A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 887: VOLUME 2 END

"VICTORY!" Verdant declared, with blood on his spear.

Only then did Northman glance over his shoulder. His mouth fell agape at what he saw. "Holy shit! VICTORY! LORD IDRIS HAS CLAWED US VICTORY! FORWARD, MEN, LET'S PUT THIS TO REST!"

The Skullic men – or what was left of them – echoed the cry, seizing the ray of hope, as it beat past the dark cobwebs of desperation that had been clouding their vision for the longest time.

"Victory," Oliver said along with them, though far more quietly than they. His words were meant for only a single man – the Attacking General in front of him.

Finally, Talon's backward footsteps had stopped. He realized that retreat would bring him not to safety.

The man was quiet. His expression said more than his words ever could. Even now, he did not seem to understand what had happened. Oliver barely did. It went against all that one could expect in strategy. Volguard certainly would have scoffed.

"I'll say it again, Talon," Oliver said. "Surrender."

"Surrender?" Talon said. The way he pronounced it, it was like the word was foreign to him. "Do you think that's an option, boy?"

"It is," Oliver said.

"It isn't," Talon replied, shaking his head. "My fate was already sealed years ago. Why do you think I've been sent on a task like this? I've fallen out of favour."

"…The High King," Oliver said. Of course, he'd already known that fact, but the very idea of the High King was enough to darken his mood. "What did you do?"

"What does one have to do to fall out of favour with him?" Talon said. "Not an awful lot these days… But I suppose, my siding with your father back then didn't do me much good. Never quite forgave me for that."

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Oliver's sword stopped. "You were that close with my father?"

"Not at all. I'd spoken to him a handful of times, but I respected him from a distance," Talon said.

"The High King set us against each other on purpose… We ought to have been allies," Oliver said.

"He's the High King – he does what the hell he wants," Talon said. "…Though, I suppose he didn't used to be so bad. Your father certainly stirred that pot."

"What happened?" Oliver said, his voice desperate. No one he asked seemed willing to tell him, but Talon's lips were loose with his defeat.

"What happened?" Talon laughed. "The same thing that always happens, isn't it? The same reason men gather strength, and kingdoms rise and fall. It was over a woman – your mother, I'd expect. Jealousy killed her, and if not for Arthur, I suppose your father would have burnt all of Stormfront to the ground."

Oliver felt his blood run cold. A woman? His mother? 'Ah… So that is why he loathes me so. I am more than just the son of his enemy.'

"You've defeated me, Oliver Patrick," Talon said. "But I can't offer you anything in victory. The High King will pursue you for the rest of your life. He's half-mad, with both guilt and anger. You will not know a moment's peace, just as all those who have associated with Dominus Patrick have not."

"…Join me, Talon," Oliver tried. "Would we not be stronger, if we were united?"

"I don't understand what you are, Patrick," Talon said, refusing outright. "I could not offer you any sort of addition. You're neither General, nor Sword, you're merely Tiger. Even now, I do not understand how you have defeated me, but it would seem that your father has taught you more than just the sword."

"He did," Oliver said.

"Then use that," Talon said. "Though I warn you, your future victories shall not be so easy. The greater the number of men you face, the less effective this style of fighting shall be."

Oliver knew it to be a truth. Talon's grasp of Command was still far superior to his own. It was only Progress, and Oliver's own skill as a Sword that had seen him victory in the end. He was still far from being able to match any sort of General.

The General's glaive twitched, as though it wanted to strike. The man hadn't moved yet. He was looking up at the sun, like a man seeing it for the last time. There was a pleasant smile on his face – but that twitch of his wrist alerted Oliver to other intentions.

When Talon came charging forward, Oliver was ready.

There was thunder in his eyes. It was a turn of mood so sudden that it was hard to believe it was real. Oliver did not think he was faking that anger, or that fury, nor that desire for victory. This was a true Tiger of a man, someone who hungered just as Oliver hungered. Victory was not something he'd ever give willingly.

He feinted an attack, pausing a mere inch away from Oliver. It was the first time since he'd begun his retreat that he'd dared a feint. It was as though he'd been saving it all for this moment.

Oliver sensed the danger, and put all his senses into avoiding it. Another strike of the glaive came, faster than any Talon had thrown. Another technique of an Attacking General, saving just enough strength to surprise his foe. Oliver was made to step back, as the glaive ripped through the air where his throat had just been.

"GURAHHH!" Talon roared, all of his strength in the attack. It was a similar pattern to how their exchanges had gone before. Too similar that Oliver was not likely to miss it.

His counterattack was perfect, and it was merciful. His stepback had been the same false-step that he and Blackthorn had grown so fond of. He used its spring, and the last of his strength, to drive his sword through Talon's chestplate, and up under his ribs, into his heart.

"Thank… you…" Talon spluttered, with the last of his strength.

"Damn it," Oliver said, as the man's corpse fell on him. "I should be thanking you, you bastard…"

Talon had freed him from the burden of cutting down a defeated enemy. He'd even warned of his coming attack with a twitch, though he'd made his final efforts seem real enough.

Never had victory tasted so strange. Much was achieved, but Oliver had a feeling that much was lost as well.

He glanced at the sky, admiring the same sun that Talon had been so set on seeing before he went. He heard the cheers of his men, and the thunder of their victory. He saw the Macalister soldiers begin their surrender, knowing full well that he'd have to execute them regardless.

"Victory…" Oliver muttered again, clenching his fist. "There won't be one, until that High King bleeds for all that he's done."

In the realm of the heavens, those words were acknowledged by both Ingolsol and Claudia. One received them with a fanged smile, full of ill intent, and the other heard them with silent resignation.

"See," Ingolsol said, knowing full well his whispers would reach the silver-haired Goddess. "He knows. He grasps for power. Soon, he will turn the key to the lock of my cage. Soon, he shall return to the world my true name."

VOLUME 2 END