A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

But then he still needed to pry a hole past them. Another step in, and his short spear finally found its range. Three swift thrusts to the solar plexus of three men, and they dropped. Firyr's men came streamlining in just after, widening the hole that had so accurately created, and tossing men into the air with the same vigour that could be seen on the left.

That trickling of men still left in the centre of Cormrant's formation hurried to reinforce where they could, at the Vice-Commanders hurried orders, but it was an effort carried out in vain.

The battle was over, that much was clear, but neither Judas nor Firyr would be satisfied until they'd stomped Cormrant down to prove it. For all Cormrant's flaws, he seemed to accept that fate with an honour that one wouldn't expect to be prescribed to a mock battle.

Judas closed in on him from the left, and Firyr from the right. Cormrant clutched his padded sword valiantly and prepared to face them.

What followed was the most thorough trouncing Oliver had ever seen. Both Judas' and Firyr's skill in combat exceeded Cormrant's. He didn't have a chance from the start. Firyr's spear caught him in the gut first, and sent him twisting towards Judas, and then Judas' padded sword found him next, catching him across the side of the head, and sending his helmet ringing.

"Shit…" Oliver murmured at the sight. Cormrant fell so hard that he feared him dead. It was as though his soul had been separated from his body.

As unmoving as the unconscious Cormrant was, so too were the onlookers. All work had been paused to watch the battle. The slaves were loud enough to make sure that all eyes were on them. Jaws hung open, and eyes were round.

The only sound came from the groaning Skullic soldiers left on the ground, and from the bellowing roars of triumphant that the slaves let loose as they thudded their fists against their leather armour.

It wasn't a surprise that they'd managed to get a win after all this time. They'd managed to win before, after all. What was surprising was the ease in which they'd done it. They'd made it look like they were adults battling against children. They'd run the soldiers over as though it was a stampede.

Verdant caught Oliver's eye from his position of watch across the clearing. He gave a small smile, and a salute, as if to say "well done". Oliver returned the salute, struggling to hide his own smile. He had to turn his head to do so, but then his other retainers could see it.

They stood, just as stunned as everyone else. Karesh's eyebrows looked ready to leave his forehead. He'd always been proud of his strength, no doubt it was a shock to physical might utilised so effectively.

Even the normally expressionless Blackthorn held her mouth slightly agape. "Is that… A Blackthorn infantry charge?" She murmured.

"You're familiar with that style, are you?" Oliver asked. "Actually, a style is giving it too high praise. It's just recklessness, I do suppose."

Blackthorn nodded slowly. "My father… He likes to rile the infantry up before the first charge. He shouts at them, as though they've done something wrong, and the men start bellowing in response… I've just never seen…" She stole a glance at Oliver, a question written on her face, one that she left unspoken.

"Hm. Well, I suppose it's time to go again," Oliver said. The soldiers were still on the ground groaning, but the slaves were quite ready to go again. "Come!" He called over to them, motioning for them to fall in.

The cheering stopped, as they went back towards their Captain, a different sort of respect written on their face.

'So this is belief,' Oliver murmured, watching the difference in their fires.

"We crushed em', Beam!" Judas said, forgetting himself in his excitement. "They didn't stand a chance! Gods, that felt good, a swing, just like this, with the hips twisted into it… I could move the world like that, I reckon." He demonstrated again the strike which had sent six men flying.

"That was nothing! They put their spears in my chest, but I made them lose their balance in turn," Firyr said. "I've never controlled a group like that… I might be on to something."

"Shut up, Firyr. I was talking," Judas growled.

"No, you will be silent, Stormfront dog. My speech is far more important than yours," Firyr growled back, squaring up to him.

"I do recall that both of you sent Cormrant sprawling," Oliver said. "I would ask that you ease up on him in future, if you would. We don't want him to actually die, after all."

"Oh yeah," Judas said, remembering. "That… felt better than I thought it would."

"Right?" Firyr said, agreeing. "Now you know why I killed my foolish Commander – what a sensation."

"Enough," Oliver said, bringing their attention back to the front. The men were breathing lightly, evidence of their exertion. The adrenaline was no doubt still running through them. They'd snatched something profound, and they'd done it by force. "I must commend the lot of you on your victory," he said. "You have done me proud."

He allowed the words to hang into the air, and he allowed the men to properly digest them. Triumphant smiles were shared. Broken men, remembering what it felt like to win, to truly be in charge. With their size, had they not been slaves, they at least could never have been truly at the bottom.

"Savour it," Oliver said. "Drink it in. It seems strange to you now, after so long spent in submission, but you will learn that sensation. Under my command, defeat will become a distant acquaintance and victory shall become a close friend for you. You won, and you did it splendidly. Take a break, drink, then do it again.

You have them in the palm of your hands. You're far too big for them to stop you."