A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 1914: Tears of the Gods - Part 3
Two thousand cavalry Tiberius must have headed, all heavily armoured, and it was two thousand infantry, all veteran Patrick men that Verdant had seen brought with him. Just the sort of sword that Oliver knew how to wield best.
The state of his heart was a swirling, chaotic, stormy mess. But in the centre of it, there was that black jewel, bearing itself as certain as it could possibly be, feeding Oliver his anger, allowing him to set fire to himself in his rage. That rage needed to burn hot indeed, in order to break back the wave of overwhelming grief that so threatened to drown him.
"General Patrick, how swiftly you come!" Tiberius tittered to himself, as he re-angled his cavalry, to match Oliver and the men that he was fleeing towards.
"My Lord," Verdant said, seeing with relief the fire that burned in Oliver’s eyes, and at the same time, feeling the guilt that came with it, knowing in truth what he had done to Oliver, and how he had harmed him, in seeing such a state invoked.
"I need it now, Verdant," Oliver said. "That sword that you spoke of. This man – this man more than any other. He has to die. He will die. Here and now."
"Ask for it, my Lord, and we will give it to you."
"MEN OF MINE!" Oliver said. "BIND TO ME! STRENGTHEN YOURSELVES! GIVE NO QUARTER. CAVALRY OR NOT, WE WILL CHARGE THROUGH THEM, AND WE WILL SEE JUSTICE DONE!"
"""URAHHHHH!"""
It was he that they relied on more than any other. The faith that Verdant had in him was echoed by those other men. From Blackthorn, who saw with relief that Oliver had regained himself enough to command, to Gar, who seemed more than excited about the prospect of charging cavalrymen head on.
There was barely enough time for the maneuver, given how quickly Tiberius was moving. But Oliver barked them towards it regardless. As much Command as he could wield, all of it stoked with the highest degree of rage. As much strength in his sword as he could ask for. That blade of Dominus Patrick, drenched in the want for vengeance.
The two forces swept towards each other, evenly matched, but only in number. For the cavalry that Tiberius commanded, and the lack of dedicated spearmen amongst the Patrick number, it was reckless at best, and foolish at worst. It was Oliver Patrick in his eternity. He’d given such foolish commands before, and on shear strength, he had seen them pushed through. His men took faith in that. It was the same as before. Their belief swelled.
Oliver cut through the first man, making contact with the enemy first, attempting to break their charge. He almost lost his seat in the saddle in the process, finding himself surprised by the degree of resistance that those armoured men offered.
He gathered himself hastily, and swung again, and then again, catching two armoured men in two swings, and felling them, but finding himself slowed to a degree in the process. His anger burned through that resistance, melting away steel, finding himself more and more. It swelled before him, until he was as large as a mountain, unwilling to yield to any more.
He was aware of the heavy cavalry crashing in past him, and crushing the men that he found there. They swept through with near sickening ease. Only the Commanders and Captains seemed able to stand their ground. The rest found themselves trampled, as if it was a tsunami that they were trying to stop.
"Famously reckless," Tiberius said, as he pulled his sword free, anticipating the timing, that scar on his cheek and lip a gruesome thing now, especially with his stitches when he pulled his face into a smile. "Famously foolish... and I’d wager, famously quite dead?" He tittered again, his eyes cold with hatred. He wondered how it was that he could hate a man so much so suddenly. From a distance, he almost admired the stir that Oliver had caused amongst his allies, especially in the battle against the Emersons. But now, in person, he realized quickly that Oliver embodied everything he despised. Those parts of Blackwell and Skullic that evoked his rage – they weren’t just parts of Oliver, they were him in his entirety.
Gar stuck by Oliver, as Oliver had bid him to. The two wrestled their way forward, surviving the wave of cavalrymen, looking for Tiberius amongst it all, and then finding him.
"GAR!" Oliver shouted. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢
The Sword lunged, clearing the way. Reckless enough that he seemed to catch Tiberius off guard for a second, if the surprised look on his face was anything to go by. The perfect opportunity. Oliver would not miss it. He drove Nelson in through the gap Gar had created, and he ran himself straight at Tiberius.
Tiberius took up the challenge, pushing his horse in towards Oliver, making no attempts to swerve.
In close the two came. Oliver’s sword flashed, and then Tiberius’. Oliver found himself surprised by the so-called Emperor’s speed.
Then the two were beyond each other, embroiled in melees, with no opportunity to turn back.
There was blood on Oliver’s sword after the exchange. A fresh addition to what he had already claimed. But it was a pitifully small amount. Oliver knew where he’d caught Tiberius – just under the eye, small slice graze.
"Damn it..." Oliver cursed, as the pain kicked in, running up the full length of his left arm.
The exchange was not one that had favoured him. A gruesome slash spilled blood from his arm at an alarming rate. He tried to bend it, to thread the hand back to join his other on the grip of his sword, but he found that he could. He let it hang there uselessly, biting his teeth to grind back the pain.
Already bloodied, already wounded, his mind a mess, and his army even messier. If Oliver had looked around, he would have found only chaos. But the pain forbade him even looking that far. Both the pain of his heart, and now the pain of his arm. He had to keep a tight grip on both of them, to contain them, and he limited himself in the process.
