A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 815: Victory’s Skeletons - Part 9

"Rofus, bring your squad forward. Cut them with a cage," Cormrant said calmly. Even with the right flank as breached as it was, that didn't seem to be enough to get him to panic. After all, the Stormfront had been warring with the Yarmdon for centuries – they knew exactly how to handle brutishly strong men.

Soon enough, the momentum of FIryr's men was brought to a halt. Their charge was absorbed and they were thoroughly surrounded in a secondary little pocket amongst the ranks of men. It was the sort of thing that Cormrant was able to pull off because the rest of the slave army was still showing a lagging amount of aggression.

"A shame," Verdant noted. "I was almost excited. I find myself liking this Firyr man – the Syndrans are an interesting bunch, are they not?"

"It's over quickly again," Blackthorn said. "A paperwall will take a while to harden."

Such was their pronouncement, and indeed it looked to be so. Judas' charge had failed to form a spark, and Firyr was too deep into enemy territory to make a second miracle happen. He and his men were being suffocated. If they were real spears, the lot of them would have been dead long ago.

Then, all of a sudden, shouts began to arise from the most unexpected of locations.

"FORWARD!" A man shouted, as passionately as any Sergeant could ever hope to. It was almost like he was on a real battlefield the way he shouted. This man was over to the left flank this time. He was easily recognized as one of the military men that Oliver had spoken to.

"FORWARD!" Again, this time from the centre of the men. Another military slave with dead eyes, shouting loud enough that it started the other fear-stricken creatures out of their passiveness.

"FORWARD!

"FORWARD!"

It was as though they all shared one mind. The same thing came out of their mouths, one after the other, with the same amount of furiousness. All at once, the army was alive. It erupted. It was like seeing a pile of wet kindling finally catch the flame. With so many men urging them on so furiously, the slaves could stay idle-footed no longer.

A reckless charge, clumsily done, barrelled straight into the left flank. The Sergeant took a stab to the chest, winding him, but he didn't slow. He went in bullishly with his shoulder, knocking the man off his feet. The slaves followed after him, inspired by his recklessness.

Then, further along the line, towards the centre this time, the same thing happened. Judas was suddenly given the support that he'd longed for, as another man came slamming in next to him, throwing himself dangerously forward, all passion, with hardly a thought, making a sea of noise, enough that it surprised even Judas.

The man quickly recovered though, and his defeated expression blossomed into a smile. "THAT'S IT! FORWARD!" He said, encouraging them, laying back into the enemy with those new men by his side.

Suddenly, the whole mass of slaves was pressing against the enemy, as they should have been from the start. Skullic's men wore panicked expressions. Suddenly, their spears were seeming less like a strength, and more like a weakness.

With no pointed tips to put a full end to their enemies, the jabs they delivered back were quickly overcome, and padded swords delivered an immense amount of pressure in turn.

Cormrant was forced to pull the cage off of Firyr, just to keep the rest of the line in place. He gave the order, with a drop of sweat running down his face. Now the left was about to be overrun. It was a perfect disaster. Skullic's men had been lulled into passivity, and then the main brunt of the force had come all at once, unified in their aggression.

The line began to fold, and desperately, Cormrant gave the orders needed to keep it together.

"Fall back! FORWARD-POINTED RETREAT!" He shouted, signalling for the men to keep their spears in place, but to march slowly back, in an attempt to deal with the sudden momentum that the slaves had picked up.

It was too little too late, however. They'd been caught flat-footed, and now no matter how well-trained they were, the hooks of the different slaves were in too deep. The right flank had collapsed entirely, and no one noticed. Now, it was Cormrant that was sent collapsing.

"Gah!" The Vice-Commander cried out, taking a sudden blow to his midsection, knocking him off his feet. Firyr loomed over him, a triumphant look on his face. He hadn't held back a single point of strength with that thrust, and Cormrant was likely to spend a long time getting up.

"Enough!" Oliver said, before it could go any further. Firyr looked set to continue wailing on Cormrant, whilst he was on the ground. It was small wonder that the Syndran military higher-ups had seen issues with him in the past. "Victory goes the other way this time. Rest, and in an hour, we shall go at it again."

"My Lord…" Verdant said quietly, as the camp got louder from a whirlwind of activity, with angry Skullic men throwing their weapons aside in embarrassment, and hurrying to find somewhere to sit, whilst the slave men wore the first traces of any sort of smile that Oliver had seen from them. "I have always made a point to avoid asking you such a direct question, but what on earth did you do?"

Now, with the priest asking, Blackthorn and Oliver's other retainers were looking for an explanation as well. Five sets of eyes implored him for an answer, and he merely gave them a shrug. If not for Verdant mentioning it, the others would not even have known that Oliver had done anything at all.

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After all, here he stood, a good distance away from the battle, and he hadn't issued a single command during it.

"Fair enough," Verdant said, straightening, regaining his composure. "I overstepped my bounds in asking. Do forgive me, my Lord. But also, my commendations. Once again, you have overturned my expectations."