A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 994 - Opposing Schools of Strategy - Part 7

994: Opposing Schools of Strategy – Part 7

994: Opposing Schools of Strategy – Part 7

Firyr heard the same voice speaking.

“Out of my way,” it said to him.

Not Oliver’s voice.

It was too deep to be Oliver’s voice.

It was almost inhumanly deep.

It was like the gravelly roar of a smiling lion.

There was humour in its voice, but that humour carried an undercurrent of immense maliciousness.

Firyr felt a hand around his heart with a firmer grip than he’d ever felt.

He didn’t make the decision to dodge to the side.

He was practically thrown.

And then, through the air where he’d just been standing, Inka’s half-moon sword swept, and he was left with nothing to dampen his frustrations.

“Little man,” the voice said.

It was no longer an echo.

It was as real as the soldiers that surrounded Firyr, but he couldn’t catch sight of the being that spoke.

“In a world of fear, why do you allow yourself to be so weak?

You sit right on the edge of the Second Boundary, what are you so afraid of?

Frightened rabbits dig holes.

They run.

They don’t just stand still.

Are you worse than a rabbit, human?”

So the accusations came, just as Inka’s sword too came.

It was a flash this time.

Firyr could hardly follow it.

He made the split-second decision to put his spear shaft in the way, but the sword bit straight through the wood, and left a line across Firyr’s chest.

“Broken,” the voice taunted.

“Why so afraid?

You fear what you might lose in growing stronger?

A contemptible fear.

What if they were to know?

Your men?

Would they still treat you with even the slightest fragment of respect?”

“GRAHHH!” Firyr thrust out with what was left of his spear.

A mere half a shaft, wielded in one hand.

It did not even get near Inka.

The Verna Rogue Commandant shifted his horse entirely out of the way, and positioned himself behind the flailing Firyr.

“Give up,” the voice suggested.

“You are done.

Give over to fear – you’ve done so already.

Take the final step.

Plunge straight in.

Let us swim, and see what we shall find.”

“SURRREENNDDERRR!” Oliver bellowed, working the last of Claudia’s power to send a Violet Commandant flying off his horse.

He knew that a good few dozen Inka men had seen it.

They saw the man’s torso had been separated from his legs, as Oliver’s sword ran straight through his spine, under his ribs.

“SURRRENDER, YOU FOOLS!

THE PATRICK MEN BELONG TO A DIFFERENT CLASS!”

His shouts were met by cries of affirmation from his men.

They grasped for the fabled power that they’d come to believe in, and they saw their sword strokes were stronger for it.

Just as Oliver’s might have sowed fear into the enemy, that same fight filled his men with strength.

That same strength reached fear, just in time for Inka’s half-moon sword to flash in front of him once again.

“CAPPPTAIN!” Firyr shouted, recovering himself enough to remember the situation that he was in.

“I’VE FOUND THE BIG ONE!

I’LL BE TAKING HIS HEAD!”

“You don’t have the power to,” the dark voice mocked.

“You’re afraid of power, as much as you want it.

You’re weak, beyond mere pity.”

“And that is exactly what makes him strong,” a female voice countered.

The slimmest chance of salvation.

Firyr through himself at that door.

He’d heard that woman’s voice before, but had been too afraid to reply back to it.

Now he saw no alternative.

A sudden sensation made Oliver turn, as his eyes widened. freēwēbnovel.com

There, he could see Firyr wrapped in Claudia’s beautiful glow.

Sparkling light ran up his arms, and shrouded his body, but Firyr did not pause to appreciate it.

He was moving, and even midmotion, his speed grew faster.

He rammed the point of his broken spear straight through the eye of Inka’s horse.

The sudden explosive increase of Firyr’s speed left the Verna man at a loss.

His reactions had almost brought him to a counter, but now the horse was falling, and falling, and Inka’s legs were still trapped within its stirrups.

“Shit, shit,” Inka said, panicking.

He didn’t have his usual level of alertness.

He could feel his head growing light from the loss of blood.

It was a sheer effort of will that was keeping him conscious.

He grasped for the things important to him.

His soon-to-be-wed sister, and his vow that he would free her from her obligations.

His younger brother, still in training, lacked the funds he needed for a proper education.

He had too much responsibility to perish.

He forced his foot out of the stirrups that chained them, barely, but the horse had already thudded to the floor, and even with his foot freed, his leg was still trapped.

Now Firyr came for him, as hungry as a dog.

It would be hard to call what Firyr wielded a weapon, with how broken it was.

It was more a shard of malice.

He grasped for his newfound strength, encouraged by the sweet words of a foreign God.

The half-moon sword came up, even as Inka’s leg was trapped, he sought to defend himself.

It wasn’t enough, however.

Inka’s eyes were still set for Oliver.

Firyr was no more than an obstacle in the road.

Yet for Firyr, Inka was the very height of devilishness himself.

He was the seat of all fear.

He was that voice urging him towards darkness.

He gave the fight everything he had, and did not miss his opportunity.

He ducked under the slash of the sword, but barely.

It drew a line across the top of his head, pulling skin and hair with it.

That was the cost, and Firyr paid it gladly.

His spearpoint found sudden resistance, as he slammed it into the fallen Inka’s chest.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d hit, whether it was the heart, or the lung.

He simply saw the blood forced out through the corners of Inka’s mouth.

He dared to relax as he pulled back – a fatal mistake.