"Make them quiver," Ingolsol said, "and make them kneel." Oliver could practically hear the fanged smile from the sound of his voice. Ingolsol delighted in monts like these, Oliver knew. Almost as much as he delighted in the suffering of others.
With a slow turn of Oliver's boot, and a crunching in the snow, he regarded his n, his eyes scanning over each of them, eting gazes here and there, searching each man that needed searching, feeling their hearts with the eyes of both Ingolsol and Claudia.
"Now this is a good group," Oliver said, quieter than one would expect from a man making a speech, but it was more a comnt to himself. For such a hastily organized group of n, with so many of them having never t before, it was a fine group indeed. He felt privileged standing there, and so he said so. "It is a privilege, gentlen," he told them.
"You have done well, over the course of these days. Many of you have shown growth, in dinsions that none had expected from you before. Those are facts to be praised, and to be proud of."
"Today, your efforts bear fruit. Today, with the embers of the dead burned in yesterday's funeral pyre, we create a bonfire in their honour. Macalister Fort will be ashes co sunset. We will feast on the supplies that they've squirrelled away, and we will bask in the pleasure of the Gods," Oliver said.
"A Minister at the Academy called these years a ti of change. I'm sure you've seen it, as well as I – those bastions of power that build up, over the course of centuries, exerting their will on us n born re decades ago. Such bastions ought to be impregnable. We're told there are absolutes. Obey the High King. Kneel to your betters.
Fire beats water, and more numbers beat fewer," Oliver said.
"Those, my friends, are chains," Oliver said. "We have the power to overturn them. Today we'll start with the bottom item on that list. More beat fewer n, so the strategists say. A successful siege needs double the n as there are defenders. We'll beat that as well.
We're not numbers, we're change itself. No matter how many n they send at us, we will beat each and every one of them to the ground."
The n's faces were tense, as they struggled to hold their silence.
He recalled what Verdant had said the night before, about being more symbol than man. Being sothing above n, that n could believe in. It made Oliver flush at the very thought of singing his own praises, but there were worse pains than embarrassnt, as he'd learned once again the night before.
"Mark this day n, for this is a day of change," Oliver said. "This is the day when sense is inverted, when chaos reigns, and the strong take the throne. This will be a day that will ring throughout the kingdoms, that will mark its place in the history books. Rember this day, n, for soon you shall be able to claim a part of it.
The Bloody Battle of Fort Macalister they'll call it, and you'll respond, with the scars to prove that you fought alongside Oliver Patrick, and you overturned the impossible. We are the seeds of the future. We will be those bastions of the future, and our will shall be felt for centuries.
The silence broke, as a roar of approval spread throughout the ranks. Surprisingly, it was the ex-slaves that first led it. They'd grown accustod to their cheering, with their recent victories in their mock battles, and it ca easier to them than the others.
But there was another reason too: Oliver's words rang true with them, even more than the rest, for he'd already proved to them part of what he said.
The Skullic n followed soon after, however, and fists were raised in the air. He let them have their mont, and spoke again only when quiet began to fall.
"I am sure you rember the na of Dominus Patrick," Oliver said. "Know it to be the na of the Greatest Swordsman in history. This is my father's sword, and on that sword, I swear to bring victory."
He drew his blade, and thrust it up into the air, to a round of further cheers, even louder than the last. Nas did indeed have power, and Dominus Patrick's na still carried far more force than Oliver Patrick's yet could.
…
…
"My General," Gadar said, giving a brief salute. Talon was once again looking out over his walls. "They are not here yet," he noted.
"It's still only early," Talon responded. "Fear not. They will co. They have no other choice but to co. Rivera ensured that for us yesterday."
"Indeed… Though he almost paid for it with his life," Gadar noted.
"Quite right," Talon said. For so reason, he was smiling at that fact. "Did you find any information on the girl?"
"None, but there is little you can gather when you are trapped inside a fort. At the very least, we can be assured that she never attended the Academy," Gadar replied.
"Interesting…" Talon mused. "Oliver Patrick – I wonder what else he has in store for . Surprises of that calibre, they're the sign of a worthy opponent indeed."
"I suppose that we can assu she's from Solgrim, or sowhere nearby, given the ti Oliver Patrick is said to have spent there," Gadar replied.
"A ghost of the battlefield nonetheless. A virtual unknown to the noble world. But I suppose, in that sense, she's no different from Oliver Patrick himself. Half a year ago, the Patrick na was dead. Not even Dominus Patrick was said to be alive. Strange, isn't it, how things can change?" Talon said.
"I suppose so," Gadar said uneasily. "Though, might I say, right here and now, I do not wish to be afflicted by that sa kind of change."
Talon barked an easy laugh. His mask gave him an intimidating edge, but that booming laugh softened it at tis. "You worry too much, Gadar. As fun as this has been, there is nothing that Oliver Patrick can do to save himself now. He will die a good death, but it will be death all the sa."
"…Rivera is unable to move his right arm, for now," Gadar said. "I thought you might wish to know."
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