1117: An Army in need of Improvent – Part 4 1117: An Army in need of Improvent – Part 4 The Idris man raised his arms in surrender, a smile on his face.
He’d known from the start that he was at a disadvantage, with there being so many strong hitters on the opposite team, but he took his defeat with grace.
“The battle is over!” Lasha announced.
“Jorah’s army wins this round.
You can take a break for now.
Captain Patrick had returned.” Her voice was stronger than it had been earlier that day, and louder too.
Oliver wondered if it wasn’t just because of the angry embers that were still glowing red hot within her, or whether it was because she’d grown ever so slightly more used to taking up command.
It seed to co naturally to her, when she spoke thus.
It only made sense that it would.
She had been raised a Lady, as the daughter of Lord Blackthorn.
She had spent her entire life commanding servants and attendants.
There should have been no room for doubt even when she was put in charge of n – the only reasons she could have to doubt were reasons that she herself had seen manufactured.
The n began to filter their way back towards where their water had been gathered, along with so light snacks to serve as refreshnts.
Every man had a good sheen of sweat on his face.
There were no exceptions.
Oliver did his best to look every single one of those four hundred n over, and in all of them, he thought he had confird the sa thing.
Just like their Captain, they were reaching for further strength.
He pinned his teeth together, feeling his impatience well up again.
His own n were progressing far more rapidly than he had thought they would – the sa ought to be true of him, though he knew in that situation his impatience was otherworldly.
To expect to make strides towards the Fourth Boundary so suddenly, that was bordering on madness.
A madness of the sa sort that drove mages to believe that they were one of the few that would discover how to use mana, if only they put the decades into trying.
“My Lord, I have heard that there was trouble,” Verdant said.
“So lowlifes interrupted your training?” “It is nothing to be concerned with – I have already dealt with it,” Oliver said.
“Setting aside the matter of their punishnt,” Verdant said.
“I do not foresee the matter ending there.
Even striking n that are not yours, that is grounds for at least complaint from their Captain, if he wishes to be obnoxious.” “There was a Commander at the scene, and he admitted those n were in the wrong, though I do not think they belonged to him,” Oliver said.
“…Actually, it slipped my mind earlier, but I think I recall him saying that they were Captain Hawthorn’s n.” “Hawthorn?” Verdant said, narrowing his eyes.
“The man that made such a fool of himself in the last eting with Karstly?” “Far too many questions,” Oliver recalled.
“He certainly seed to be far from a strong leader.
The fact that he cannot even keep his own n in check… I ought to have a word with him,” Verdant said.
“I will file an official complaint with Ser Samuel.” “True… Samuel still remains, doesn’t he?” Oliver said.
“Ah, but you needn’t bother causing a complaint.
We don’t need discussions to be had over the likes of those three.
Leave it there.” “My Lord, but I think we do,” Verdant said.
Oliver could feel his anger in his words, even though he carried himself ever so calmly.
His anger was the polar opposite to Lasha’s who stood at his side.
Hers was red hot, and his was ice cold.
If ever there was a day that Oliver had to call Verdant Idris an enemy, from the look on his face then, Oliver knew it would be a day to be feared.
“These sorts of incidents cannot be allowed to proliferate.
This act of… lowliness, in peaceti, was one thing, but what of when we’re on the field of battle?
How will such weak links fair?
I know that Lord Karstly would want to see them dealt with.” In Karstly’s absence, there had been left behind Samuel.
Verdant referred to him as Ser Samuel out of convenience, and out of the will to show so sort of modicum of respect, but the truth was, none of them knew Samuel’s family na.
He seed more as an extension of Karstly.
A shadow that was always with that giant glowing man.
“I am surprised that you did not kill them there and then,” Verdant said.
“The fact that you did not leave us with more options.
We will see them adequately punished, mark my words, my Lord.” “You need not go so far,” Oliver said again.
“In the mont, it was a nuisance, but now it was a problem of the past.” “I will not allow it to bother you, my Lord,” Verdant said, bowing ever so slightly.
“But please allow to deal with it quietly.
You need not involve yourself with it any longer.
I know you to be in the pursuit of sothing greater.” Oliver breathed out a sigh through his nose.
Both Verdant and Blackthorn had co at him with similar sorts of attacks.
He hadn’t wished to make his ambitions the problems of his attendants.
He knew that if he wasn’t such an impulsively driven man, he ought to have been content with the steady accumulation of his achievents throughout the campaign, and with the certainty that his hand was soon to be healed.
But his heart still stirred for more.
Khan stopped his blade, and when he closed his eyes, the sound of that ringing tal still rang out in his mind.
He couldn’t stand the thought of being as utterly helpless as he had been then.
To go all that way, to climb that ladder right to the top, after fighting through hordes of enemies, only for his sword not to be able to make a crack.
That was a humiliation that would stick with Oliver forever.
It was the humiliation afforded to the inexperience.
“You shall be bothered no longer, my Lord,” Verdant said.
“Yours is the most crucial of missions.
We will make way for you.” “…Verdant,” Oliver said.
“I do not recall telling you any such intentions.
At most, I have simply stated that I wish to train, haven’t I?”
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