A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 2091: The King’s First Foray - Part 2

Capítulo 2091: The King’s First Foray – Part 2

An image popped into Oliver’s mind. The way Dominus had thrown his strikes, as if they were the most casual thing in the world. The effort that was put behind their immense strength seemed to be stored elsewhere. He never made it look like it was a significant challenge. Was that simply the strength of the Fifth and Sixth Boundary or was it something else entirely?

Was it that which he was aiming for? Was it Dominus Patrick’s blade? He did not even know the answer to that question himself. He only knew that lately, when he picked up his sword, he felt a burning sense of inadequacy. A grating, and an impurity. It was lacking in some realm, and he knew not what it was.

Was it a more powerful strike that he looked for – was that what made his swordsmanship purer? Was it a difference in intention and perspective? Indeed, there was a certain amount of anger and frustration in him when he brought that sword down. Or was it the near whimsy with which he had fought against Tiberius? There were so many different perspectives to bring together. He knew not what they needed to look like.

He tried controlling his muscles less. Relaxing his heart. He slashed at the air again. The blow was quieter. The strength in it was lesser. It would easily have been knocked to the side. But then, it was not as lesser as it ought to be – it should have been far weaker with him not exerting himself at all. There was a mismatch in his reality.

The same problem that he had wrestled with since he had first begun training under Dominus. That which had him practising different styles. The Style of Overwhelm had become his favourite, and then all the other styles had dissolved around it. There had been a complexity of attack, all of it built around battlefield flow. But that complexity had given way to a thoughtlessness, when other aims took over. When Oliver needed to focus on his commanding more than his sword, and the sword itself became instinctual. He found he could rely on it without thought.

A few more slashes at the air. Blackthorn frowned, watching him closely. She shook her head, the long locks of her raven-black braids being tossed from the motion. Then, she drew her own rapier, and tried a thrust of her own, trying to understand what it was Oliver was aiming for in his own slashes.

She stabbed at the air. Oliver glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. He saw the way the frustration began to build up in her. She felt it herself. Merely from being next to him, she found herself influenced by something. She could feel him aiming at something, pulling himself towards something, and from its gravity, she found herself being pulled in the same direction.

She could offer him no answers, but almost entirely did she think she could feel the weight of his frustration for him. “Why is it…” She muttered to herself. A thrust that she had relied upon so thoroughly, in so many battles. She was of the Third Boundary now, and it was a simple thrust that she was trying. Why did it feel so lacking? Why did it feel so suddenly covered in rust, as if she ought to be capable of far more than she was letting on.

Gar’s patience ran out. He ran up in front of them. Oliver’s slash came crashing down, and Gar knocked it to the side angrily. Then Blackthorn’s thrust came just after, and Gar did the same.

“Weak!” Gar said. “Fight against Gar, Gar shows strong.”

Oliver and Blackthorn shared a look. There had been something in the instant that Gar had knocked aside their blades for both of them. A different sensation, just the slightest beginning of some sort of understanding – or perhaps simply some other path that hadn’t been explored yet.

“No flow, no follow up,” Oliver said. “That’s what too much strength is lacking.”

Blackthorn nodded with him. “Unbalanced,” she said.

Slashing at empty air, it was easy to forget the aim of combat. The goal, in the end, was to unsettle his foe. If he put all his strength in a slash, only for it to be parried, and for him to find himself off balance for it, then there was no worth in the strength. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

He could see, just slightly, a reasoning behind Dominus’ style then. The casualness of his attack allowed for one movement to seamlessly build into the next. But he didn’t sacrifice anything for it. Oliver did not think that his attacks were any weaker for allowing himself to flow better for it. So why was it that Oliver found his own blade lacking?

He tried to change what he aimed for. A different feeling in his heart. A lighter attack, less strength, but then Gar parried it even harder, achieving the same thing. Blackthorn tried more strength in order to unsettle him, but Gar parried her just as easily.

Strength, and flow together. Both in the same instant. Oliver felt himself growling under his breath. The feeling that he was close to something built together an irritation. Before he knew it, he was bringing down the strongest attack he could. Gar put up his short sword in order to block it, only to find himself thrown off guard.

Oliver stepped in to follow up on the attack, but stopped, and shook his head. “That’s lacking too. Strength, but no flow.” He could feel the way his hands were tensed on the grip of his sword. The way he was prepared to strike down whatever was in front of him with the fullest force available to him. It was sufficient to cut down his current enemies, but there was an impurity in it that he could not settle with. Just that slashing attack, from shoulder to hip. There was a higher level to be achieved in it – a higher level that he ought to be at. The fact that he felt himself far too distant from it only built that impatience further.