A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

1050: The Sword and the Board – Part 4

1050: The Sword and the Board – Part 4

The space that the Verna men had been hesitant to fill earlier, with the worry of seeing their centre too bowed, was finally filled.

With commands from Amion, the centre was reinforced, as the flanks began their advance forward daringly, leaving Patrick men right in the heart of their formation as they streamed past them.

To the Verna men, it was a source of hope, but to Oliver, it looked like desperation.

Many different eyes saw many different things, depending on what conclusions they wished to come to pass.

Only a handful were able to see it rationally.

On the summit of the mountain, General Phalem looked down on the chaos.

“…This is a mistake, Amion,” Phalem said, frowning.

“There is no way this will come to pass.

You’re making the same mistake as Chang.

You’re using movement to make up for a loss, hoping that it will spawn better possibilities.

Sometimes, you simply ought to take that loss.” ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

He said it aloud, but there were none to hear his words.

Phalem liked his privacy.

He kept his attendants and his flag bearers a distance away, allowing himself to observe the battle alone.

He didn’t want his plans to be muddied by another man’s mind.

He favoured the purity of his own ideas, for they were the sorts of ideas that he spent the most time with, and they were the ideas that could be trusted.

To that end, it annoyed Phalem that his enemy had employed a similar strategy to him.

He wondered if General Karstly could see him, all the way down at the bottom of the mountain’s slopes.

As different as they were, in both their personalities and their upbringing, they’d still opted to do much the same.

They’d both employed greener men to their fronts.

They both saw the advantage in letting the newer sorts bring about the beginner of a battle.

The new were chaotic, less set in their ways, and for that reason, better at sounding out an enemy, and creating an opportunity.

“…Though, I was not so bold as to make a Violet Commandant my vanguard,” General Phalem muttered.

“What kind of joke does that General wish to play?

Is it punishment?”

He could not conceive of the idea.

It seemed too much of a stretch to believe that General Karstly had believed this vanguard would be as effective as it was thus far proving to be.

A man’s talents matched his rank – that was the way it ought to have been in the military, Phalem thought.

Many liked to complain of politics preventing their uprising, but the truly strong knew no such complaints.

The truly strong were good enough tools that they were forced to be used, even if they were not well-liked.

“Hm…” Phalem said, stroking his pointed beard.

“For better, or for worse, their Violet Commandant has found early success.

It will stoke the fires of the Stormfront arrogance.

I can smell it already – a foul odour in the wind.”

With a wave of his hand, he gave his flag bearers their first order.

“The mighty, Jericho, that is who we must become,” Amion told his man, as they pressed through the ranks together.

“When you feel desperateness come over your chest, and restrict your breathing, you must not shy away from it.

You must allow your weakest emotions to transmute into strength.

Everything you are can be honed to a single point.

Shout it, and the men will listen.”

“TO ARMS!” Jericho said.

“WE RUSH FOR VENGEANCE, AND FOR VICTORY!”

Amion had pressured him into giving his men his instructions, after giving several shouts of his own already.

Jericho could feel himself stirring.

Even if he hadn’t want to, Chang’s death had set it in motion.

Sadness swam with anger, and his men heard it into the rawness of his words.

There came a nod of approval from Amion, as felt the Command in Jericho’s voice.

“Remember the sensation, Jericho.

When you can reach for it and understand it, even without the emotion in your voice, you will be able to use it with increased strength.

Your men will cease to be soldiers, and they will become your brothers, your limbs, and your allies.”

The Violet Commandant nodded again.

He sniffed, ever so slightly, wiping away the last of his relief.

If Amion hadn’t come back to his senses, he didn’t know what he would have done – but there was no sense worrying about that now.

Forward was their destination, and on the back of Amion’s strategy, it was forward that they would go.

The Verna flanks continued to push forward.

Spearmen marched behind the shield wielders, and they jabbed at any Patrick men that stood in their way, forcing them to take their steps backwards in retreat, being unable to reach the spearmen beyond the shields.

Those that did not advance on the flanks began to coalesce towards the centre.

It was an attack on three fronts.

The left, the right, and the first three ranks of the Patrick arrowhead, as they attempted to isolate Firyr and the other Commanders of the Patrick forces.

Oliver watched the manoeuvre with muted acknowledgement.

That was certainly the place to strike them, if they wanted to hit where it hurt.

Nearly all their important personnel were in one place.

All their strongest fighters.

It was the disadvantage of grouping them the way that they had – but that was only if the enemy managed to make something of it.

“…It’s my head they’re going for then,” Oliver said.

There ought to have been no evidence to have told him such a thing, but he announced it with confidence.

The two flank side attacks were one thing, but it was that central attack where the true threat seemed to lie.

Yet the enemy hadn’t committed any important men to it.

They were still waiting, as if for something else.

“If it was a central attack you wanted, speed would have been your greatest weapon.

Instead, you merely intend to slow them,” Oliver said.

From the strategy, he thought he could have deduced it regardless, but it was the eyes on him that really gave it away.

One pair of eyes in particular bored into him – that man right beside the enemy Rogue Commandant.

A man with a giant purple plume on his helm.