A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Chapter 419 Where Danger Lies - Part 7

Oliver glanced around. There were a few other instructors wandering through the sparring students, offering advice here and there. But they served Heathclaw – he was the one in charge here, even with the other members of staff standing around, ensuring that no one got injured.

"…You're not going to try and convince me that he's a student, are you?" Oliver asked, pointing at Bournemouth. The man was as big as Judas, but much wider, as much of a barrel as Heathclaw himself was. With that beard on his chin, and his weathered skin, he was quite clearly a man late into his adulthood.

"Why would I need to convince you of that, boy?" Heathclaw asked, supremely confident.

Again, Oliver looked around. It should have been obvious by now what was happening, and yet no one interfered. The students were preoccupied with their duelling and of the staff members – there must have been nearly 20 of those in total – none of them spared an extended glance in their direction. Either what was happening was normal, or they were simply turning a blind eye to it.

He merely shrugged. He was no stranger to thugs. If Heathclaw had decided he had a dislike of him, then that was merely what it was. At least he was being pointed about his hostility, sending a man to face him in the open. He knew of a particular merchant that would have gone about things quite differently. Explore stories on empire

"Do I get a proper weapon then, or am I just stuck with this sword?" Oliver asked.

Heathclaw's grin widened, as though he'd just come up with an idea. It was a thoroughly disconcerting grin, the grin of a man that knew he was being cruel, and delighted in it. "Why, isn't that a good idea? Since you're so sure of your swordsmanship, you shouldn't need a blade. In fact, I do recall your father making a boast like that, several times in the past.

I think it went something like 'the Heathclaw soldiery are so lacking, I could beat them half drunk, with a stick, lacking both my legs. You would stand by his boast, wouldn't you?"

Oliver had to fight the smile off his lips. Heathclaw was quite sure he was being intimidating. He stood over Oliver, as he hissed his confession, thinking that it was the appropriate time to air such dirty laundry, but when the fear did not come as he'd hoped, he merely made himself look petty.

'So that's what this is about,' Oliver thought to himself. He was an old acquaintance of Dominus'. 'Your name certainly comes with a fair bit of grime, doesn't it, master?' Oliver murmured to himself.

But his head was aching, and the void in his chest demanded simple problems. He knew he wasn't moving optimally. He knew he should have been moving to find allies, rather than stir up old hostilities, but the flow felt against him. It pushed him towards irritating them further. He could hardly help himself.

"Ah, if this is a Heathclaw man, then I'm sure it won't be a problem, thanks for letting me know," Oliver said with an agreeable nod, before hopping back on the same, his wooden training sword by his side, waiting for Bournemouth's approach.

Heathclaw pointed a seething finger at Oliver, and slapped Bournemouth hard on the shoulder to send him off.

"Do not embarrass me, Bournemouth," Heathclaw hissed. "I'll halve your pay if you make a mistake."

"Pay… half… not good," Bournemouth said drolly, shaking his head, working himself up. He truly was a simple man. But he was also a lumbering behemoth, plated fully in armour, standing across the sand just three short strides away from Oliver, a cruel mace at his side, whilst Oliver only had a wooden sword to work with.

A challenge. Oliver's heart recognized it for what it was. He excited in it. That void that he'd found in him ever since his waking those two weeks ago, that emptiness, that lack of something, it demanded refinement.

He found his fingers twitching, as his old habits took over, and he focused entirely on the foe that was in front of him, unaware of the students that were shooting stealthy glances his way as he readied himself.

Sword in hand, heart pounding…

"BEGIN! THE ROUND IS ALMOST OVER! HURRY IT UP, BOURNEMOUTH! MOVE!" Heathclaw shouted out a string of orders, as though the dullard that he'd hired needed all those different ways of telling him to move so that he actually might go forward.

Beneath the man's helmeted head, Oliver saw the first hint of light in his eyes. His pudgy face curled up in a fool's smile, filled with malice, as though he'd just been given a crab whose legs he was allowed to rip off.

Finally, one of the other instructors seemed to notice what was going on.

"Professor Heathclaw! What's the meaning of this?" The man shouted out in a panic. "You can't be setting armed soldiers against students! They're children!"

Heathclaw glared at the man as he approached. "Don't get in my way, Verdant. Besides… It's already started. Are you going to be the one to stop him?"

Bournemouth charged angrily across the sand, his sheer primitive malice was comparable to that of a hobgoblin.

Oliver's breath hissed in through his teeth, as golden flecks sparkled in his eyes. He felt a similar malice curling within him. The want to slay. It had been two weeks already. Was this what battle had made him?

It didn't matter, he lunged forward, a blur.

The students that had been watching before didn't even bother to keep up the pretence of disinterest now that the battle had begun. Many found themselves watching with frightened eyes. This was the first time many of them had seen true bloodlust, a man moving to kill. And it seemed obvious to them that was Bournemouth's intention. The man didn't have the intellect for half measures.

He brought his mace down, like a giant, angry toddler with a rattle. Oliver's head was lowered, committed to his strike, the mace lined up perfectly with it, ready to dash out his brains.