A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 620: Skullic’s Mission - Part 6

As they’d passed through the various hamlets on the way here, not a single villager had reacted upon catching sight of his face. It was as one would expect things to be. Outside of the noble circle, outside of the immediate vicinity of the Academy, few knew who Oliver Patrick was. That too seemed to be true for the soldiery.

They’d likely heard a tale or two in passing, but they had nothing to corroborate those tales, not like the nobility did.

So, he was being treated as though his presence was more an inconvenience than an asset. Again, he didn’t need to be some wisened general to get a sense for that. It wasn’t distaste that he was met with from these soldiers, it was just general irritation.

They were Serving-Class men empowered to act independently by their General and now they had a noble come walking in again, about to disturb whatever rhythms they’d already set up.

Oliver sighed. Piercing any new social circle seemed to be the most difficult of endeavours.

"They’ve left you waiting, Ser?" Petyr asked from beside him. Oliver had heard him leap down from the carriage and tend to the horses. He didn’t turn his head as he approached.

"They have," Oliver said, twisting his mouth. Petyr saw the look of dissatisfaction and stepped backwards a step.

"That seems impolite, Ser," Petyr said carefully.

"It does," Oliver agreed, offering no more than that.

Petyr continued to study his face with glances from the side, trying to find the right words. "I could find the Commander, if you like, Ser… It’s only right that they give a proper greeting to a noble."

"No," Oliver said firmly, surprising even himself with how quickly he set that refutation. "The day that I use noble status to command respect is the day I lose myself."

A startling proclamation, as Oliver was prone to, enough to feel like a cold drop of water in that icy world. Petyr was left stumped for words. He too was finding his job more difficult than he would have liked. Usually, he merely sat in the front of the carriage and took orders on where to go. Rarely did he have to interact with nobility for prolonged periods of time.

He wrung his fingers in front of him like a worried mother at a Sunday market, trying to decide what he should be doing. He’d unharnessed the horses when he’d overheard that it would be another hour before they set off and now he had nothing that he could do to get him out of the awkward spot that he was currently in.

He spent a grand total of two minutes bathing in Oliver’s frigid aura, before he decided to brave the cold of the snow instead. "I’m going to find the Commander," he announced. "Just to make sure he knows that we’ve arrived."

Oliver said nothing. He merely watched the man go.

His hand was tapping against the hilt of his sword in impatience. Any man was bound to get impatient when they’d been on the receiving end of as much hostility as Oliver had as of late. If not for the cold air, there would have been nothing to cool the smouldering fire that was building up in his chest.

He ended up grinding his teeth, as restless as a wolf. The soldiers continued their business like the bees that they appeared to be, whilst Oliver stared them down, his expression hard and relentless.

"Bad," Ingolsol growled inside of him. "Too much. Far too much. You need to let me loose, boy. You’ll kill us both under this weight of disrespect."

"Hold," Claudia cautioned. "They mean nothing by it. It is merely the ignorance of the masses. They are a stranger to your circumstance. Is it so strange that they would not be excited by the arrival of a mere boy and a noble at that? If they have not heard the rumours, then who’s to blame them?

Even if they have, who’s to say that they would be wise to believe them."

Whilst Claudia spoke a convincing argument, it did nothing to chill the fire that was building up. He unsheathed his sword ever so slightly, enough to catch the slight bit of light as it streamed through the snow clouds, and then he resheathed it again. The sound of the steel leaving the scabbard brought some comfort, but not enough. Continue reading on novelbuddy

There was a divide building up in his heart again, one that he hadn’t quite cured previously.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

It didn’t like the circumstances. It couldn’t quite come to terms with their progress. Both things were buildings of considerable size in the palace of their mind and both things were lacking the foundation to support them. He’d survived that first bout, thanks to the intervention of Asabel, but who was to say when the next would occur?

Along with his political position, it was his health that was failing him, and this anger only fed that budding injury.

The talk of the fragments faded into the back of his mind as he ignored the pain in his chest. He wasn’t aware of how long had passed, but when he next looked in front of him, there was a man standing there, alongside Petyr. He’d asked Oliver a question and was looking at him expectantly in reply.

A black bearded man, with piercing blue eyes. Oliver might have mistaken him for a Yarmdon if he’d been any taller. He checked his sword belt on instinct, just in case. Indeed, there was a sword there, rather than an axe.

"Have you need of armour, Ser?" The man repeated.

This time Oliver heard him. "I do not. Your General has warned me that I ought to bring some in future."

"Aye, I would consider that wise advice," the Commander agreed. "He’s told me to expect use out of you."

"Your men don’t seem to," Oliver said, a little too pointedly.

"Does that bother you, Ser?" The Commander asked, his voice dropped an octave. He asked it respectfully, but his eyes were searching. It was more a challenge than a question.

"Should it?" Oliver replied, showing his teeth. It wasn’t quite a smile, but his lips were parted. It was more like a dog growling, in truth.