A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 889: Oliver Patrick - Part 2

"An old foe," Skullic said. "Our time of peace is over. The High King has the ammunition he needs to fire at you – at both of us, and he's damn well going to go all out."

Oliver flinched, and his smile faded. "Him? What ammunition? Have we not been keeping relatively quiet? We've been fulfilling his missions, and we've been winning. I wouldn't say I've done anything too outlandish…"

"Ah," Skullic almost looked regretful, as he saw Oliver's confusion. "Did it not occur to you, boy, the week before last, that as well as a turning point in your years, it would be a turning point in how the world treated you?"

"The week before last..? You mean… Ah, of course," Oliver put the dots together in his head. The week before last had been his birthday. Or at least, the birthday that Oliver Patrick had been given, since he needed to have one, Oliver had ended up picking an almost random day in the fourth month of the year.

It had been an almost painfully happy occasion. Oliver had managed to see, at one point – either just before the day itself, or just after – all those that matter to him. He'd dined with the Felders the day before, and shared their conversation, and received their presents, as well as gifts from Greeves and Judas.

The townspeople had thrown a festival in his name. With the state of Solgrim now, even a festival of the scale that they threw was an affordable expense. The taxes that had been raised with all the merchants visiting the now well-fortified settlement had increased the wealth of the village significantly.

So too had Oliver seen his retainers, both old and new. Verdant had travelled down from the Idris castle, and Blackthorn had knocked on the door of Oliver's room to quietly hand him over a present whilst Pauline and Amelia were practically giddy with excitement at the gesture.

The only person that Oliver hadn't managed to truly celebrate with had been Queen Asabel – for she was as her title stated now. She'd left the Academy the previous year, having come of age herself, and she was now carrying out the proper duties that a Queen ought to.

"Indeed," Skullic agreed. "The High King made a special order to get you on the battlefield before, given your age, but even with that, there were limits to where he could send you. He couldn't exactly draft you out to a proper war – that would have been a step too far. Domestic skirmishes were the best he could do. That now has changed."

"That alone ought not to put us in a position to worry, though," Oliver said, frowning. He'd trained his strategy well with Volguard these past years, and he was beginning to grow rather confident in his ability to assess the strategic ingredients needed to create a proper explosion.

"And if you recall the state of our campaign to the east…" Skullic said, prodding him.

"Not so good, from what I hear. In three years of warring, we've only managed to capture three castles. The line has been held, which is to be celebrated, but without progress in culling the threat, it hardly counts as a victory," Oliver said. "Blackwell's demands for more men haven't been entertained. He's been battling with nearly half as little men as he actually needs.

If I recall, two weeks ago the order was issued for him to put the campaign on hold and—"

Oliver paused, realizing.

"Now you see," Skullic said. "He has his pieces. Blackwell will return, and he will be on his way to the Capital. I'm sure you've already made this prediction as well as I. The High King will not relieve Lord Blackwell of his duty of defending the East – despite the fact that he is a Western Lord – and in turn, Lord Blackwell will meet the renewing of that duty with the demand for more men.

And, of course, the High King, as benevolent as he is, will meet that demand."

The boy – now a man – tutted. He folded his arms and shook his head. It was the exact kind of perfect storm that had been building up for the last three years. He'd had his peace, but something like this was bound to come out soon enough.

"At best, I'd suppose you have two weeks, young Oliver," Skullic said, apologetic to a degree. "If there was something I could do to delay it, I would… But the pettiness of the request to come is the exact sort of thing the High King will take pleasure in. I think we would be wise to take it as a fact."

"Indeed, I am in agreement," Oliver said.

"You do not look particularly bothered," Skullic noted.

"What is it, my dear? Why do you both look so sombre?" Mary said, confused. In those three quiet years of peace, Skullic too had taken advantage. He'd finally asked Mary to marry him, and the maid – despite being of the Serving Class – had not refused, though she still insisted on assisting him in his day-to-day life, still more like a maid than the man's wife.

"I thought all these years, this is what you've been waiting for? Have you not said it yourself, Oliver? That you long for the chance to finally score true achievement on a battlefield that matters?"

Oliver winced. There were many people in his life that would not appreciate him voicing such a sentiment. They wanted peace for him, and at times, Oliver had wanted such peace for himself. Now he was beginning to know what he was. The more time he spent battling, the more it suited him, and the less he resisted him.

Captain Oliver his men called him now – and even the populace, despite it not truly being Oliver's official rank. That title suited Oliver more than anything ever had.

"Indeed," Skullic said, "but not yet. Oliver still has a few months left before he can graduate from the Academy. His grades have improved these past years, and no doubt he would have received high recommendations along with his Passing Scroll. The High King, more likely than not, will steal that opportunity from him."

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