A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Oliver closed his eyes. To be so many years deep into his career, and to only now have this fact made plain as day to him. Everyone around him seemed to have operated on the assumption that he understood – or perhaps they themselves had not even known to understand it. It was a vague thing. A concern only available to those that put themselves in a Sword's position as he did.

He recalled how General Khan had felt. He very much had the stalwart sense that he was fighting a man far above his Boundary. It was very much like fighting Dominus once again. That was a real sensation, an undeniable one.

"I do not understand entirely," Oliver said.

"Nor do I," Verdant admitted. "Command is a vague thing. It is like trying to get a sense for the wind. You only truly feel as if you grasp it when its mightiest torrents are hitting you straight in the face."

"…I admit, I did not understand this either," Lasha said. "I heard it spoken, and I thought it to be odd that Oliver could not move General Khan… but to think it's something so… undeniable. I thought whatever changes it might have brought would be subtle ones."

"They would be, with fewer numbers. But with forty thousand men? You would be hard-pressed to deny it," Verdant said.

"So," Oliver said, "the solution becomes simple. I may not understand it, but you say again that strength will best it. Then I had simply need to get stronger."

So he said, and with those words, even with a broken hand, his smile returned. His eyes danced with gold and purple. There was the true heart of Oliver Patrick – the side of him that terrified his foes. The side of the youngest Boundary Breaker in history, and the same man tht had reached the Third Boundary mere months after ascending to the Second.

Here, he was given a chance to dare to reach even higher again. After the instability of the Fragments within him, given his cheating of the laws of the Third Boundary, he had not pursued progress in his strength as relentlessly as he once had. He'd tried to settle. He hadn't wished to send himself in such a state of physical unrest that he would require Queen Asabel's healing touch once again.

But now he gave thoughts to his return into that world. It brought with it a vague feeling of nostalgia. It might have been arrogance that compelled such a feeling, but Oliver did not doubt it – he had much room to grow stronger still. Three years of rest – as he saw it – was more than enough.

"Tend to my hand, Verdant," Oliver said. "Blackthorn, join us, and see that the door to this carriage remains closed."

He stood up to shout to Jorah who was eating just a short distance away. "See that all the men are tended to in preparation for battle, Jorah. Don't allow them to overeat. Replace any weapons that need replacing. You've my permission to use the supply wagons as you see fit."

Jorah stood up and saluted upon receiving the command. "Very well, my Lord."

Oliver fell into the carriage bench's cushioned seat with more of a sigh than he'd intended to. His exhausted body relished the slight degree of comfort that the extra padding offered, though he still wouldn't have wished to endure hours on the road sitting atop it as Blackthorn's retainers had.

"It must have been terrifying…" Blackthorn murmured, looking at the walls, and the spots where the wood had been deformed by arrow points. It was clear to Oliver what she meant, even without her having finished her sentence.

"They chose to come," Oliver reminded her. "They did not have to, but they came all the same, and they're doing what they can."

"That is true," Blackthorn said, heaving a sigh of her own. "They are much too loyal for me."

"Your hand, my Lord," Verdant prodded. "We must attend to it quickly. We were told half an hour, but it would be wiser to be finished long before there. The chances of us setting out beforehand are not zero – we've quite the enthusiastic set of soldiers."

At Verdant's urging, Oliver finally drew the hand out from behind his back, and set it on his lap. He didn't even like looking at it himself. It didn't help to hear Blackthorns' audible gasp when she saw the sight of it.

He looked at Verdant, half expecting the same, but though the man remained almost unnaturally still, he did not let other signs of his reaction show on his face. It was not long before it was proceeding as if this were to be expected. "I had planned to set the bones… but I think it might be wiser to simply stabilize the hand."

Oliver was of the same opinion. More than one bone had broken Three fingers were all but crushed, but so too were the joints around his wrist at angles. With a cautious hand, Verdant pushed up Oliver's sleeve. "Your radius and ulna seem to have separated from the hand entirely," he said.

"Both of them?" Oliver said. He'd half expected as much, given the limp state of the hand, but to hear Verdant second the opinion didn't bring him much hope. He'd spent years studying Field Medicine at the Academy, so he at least knew that it wasn't an injury that had a simple and straightforward solution.

"Ought you to be fighting like this…?" Blackthorn said. She could hardly look at the wound. She was looking at the floor instead, and only taking the occasional glance towards it. "You will need to spend weeks if not months healing that, won't you?"

"Once it is set," Verdant agreed. "The bones of the wrist will require surgery to set. The fingers will likely require the same…"

"You haven't yet urged me not to continue this campaign," Oliver noted. The way Verdant trailed off, he'd almost anticipated that to be his next line.

"If I did say so, would you listen?" Verdant asked.