A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1022 General Karstly’s Plan - Part 8
1022: General Karstly’s Plan – Part 8
1022: General Karstly’s Plan – Part 8
“I suppose it is an opportunity to say the least,” Verdant noted.
“One-handed – or weak-handed – swordmanship.
I don’t suppose you’ve ever spent a considerable amount of time practising it?”
“Not to the degree that I will be forced to do now,” Oliver said.
“Eat, Blackthorn.
Wipe those tears from your eyes.
We’re still on the battlefield.
Your heart is a good one, but for the duration of our fight, you must harden it.”
“You as well, my Lord,” Verdant said, checking Oliver’s bandage and splints one final time to ensure that it was secure.
“Eat as much as you are able to.”
…
…
“FORM UP!
FORM UP!
WE’RE MOVING NOW!
FORM UP!”
Colonel Gordry again was who the Patrick men were assigned under.
The man acknowledged Oliver’s arrival with nothing more than an irritated glare.
Then, he promptly turned away, and began his positioning of the next Captain.
Oliver found it surprising.
The orders were being shouted, but the fact that men were responding to them as swiftly as they were, it wasn’t something that he would have expected.
They were moving as if they’d just awoken after a long nap.
There was stiffness in their step, but it was the sort of stiffness that seemed to roll away the more they moved.
Now they stood, and they stood ready.
Karstly was already on his horse, looking into the forest, his surcoat still stained with the blood from the earlier battle.
The men were looking at that General differently now.
For such a pretty man, he’d worked a madness on the battlefield.
It was the sort of thing that had won him both respect, and fear.
He was a difficult man for the ordinary infantry to define, and that made him terrifying.
It was not just discipline that kept them moving as they were, but it was fear as well.
General Karstly’s Command drifted over them like a smog, without him even having to say a word.
The fact that they stood here now, on the edge of the forest, after breaking through an army of forty thousand – a number far higher than they expected – was miracle enough.
And for the man that had won him such a victory, there was no question as to why they were preparing for battle once more without even having rested.
Oliver drew his own officers towards him, recognizing the need for leadership now more than ever.
The men were bleary in their eyes, even if their movements were still swift.
Physically, they seemed almost at normal capacity, but mentally, they would be far from sharp.
He sought to rectify that in advance.
“Firyr,” Oliver said.
“This battle will be built around you.
Or at least, the battle of the Patricks.
You are our most powerful piece at this moment.”
Firyr flinched.
“Most powerful piece..?
Me?” He was stunned for a moment.
For a man that boasted as much as he did, when an honest evaluation of his strength came like that from Oliver, even he couldn’t help but be rooted to the spot.
Of course, that did not last long.
“Hehe, well, that makes sense, Captain!
This whole Boundary thing, it took me a while to get it, but I’m pretty much invincible now, I’d reckon.
All of yer look exhausted – not me.
I could do another two days of this.
I could battle throughout the night.”
“We’re not forming our charge around you, Captain?” Jorah asked, wrinkling his brow.
That was their typical battle strategy.
They’d make use of Oliver’s overwhelming might, and build their advance using the advantage given by their attacking might.
“I will still be in the vanguard, do not fret,” Oliver said.
“Our plan and way of doing things shall remain largely unchanged.
The only difference shall be, that instead of waiting to see where opportunity will strike, we can predict it in advance.
It will be around Firyr, and we will be there to take advantage of it, far more swiftly than we usually are.”
Verdant nodded.
Like Oliver, it was the sort of thing that he could say with confidence.
Strong men – men of high Boundaries, like the third or the fourth – were remarkable for the fact that they could consistently exert an incredible influence on the battlefield due to their strength.
But men that had just recently passed through a Boundary were remarkable for a different sort.
Especially those blessed by Claudia.
They were able to progress faster than anyone rightly should.
It made them the source of many great opportunities on the battlefield.
“That makes sense,” Jorah said eventually.
He only had theory to go on when it concerned the Boundaries, but he’d observed enough Boundary Breakers that he could draw conclusions even without having interacted with a Boundary Break personally.
“I suppose today is your day then, Commander Firyr,” he said, patting him lightly on the shoulder.
“Heh, makes sense, doesn’t it?” FIryr said, shrugging.
“Sorry Karesh.
You said you were going to catch up to me?
I don’t see that happening now.
Nah, you were ten years too early to be saying stuff like that!”
“Damn it…” Karesh said, clutching the hilt of his sword with gritted teeth.
It must have been even more upsetting to see Firyr as lively as he was when everyone else was on the edge of exhaustion.
Kaya seemed to pick up on that as well.
“He seems to have more energy than everyone, at least,” Kaya noted.
“Maybe that’s the real reason that he’s getting used?” fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
Firyr’s celebrations came to an alarmed pause, as he glanced to Oliver for reassurance.
Oliver simply shrugged in response.
“You’ve broken through the Second Boundary.
That’s the reason for it, Firyr.
It ought to be reason enough.”
“See?” He said, running an arm around Kaya’s neck, and trapping him in a headlock.
“Don’t try to be putting my achievements down, you little runt.”
With a weighty hand atop Firyr’s, Kaya pried the man’s fingers away, one by one, before promptly throwing him over his shoulder, and slamming him onto his back.
“Gah!” Firyr cried, coughing.
“W-what the hell’s that!
I’m a Second Boundary man.”
“And you’re weak at close combat still,” Kaya said, struggling to hide his smirk.
“I suppose you’ve still got work to do, huh?”
“Damn it…”
“Yorick,” Oliver said, speaking over the noise.
“How are your men holding up?”
