A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

He stepped to the right and shifted his grip, sliding a second hand on the weapon. He cleaved an over-eager man from shoulder to hip in the style of overwhelm, hoping to inflict some sort of fear onto the enemy.

But their morale hardly budged. It was like they couldn't even see what had happened to their ally, and the brutal way that he'd died.

If they didn't see, the soldiers did.

"ALL MEN! CHARGE!" Northman bellowed from across the room. "THE MAGIC ONLY WORKS ON THOSE ON THE STEPS! BUTCHER ANYONE WHO DARES TO STAND IN OUR WAY!"

Northman had come up with his own explanation for how the magic worked, though it didn't do anything to explain how the arrows had disappeared earlier.

Oliver's explanation for it, to him, still seemed to be the most likely. The fact that the magic itself wasn't yet particularly strong. In order to deal with the likes of humans, various conditions had to be met. After all, the magic power needed to dispel arrows and the power needed to engulf humans was not equal.@@novelbin@@

He killed two of those men before he was forced to dart out again. In such numbers, his momentum had almost no time to build. He had to rework each attack freshly, and form a new style of approach with trickery, throwing them off balance again.

He did just that, though it proved to be even more difficult than the time before. Each time he did it, the effectiveness of the trickery style lessened, as the enemy grew used to it. He had to feint several times to the right before they truly seemed to position themselves as though he was going to go there.

Then he dove towards the left once more, as the soldier streamed across the centre of the cavern.

He knew what he had to do. He'd forced them into this battle because of his own whims – he had to make sure that their role in this was as painless as it possibly could be. He needed to fold the ranks of the bandits at once, if it was at all possible.

He grit his teeth, knowing he had to go faster. He couldn't be held up by a mere fifteen men – now that he'd killed five of them – not when he had the opportunity to drastically multiply the effectiveness of the soldier's initial charge.

"More," he demanded from himself. The opportunity for progress was there. He was still basing his combat movements on Second Boundary theorems, he could do better than that, and he knew it. There was a higher plane of combat to be reached, something closer to what Dominus had achieved, his vision of the world.

He went backwards again, looking for anything that might give him the edge. He needed something new. He knew combat was about building a certain amount of flow and controlling it, but he needed the tools to control that flow, and he needed them now.

The different styles that he'd developed, they were all well and good, but they weren't adequate for dealing with the problem that was currently demanded that he face.

In defiance of all the hopes of the nobles, and even the hopes of the High King, Oliver could find within himself a reason to get stronger.

Ingolsol cackled at the notion. "Well, if you must try, why don't you move faster – cause more chaos, hit them all at once. Be a whirlwind of threatening."

"Your solution is be faster?" Oliver murmured, even in the midst of combat it seemed an insane suggestion… unless, of course, he'd only recently passed the Third Boundary and had yet to fully push the speed that came with it to the limits.

By sheer force of will, he could not reach for that which was previously denied to him. Willpower alone was never a particularly optimal strategy for constant progress, but when it was already available to a man, and he needed it in a hurry, it proved an apt solution.

He placed his foot down harder and inflicted even more demands on the muscles of his calf. He shot forward just a little faster. Another step, and he was even faster still. That, however, wasn't the limit of what Ingolsol had told him.

What Ingolsol preached was control, though he said it poorly. It fed into that which Oliver was already beginning to learn. Indeed, go faster, control more of the space, but not just through subtle movements, but through actual threats.

With his increased speed, that was possible. He didn't need to feint. He could lightly cut one man, truly exerting a presence there, before he was darting along the line to deal with the next.

There were often opportunities presented, just for the lightest amount of contact with the enemy, a crossing of swords, even if it wasn't always for the finishing blow. Oliver, before, had always only engaged fully when he was sure he could finish a foe.

Now, speeding amongst the fifteen of them, tapping them lightly with his blade, he spun a web like a spider, birthing that whirlwind of control that Ingolsol had recommended to him.

It was a terribly primitive form, but the potential in that simple idea was astounding, especially when it came to controlling large groups of foes. There were optimal styles for different tasks, but through a simple increase in speed alone, now, when compared to the ordinary man, he could dance around them, as fleeting as the wind itself. Read exclusive adventures at My Virtual Library Empire

The first wave was light touches and then the string of his control bound more tightly. It wasn't mere speed, though he didn't know it, he was already applying his knowledge of battlefield control to each step that he took. Not only was he moving far more quickly than the average man, he was moving more effectively too.

His web grew tighter as the soldiers neared. His focus increased and he demanded more of himself. The light touches of the blade grew harsher. A deep gash here brought a man to grunt, another lash across a woman's calf made her kneel, and another blow managed to catch a man's eye. He went through all of them, weakening them, herding them like sheep, chipping away at them little by little.