A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 860: The Crushing of Pace - Part 1

There were men waiting at the sides of that tunnel, hiding, thinking themselves to be crafty. They were lesser men – Oliver predicted archers.

"ARCHERS AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL!" Oliver warned. The men tightened, their adrenaline not cooling, but their movements growing more measured, as their Captain's whip-like voice brought them back to heel.

It was a densely packed group that made it back into the light, outside the other end of that tunnel. Oliver was shoulder to shoulder with the men in front of him, about to break past. His sword was drawn at the ready. By his side, Blackthorn mirrored him, not even needing the order.

Oliver was well aware of what his role was – they needed to establish a foothold in the fort, if they wished to make proper use of their army. For that, those walls would need clearing. The threat of an oil attack would need eliminating.

The men raised their shields to the side, in preparation for an arrow storm.

Yet none came.

What met them, instead, were the extended points of nearly a hundred spearmen, tightly packed together. Oliver recoiled – his senses hadn't told him to expect so many. He'd assumed fifty, at most.

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Worse than the numbers, though, was the quiet. The men didn't attempt to charge towards them. Instead, they merely stood, waiting, extending the length of the tunnel as walls of spears to either side.

"What kind of face do you think he'll make when he realizes?" General Talon asked with a cruel smile on his lips, as he fastened the strap of his helmet under his chin.

"I imagine surprise will be there…" Gadar replied, handing his General his sword, as the man prepared himself for battle.

"Would you have fallen for it, Gadar? Even knowing me as you do?" Talon asked.

"If I had not known that it was you I was battling against, my Lord, then I might very well have," Gadar admitted. "You have played this battle like a wily old defensive strategist."

"Even a dog will pick up a certain number of tricks once he sees them a thousand times," Talon said. "I won't accept the praise that you seem intent on twisting in with your words."

"I had yet to say anything yet, my Lord," Gadar said, with the smallest of smiles. "It is just a thought – how amusing the Gods make this world to be. For you, an Attacking General on par with General Blackthorn to be tasked with defending against a siege of all things… And for you to play that part for so long…"

"A rare smile from you…" General Talon noted, almost looking disturbed. "Well, do not enjoy yourself too much – it is time to dine. The boy has come searching for my head."

"A foolish endeavour indeed," Gadar said. "From the start, the intention has always been to take his."

…

…

All of a sudden, the ground was set to rumbling.

Oliver could not see what had caused it, nor could he sense from whence the enemy came, but that ground was rumbling all the same, and those Macalister men were exuding a sense of anticipation of the likes that Oliver would never have guessed.

He felt it more strongly now. He'd fallen into something. A trap. But which part? He couldn't see the boundaries of the trap. He didn't know what his mistake had been, he only knew that he ought to run.

He looked over his shoulder, intent on giving that command, but the tunnel that he'd come from was already blocked by more men. He could see Judas and Jorah, and then Northman beyond them.

"Shit," Oliver cursed under his breath. It was no wonder the enemy hadn't thrown oil down on them – oil would bar the way, and prevent all of them from getting inside. It was clear to him now, that having Oliver and his men trapped inside the fort's walls was exactly what that very same enemy wanted.

"No retreat," Ingolsol murmured. Even he sounded faintly disturbed. "When the enemy seizes something from you, you must take something in return."

With the ground still rumbling, and the danger still looming in the air, Oliver made his decision, and he dashed towards the nearest men.

His actions confused both the enemy, and the ally. Blackthorn was half a step behind him, and the ex-slaves were thrown off entirely. It took them three steps before they realized they could use those same shields to block the spear points, and race after their Captain.

Indeed, in place of a proper plan, Oliver had merely given in to the want to make up for his mistake, and make blood spill. He'd pitched towards the left-hand side at a speed that made the Macalister men gulp.

All of a sudden, the anticipation that the Macalister men closest to Oliver had felt vanished. One look in his eyes was more than enough to make that confidence fade away. Those weren't the eyes of a man. They weren't even the eyes of the Grim Reaper. They were the eyes of a force ready to tear a man apart more completely than death ever could.

Three spears rushed towards Oliver at once. He'd purposefully kept himself low to the ground, and those spear points raced towards his torso, making them just as low. The instant before the points landed, Oliver leapt – an even more reckless display from him than he'd usually carry out. Ordinarily, he'd set up his kills, but today he had faith in the men following up behind him.

He was in the middle of a mass of men in an instant. He landed with Dominus' curved blade pointed down, running through the side of a man's neck, dropping him.

A more claustrophobic position it was hard to find. All around Oliver was a mass of enemy flesh. There was only room for one man, and that room came from the man that he'd just killed. A man whose corpse he was forced to stand on top of, merely to have any way to stand.