A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 768: Inspecting Greeves’ Soldiers - Part 4

"In your terms, Stormfronter, they would have called me Sergeant," the man responded.

Oliver glanced at Greeves. The merchant had a smug look on his face, with his arms crossed. Evidently, he was particularly pleased with himself. Oliver had asked him to do a job, and he’d done it well. What Oliver saw in front of him were indeed fighting men, but would they fight for him?

"There’s two more military men in the other shed," Greeves said. "You can’t ever accuse me of not doing a job well." The man was grinning as he said it, proud of his own competence.

"Free them," Oliver said, offering no sign of approval.

"Eh? Did you not hear what I said?" Greeves said, his smile faltering slightly.

"I did. Did you hear what I said? I approve of what you have achieved. I do not approve of your methods. Men should not be treated like this," Oliver said.

The merchant sighed, but he was well enough acquainted with Oliver that he didn’t complain. The slaves looked even warrier as they watched the conversation that Oliver and Greeves had shared, as though they doubted what they were saying. There was firm distrust behind those eyes, as if they expected some trick to be played on them.

It did not help that Judas was glowering at them all the while. He’d retrieved his mace from his hip, and was twirling it threateningly in his hand, all traces of his new family man nature forgotten – he was back to being Judas the thug.

"Fine," Greeves said. "Eh… Where the fuck are those keys. Do you have em’, Judas?"

"The keys? I thought they were welded on. You need a smith to get the cuffs off, don’t you?" Judas said, looking confused.

"There’s a lock on the master chain, linking them all together, obviously. You don’t want a big fucking metal snake all the time, do you?" Greeves said. "Damn it, seems like I’ve left it in the house. I’ll have to do it later, boy."

Oliver’s sword flashed, and there was a great clanging of metal on metal, as chain links fell to the floor. The Syndran’s man’s eyes flashed with momentary fear, as he acknowledged the sword that was so close to him, and then he noticed the lack of chains binding his hands together.

"I will have you freed of your cuffs within the hour," Oliver promised the man. "I say the same to the rest of you."

"Come on, boy, don’t blunt your sword, I’ve the key, if you’d only wait…"

But Oliver’s sword struck again, and again, and again, until each chain holding a man’s hands together was struck down, and so too was the master chain that bound them all together. The men seemed dumbstruck by the freedom of their own hands, but not a single one of them dared to celebrate. It was too much to ask a slave to trust it.

"Ha… you’ve done it already, I suppose," Greeves said, leaning against the wall. "You need not be so uptight. A man who has spent years at a time in slavery could endure an hour or two more."

"Could you?" Oliver said, shooting him a serious look.

Greeves met his gaze. "…No," he admitted reluctantly. Oliver nodded, appreciating that he was at least being honest in that. He turned back to face the man, looking them up and down once more, answering the questions that were written in their eyes with a look from his own.

"From today on, you are free men," Oliver told them. "If Greeves has not already told you, I am Oliver Patrick, and should you wish it, you will be in service to me. I am in need of soldiers, and if you would fight for me, I would pay you for your troubles."

"…Pay us how?" The Syndran from earlier asked.

"I will pay you a sum commensurate with your experience. As you prove yourself under my command, it will rise. For now, it will be half the usual sum of wages that a soldier is to receive a week," Oliver said.

"How much is that?" The Syndran pressed, on behalf of the rest.

"5 coppers a week," Oliver replied, seeing Greeves grimace out of the corner of his eye.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

"They ain’t worth that much yet," he spat. "That’s twice as much pay as an average job. Half that, or even a quarter would be fair enough."

"It’s still cheaper than it would have been to recruit Academy graduates, which is why you have been chosen," Oliver said. "My position as a noble, to put it bluntly, is a fragile one. I am in need of fighting men to raise an army as quickly as possible."

"…5 coppers?" The Syndran said, sounding doubtful. "That… unlikely, I think."

"What were you paid when you were a Sergeant?" Oliver asked.

"A silver and a half a week," the Syndran replied.

Oliver nodded. "If you prove yourself to be useful, then I have no qualms paying that same amount again. These men are not soldiers yet, after all. They will need someone to train them. If you can fulfil that role admirably, I would pay you for the work."

The Syndran still didn’t seem convinced. None of them did. It was too good an offer to be true.

"I do not understand," the Syndran said. "You have bought us. You own us. You cannot frame this as a choice."

"It is a choice," Oliver said. "As I said, you are free men, if you wish it. You could leave, if you wanted to, right this instant, but you would find yourself in the same position as you are standing in right now – free men, but weak men."

A few of the men bristled, hearing that accusation. None could dare accuse them of being weak, after all they’d been through. Still, Oliver stood by his words.

"Weak in your standing, just as I am weak in mine. A freed slave is still faced with a problem – how does he feed himself, and keep himself warm? A freed slave’s first port of call is to find a job, if he can, and steal if he cannot. Though, I would advise against stealing. You would not survive long in my lands doing so," Oliver said, making the threat.