A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 923: The Capital - Part 8

It was not a case of 'if' or 'maybe' for him. He did not calculate odds. He plotted the course. It was a General's job to ensure victory, despite the many instances of surprise that might crop up along the way. The thought of defeat, and all that it might entail, it was a frightening one, but such was the role of a military House.

They understood that they could lose it all, at the slightest drop of a hat. Already, before this battle, their enemies had been manoeuvring for their lands. If they lost, and they were disgraced, the end result would be near enough the same.

"…You accept, then?" The High King clarified.

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"I accept responsibility," the General said. To Oliver, those words sounded different. Responsibility… for the lives of his family as well as the lives of his soldiers. 'Gods, what a dangerous thing this man has done…' Oliver thought to himself. He didn't know whether to respect it or to be horrified at the decision. After all, the consequences for losing were immense…

"Heh, you can't say anything on that, boy," Ingolsol cackled. "You're the very same type of person now. His anger is stirred like yours. He can't even fathom the thoughts of defeat."

"It's nobleness, in his sense. He's fighting for his family, and their position," Claudia added. "Though, I do fear for them… perhaps it would have been sensible to retreat… Or perhaps, as a General, he recognizes that in this position, the only thing he can hope to do is go forward."

"Very good, Lord Blackwell," the High King said. It was a different type of smile. Not the smile of a fool. There was a begrudging respect there, as well as a hint of a challenge. "Very well, if you would go so far, then I shall go the same distance to match you. Loyal servant of mine, your victory… I will shape it to what degree that I can.

Justus. If we were to draft, how many can we summon up in a week?"

"It depends," Justus replied. "If we open the doors to volunteers of age, perhaps a thousand."

"…We will have to go further than that," the High King frowned. "Of age…?" He said, as if just realizing something that Justus had said.

"Indeed. I do believe there to be an active force in our Kingdom that has not yet come of age," Justus said.

"…Those? They've worked hard in the High King's name. I could not force Academy students to war," the High King replied.

"These are desperate times, my King," Justus said. "That might be what is required. Beyond merely them, the Serving Class graduates, we could give stipulations that they are to receive their Passing Scrolls early, if they enlist."

"…We could not do that for the nobility, though. It wouldn't be right," the High King said. "A noble's Passing Scroll with over a half a year of education missed, it would be an insult!"

"Quite right, my Lord, but we shall need nobles as well as Serving Class men," Justus replied.

"Perhaps we ought to see who is willing to enlist by virtue of volunteering first, then?" The High King said hopefully. "Well, why not do it with those present here? Good servants of the Stormfront – there are many noble faces amongst you – who is desirous of valour upon the field of battle? Hm? Who will aid our ailing Lord Blackwell, and ensure for him the victory that he so desires?"

Murmuring filled the hall, as agitated bystanders looked at each other. They shuffled, looking round, as though to provoke each other into raising their hands – but that was all they did. No one seemed to be willing to go forward. They were like a kicked hornet's nest, mindlessly looking for someone to fasten to.

No one moved, apart from one man. No one could have said quite when he'd made it to the bottom of the first-floor stairs. Even the guards had not noticed him. With the disturbance that the High King's request had made, it took until he was stood on the carpet, walking towards the throne, before even a single man reacted – and that was Justus, with a hand to his sword.

"My King," Oliver said, his voice echoing throughout the halls.

The words felt strange on his tongue. It was the first time in his life that he had uttered such a thing, and yet they felt immediately hollow. There was no feeling of loyalty, only repulsion. His eyes were fixed forward, and he walked with his hand ready to one side, as though he had his sword at his hip, and he was quite ready to draw it.

"Oh!" The High king said, immediately jubilant, even as Justus stepped in front of him, shielding him. "A volunteer! You look young, my boy, but if you are of age, then we must celebrate. Lord Blackwell, you've found your man! Name yourself, brave one!"

There was nothing on Oliver's person that would distinguish him, save for the pin of an owl fastened to his chest. It was only as Oliver drew closer, it seemed to be only Justus that had recognized who he was.

His eyes signalled a warning. There was intent there that indicated his understanding. He seemed to believe that Oliver Patrick would have every reason to strike that High King down, and he stood as though he expected it.

Oliver took a step closer, and then another step. Even Queen Asabel had her eyes widen, as she noticed his approach. No doubt, when she had agreed to bring him, she did not think he would make an announcement of himself quite so dramatically.

When he'd said that he would look the man in the eye, and declare himself for campaign, she – like the others – hadn't thought Oliver meant that he would literally stand in front of him.

Lord Blackwell's retainers stirred from their kneeling positions, acknowledging the newcomer with looks of curiosity. They didn't know him. Only Lombard did, and that Captain gave a mere snort. It was impossible to tell whether it was approval, or whether it was meant as a warning, but either way, his glump expression had faded.