A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 875: Reaching - Part 6

But there was a principle inherent in counter attacking that captured Verdant's attention strongly. The way it opened up an enemy, and left them a step behind, ready to take whatever attack that was to come their way…

Blood was dripping down Verdant's hands, making the shaft of his spear slick. He eyed that blood. Gadar came in with his next attack. He was a methodical and ruthless foe. He was willing to chip Verdant slowly and patiently away, he cared not.

With his face near, Verdant did what every Lordling ought to have been ashamed of doing – he cast the blood of his hands towards his foe with a flick of his wrist. Even Bohothmothia would have begrudged that action – there was no honour in it. There was nothing priestly.

"But I ought to be more than what I have been!" Verdant declared loudly. That declaration only served to confuse Gadar further. He looked at the blood on himself, stupefied. He thought he'd understood his foe – he'd gotten a sense of his personality through the many blows that they'd exchanged. Now, all of a sudden, in a fit of nothingness, it had a chance.

Out of the blue, Verdant's spear came racing, and Gadar started, hurrying to stop it. He was too late, however, for the target was not him, but the horse beneath him. Inspired by Oliver's earlier proclamation, Verdant did the same, unaware that he'd emulated his Lord in more than one.

Talon could hear the cheers of Oliver's men as he hadn't heard them before. Understanding came with it.

"You…" He said, his anger tainted, just for a second. From all the way over here, Oliver was commanding his men. He was making use of his connection with them. "So that's your angle, is it? You defeat me, and you inspire your men in the same fell swoop, achieving total victory?"

It wasn't exactly their plan, but it encapsulated it all the same. Oliver shrugged. "It seems a waste of time to share our plans with dead men, General."

"Dead men?" Talon repeated with a snort, shaking his head. "You were a dead man a half second ago. Perhaps I should have killed you then... But then, I would have been robbed of this. You challenge me both ways, do you, boy? As both a General, and a Sword?

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Do you believe yourself capable?"

"I have proved myself capable," Oliver said.

Talon shook his head, and laughed. "You have proved yourself gutsy, that is all. You have barely the faintest understanding of what Command can do. LOOK! See how it is used properly."

The General tilted his head to the sky, like a wolf howling to the moon, and he bellowed with such might that it was a wonder he did not tear his vocal cords. "THE FOOL OLIVER PATRICK LIVES BY THE BAREST THREAD! CRUSH ALL THAT HAVE THE SLIGHTEST TRACE OF HIS SENT!"

It was like seeing the same thrust thrown by a master spearman, and by an amateur. An amateur could still inflict wounds, provided that his timing hadn't been off, but his attack still didn't hold up to the likes of a master. A master could end it all in a single one of his thrusts, and then some.

General Talon's shout was such a thrust. Honed, and deadly, the man wielded Command better than Oliver could ever dare hope to wield even his sword. His words lashed onto the back of men that he'd barely put any time into connecting with, and it struck like lighting all the same.

His words brought inspiration, and they brought power. The drowning Macalister men redoubled their efforts. A flagging Oomly pulled himself up from the ground, and roared, whilst Gadar mopped the blood from his face, and dragged himself to his feet from beneath his horse.

He gave quick commands to the cavalry, and then put the battlefield to right within his head, reacknowledging the enemy in front of him, and arriving at the conditions necessary for his demise.

Even Rivera, despite his wound, and despite his advantage, surged forward with quickness. He'd once been accused by women of having a cold heart. None could have accused him of it then, when they saw the passion with which he fought.

Even against the likes of a woman, his love for his blade shone through, and he held nothing back, driving for the victory against the bloodied creature once hailed as one of the Academy's foremost treasures.

It was in the infantry that the greatest change was seen, however. With there being so many of them, it was like seeing a sea at storm. Everything was different. The lines the Patrick officers had been working so diligently to keep straight burst in several instances of passion. Soldiers streamed through, and chaos ensued, as attacks came from both the front and from the rear.

Now Oliver could see the battle, but only because Talon had enlightened him. He felt like he was seeing Command, rather than men. In a single instant, General Talon had snuffed out the last of the Patrick struggles, and secured overwhelming victory for his men.

It was the first glimpse that Oliver would catch of a General on the battlefield, and that awe would stay with him for the course of his life.

He realized once again, even more strongly than before, that the man in front of him was dangerous. Beyond dangerous. Oliver's sword could just barely reach him, when he exerted every fragment of martial prowess that he had – but as soon as General Talon opened his mouth, tens of thousands of men could be turned into monsters.

"You have a look of understanding on your face," Talon said, spitting blood from his mouth. "Good. Now you shall die enlightened."

It was the General that came forward this time, seizing the moment, his strikes weighty to the extreme. Oliver just barely managed to knock each blow aside, but that was only because he'd figured out the nature of Talon's attacks earlier.