is.”

“I have not seen it wielded like this,” Claudia said.

“Of course, the swiftness of progress that comes when crossing a Boundary, that has always been noted – but that was meant to be over the course of weeks, and months.

Not minutes.”

“You know little, wench, for you are but a Fragment,” Ingolsol said.

He could not resist a good jab.

He’d forever been holding the strength of his own power over her, but never had they seen Claudia’s power utilised quite as insanely as they were witnessing now.

Even Ingolsol was hard-pressed to deny its effectiveness, even if the duration of its effect was short-lived.

“Who is that man?” Gordry asked despite himself.

He’d been ready to compliment him earlier, but now he was thoroughly intrigued.

For a man of such skill to be nameless – that seemed almost a crime.

“That would be Firyr,” Karstly said knowingly.

“Once, I do believe, that man was a slave.

Before that, he was a Syndran.”

Gordry gave the General a searching look for his knowledge.

He asked the question, but he’d hardly expected such a detailed answer.

For a General in Karstly’s position to only know his Colonel would not have been strange.

He’d only been put in charge of these men a few days ago.

In contrast to Gordry, Samuel appeared relatively unmoved.

He knew that for all of Karstly’s playfulness, there were too many areas in which he was most diligent.

The researching of his men was one such area.

He proclaimed himself a poet of the battlefield, and for that reason, he made sure he knew the characters that he would be using.

“Second Boundary, is he, General?” Gordry asked.

“I did not recall hearing another Second Boundary man amongst the Patricks.

I thought it to be only their Lord Idris, and their Lady Blackthorn.”

“Newly minted, I do believe,” Karstly said.

“New… Indeed.

A product of change.

The ripples of change is what our young Patrick is using.

A passing grade, I suppose I shall afford him.”

The smile on his face spoke a grade that was far beyond passing though, but he quickly wiped that away too.

“Ah, but I shall withhold judgment until we see just how far his predictions have extended.

If this is merely the extent of it, then I shall have to once again proclaim that this is not enough.

You have wrestled the stage for yourself, young Patrick – show these men that you are worthy of it,” General Karstly said.

It was interesting to Oliver the intensity that he felt watching Firyr fight.

Of course, he’d always celebrated the success of his men – but never had he realized just how much it could feel like he was battling himself.

It was very much in the spirit of the Battle board.

Firyr was one of Oliver’s pieces.

His victory was Oliver’s victory.

Somehow that fact hadn’t managed to hit Oliver with as much weight as it did then.

As a strategist, and a Captain, he did not even necessarily need to get involved in the frontlines himself, and he could still effectively wage war.

That, however, was dependent on the strength of his men.

This seemed to Oliver to be the very situation for which the Command Battle board was created.

To be strategically placed, and battling as they were – yet with the possibility of using Command to shift the battle.

With Oliver’s sword lacking, they were the only two tools that he had available to him, and it put the battlefield in an entirely different light.

Firyr battled on, unaware of the ponderings of his Captain.

He continued his chase of further efficiency, even as he gathered wounds along the way.

“Missed,” he’d say, over and over, recognizing an area that he could have improved, and then working the solution into the next attack.

He felt as if he was gaining ground at a rapid pace, but the weight of his own inadequacies continued to be suffocating.

Now, when the next cycle of attacks was successfully parried, he found he had a full step of time to make an attack of his own.

He tried a lunge towards Commandant Chang with it, but his attempt was immediately swatted down by Chang’s rangey lance.

The fact that Firyr had tried a counterattack at all served to infuriate the Commandant, and it was only with the most extreme effort that he managed to keep a handle on his range, continuing towards calm.

“Chang…” Amion said.

“There’s more to you than this, Chang.

Don’t be outdone by a man that’s already surrounded by so many men.

He’s a lesser, without a shred of sophistication.

He carries himself with the swagger of the uneducated.

You know how the weight of the pen lends to the weight of the sword – do not be outdone by a lesser.”

“I have a feeling he would perform upon hearing those words,” Jericho noted, listening in on his superior.