A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Oliver gulped. Skullic knew it was a tall order. These men hated Oliver's guts. Now that Skullic had released his hold on them, that hatred became even more clear. What Skullic was asking him to do seemed straightforward enough… but he'd never done it consciously. He didn't even know if he could do it.

He didn't know any of the sorts of commands that were required for leading men.

"Return to inspection formation," Skullic said, dismissing them backwards, so that Oliver could start in the same position that he had begun in. The men quickly shuffled to do as he had commanded, as though someone was pointing a cannon at them, compelling them to do so.

Their spears were leaning against their shoulders, and they had an almost petulant expression on their faces. Oliver couldn't guess how he could get them to move, when they clearly had no desire to follow his orders. Enjoy exclusive chapters from My Virtual Library Empire

"Make use of me," Ingolsol said. His words weren't ones of subservience, they were the words of a devil offering a troublesome deal, trying to tempt a mortal into some sort of unbalanced sacrifice or other. In Oliver's case, though, it seemed to be more likely other people that would receive the worst of what Ingolsol had to offer.

"Straighten," Oliver said, his voice hard, commanding. Skullic tensed slightly, seeming to expect something. They looked at the soldiers, judging their micromovements, trying to see if there was anything reminiscent of what Skullic had achieved… but there didn't quite seem to be.

The men went through the motions of straightening themselves, such that they weren't disobeying orders in front of a General, but they didn't exactly carry it with dignity.

"Coral them," Ingolsol said. "Offer them the sorts of insults that they deserve."

"Praise them," Claudia said instead. "Shower them with a belief in their ability."

"Is that straight?" Oliver said, twisting his face. "Do you all have a skewed sense of perspective, or is that really the best that you can do? I said, 'straighten yourselves!'"

He put something more into his voice, the vaguest trace of energy, almost on the verge of something concrete, but not quite. There was anger on their faces. They straightened up with a stomp of their feet, fire in their eyes. They were excited – in the most chemical sense – but they were not servants to him in that excitement.

Skullic watched, intrigued. 'Indeed, it is easier to make a connection to an excited vessel,' he mused to himself, with begrudging approval. 'But leaders of the worst type have known that since the beginning of time. They imitate the exciting stage, in place of forming the connection itself. The connection is the hard part.'

"Better," Oliver said, though his tone didn't exactly sound like one of approval. "I was given to think that you guardsmen were given your posts as positions of honour. I thought that you'd achieved a great deal on the battlefield, in order to be given such a cushy position… But it looks like you've lost any trace of bloodthirstiness that you might have once had."

He was jabbing at them, his own irritation at their continually prickly looks taking over, as he somewhat vented at them, in a position where they were not liable to hit back. Now, despite Oliver's intentions, both he and the ones that he'd intended to coral were growing excited.

The men were shifting on the spot, shaking in their anger, but not moving, not wishing to obey a single order. Skullic mind flashed with a sudden realization. He recalled something that had been said of Oliver Patrick in his Command class – that he'd managed to make all the pieces on his side of the board shake, but had been unable to move them.

Was this that? Had he somehow managed to coral inanimate an emotionless piece in the same way that he had with people?

"Show me something!" Oliver demanded, his temper hot, and youthful. It was far from the restrained disciplinary manner taught to officers in the field. One would have been embarrassed to see one of their trainees acting in such a manner. And yet, Skullic observed it all with a studious eye, curious more than embarrassed, detecting a trace of something that he didn't yet understand.

The men stomped their feet, some slammed their speeds, others gnashed their teeth and slammed their fists against their armour. Oliver's own anger infected theirs. It was the same way that when a man shouted at a spouse in anger, it would soon lead to the both of them shouting at the top of their lungs, as one vessel's emotion infected another.

"Good!" Oliver said, as though he was gouding a pack of angry dogs, dangerously tempting them with a lump of meat, as they salivated and chomped, fighting to get into range to tear him to pieces. "Now there's something worth seeing! Perhaps, if the lot of you had twenty years more training, a man might even fear you!"

Ingolsol cackled at Oliver's words. "Show them up. Beat them into submission. They haven't seen anything yet. They're not worthy – they haven't paid for all that they've done, all the disrespect that they've cast your way."

The men were growing infuriated to the point that they might have broken ranks had Skullic not been there. Oliver could feel a tempest growing, both in them, and in himself. He could see their tempers flaring, as they exposed their hearts in the truest sense. An angry heart could be connected to.

All of a sudden, Oliver hit them with an icy calm. "Good, comrades," he said, dismissing his anger, as though it belonged to another person. The sudden change splashed on them like cold water, and they didn't know what to make of it. "That is the ferocity of a Stormfront man. Your eyes see me as a stranger, and even an enemy, but it is that Stormfront ferocity that I take pride in.

It is that which has brought us victory over our foes – over even the Yarmdon size. Temper that ferocity, and reign it in."