A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 418 Where Danger Lies - Part 6

And she truly wasn't bad. He'd put her beneath Nila earlier, but it wasn't like she was weak. She was likely still trapped in the First Boundary, as all the other students were. He felt no aura from her, no hint of real threat. But her techniques were the real thing, something that she'd put time into, something that she'd practised again and again.

It was just… Lacking in Oliver's eyes. Again he swept her sword out of the way, and again he tapped her in retaliation, not needing to put any speed nor power behind his strikes. He guided her movements with his own, making her overextend, and expose herself, so that landing the killing strike was something that even a child could accomplish.

It was not his superior abilities that kept him so easily able to deal with her – it was not his strength, nor the speed that came with the Second Boundary. It was merely that sense for the flow of combat that he'd learned to build amidst his many battles.

That was what her swordsmanship was missing. Her swordsmanship reeked of a good upbringing, of uniformity, of doing what was told of her, and doing it to perfection.

But what that created was this – boundless potential, but without the creativity to overcome a uniform problem.

"There's a lot of venom in that blade of yours," Oliver noted, as he continued to step mildly out of the way. He was not moving quickly – he didn't need to. It was the minor adjustments that kept him in complete control. "Maybe you'd land a strike if you gave yourself the room to."

He could see her eyebrows clench as she heard what he said, but it only seemed to make her more irritated. Another attack she tried, with the same fury as the first, even faster than before, slapping away.

"Is that your idea of swordsmanship?" Oliver asked. He wasn't even doing it particularly out of malice. He was genuinely curious. "Do you think it's merely a contest of speed, who's faster, who has the crisper strikes? Do you not see why I can back you into a corner?"

He tapped with one hand on her shoulder, and then his sword quickly moved to tap her in the gut. This time he had to put some speed into it, as he demonstrated it to her. He spoke as he'd said such things before, but in truth, it was something that Oliver himself had only just managed to find the words to describe.

"The killing blow starts with a double attack, when two places are undefended simultaneously, I can guide you towards the executing strike," Oliver said. And then he did. She'd buckled to defend her stomach, because she was forced to, leaving that same exposed shoulder even more exposed.

He threatened it, and by now, even if he was the slowest swordsman on the planet, Blackthorn's exposed neck was unmissable, and her sword was too far down to defend it. He levelled the blade at her neck, pointedly.

'Hm…' he thought to himself, as he held it there. 'That sounds more right than I had intended it to… For each killing sequence to be borne out of two threats, guiding the opponent towards that, it certainly makes sense – that's when things begin to unravel.'

He thought back to his own battles as he considered that. It was a rare opportunity when he was able to express the results of his swordsmanship consciously. The realization of a double attack struck him as meaningful, and he fell to wondering just how he might use that to improve his swordsmanship in future.

He was so distracted by the idea, that he did not hear Heathclaw call out for the changing of pairs until the other students were already beginning to move.

Still, his sword rested on Blackthorn's neck, as she stood frozen, like a deer that knew its fate was sealed. Slowly, she regathered herself, and forced his blade away.

"Lasha," she said quietly.

"What?" Oliver asked.

"Lasha Blackthorn," she repeated, her face flashing with irritation. "And now I have introduced myself." With that, and an abrupt turn on her heel, she walked away.

Oliver watched her go for a moment, before walking measured towards the professor.

Healthclaw noted his approach with obvious irritation. "What?" He asked, with undisguised malice.

"I was hoping that you might provide my next opponent, since you were offering a brute," Oliver said, a grin rising to his lips as he said it.

A grin might have been the wrong thing, for the bulging vein on Heathclaw's forehead quickly throbbed a threat, as the man called out a direction with gritted teeth. "Bournemouth. You're up."

Oliver reflected on just how much easier it was to accidentally insult people when he feigned the noble's voice. As soon as he affected their mannerisms, and their coy ways of declaring themselves, it always seemed like a missed opportunity not to get an insult in. It was as though every time he spoke in their tones, he was making a joke, and something seemed wrong if there wasn't a thorn in it.

This time the thorn came in the form of a man that was clearly not a student. Oliver wasn't even sure if he was a knight.

Dressed in full armour, and with a bristling black beard, and a dull set of eyes, Bournemouth came striding over, a greatsword strapped to his back.

"Ser?" Bournemouth asked. It was a question, but with his dull tone, it didn't sound like one. The man was easily as dumb as a box of rocks, Oliver reckoned.

"You'll be sparring Patrick," Heathclaw explained impatiently. "I said I would find a brute for him, and here you are."

"Fight?" Bournemouth said with a frown. "Only got… This?" He had his mace hanging off his belt, a cruel-looking thing. It would leave an armoured man wishing he were faster.

"No matter, the boy wanted a brute, he'll have a brute. Don't kill him, though," Heathclaw said, warning the man quietly for the last part.