A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Oh? Lord Gargon is going to tend to this tea house himself?" Oliver asked. The idea amused him, seeing the stern and easily angered Gargon walking around in an apron, offering tea to his patrons.

But Gras quickly quashed those expectations, looking at him as though he were mad. "No, ser. It would be frowned upon for nobility to tend to the store himself. Especially a Lordling. I don't know the details, but I am sure he will hire someone."

"And he pays you for this, then?"

"A silver each, ser, for ten days work. It's fair money, especially for the experience we get doing it. The Lord Gargon is a generous man."

"Hm… And yet, there are arguments to be had, it seems," Oliver gestured with his head to the boy. He'd fallen, and wet his uniform from the damp snow. He was a mixture between infuriated – at what Gras had done to him – and terrified, as a noble stared him down.

Gras flinched. "It was nothing… ser."

Oliver looked at him, straight-faced. The man seemed to boil beneath his gaze. This was another use of it, he realized. This was the power of a noble. The power that Dominus had given him, that Lombard had given him, and that Blackwell had elevated.

But there was a time that he could make a man squirm even without it. When he would grit his teeth, and feel the rage as he interpreted a lack of respect. He took the slightest lid off that anger. It came so easily to him now, easier than it had even as a slave – he knew there was a hole in him at the moment, one that dreadfully needed addressing, but he didn't have the means, so he ignored it.

With the anger came the gold of Ingolsol. The flecks danced around in his eyes, and the aura of a Second Boundary swordsman swept out. No. It was more than that now. He was not merely a swordsman any longer. He'd been changed in many ways from that battle, and with it, he'd accepted the mantle of the leader.

That changed his presence, gave a weight to it.

He stared Gras down. The boy nearly folded into the ground, as though a great weight had been placed on him. He was not the only one to tremble. The boys behind him, they shivered as well. It was as though their instincts told them to take a step back, but such a move was physically impossible, so they contorted themselves in other ways, to make that distance, and wrestle with the fear.

"Apologies… A-apologies, ser!" Gras said.

"You humiliated your fellow in front of a noble, unsporting of you, was it not?" Oliver saw how Gras' eyes widened in surprise that Oliver had caught his quick movements. "You've been training unarmed, mm? I suppose it must feel good, to feel that extra power within you, to be able to throw around your weight a little more strongly."

"Apologies, ser! It won't happen again!" Gras said, all but shouting, as he trembled beneath Oliver's gaze.

"I'm not condemning you for it," Oliver said, though he did not release his hold on the boy, and merely increased the intensity of his glare. "I would merely see talents put to better use. As you should have noted by now, I am without information, but in the future, it seems I might be without other things as well, mm? This place is more interesting than I expected it to be.

I might have use of a man of your talents."

Gras looked up, his eyes wide from the pressure, contorted by surprise. "Find me, if you find something interesting…"

Oliver paused, as he considered that, and his anger disappeared. His hold on them vanished, as a smile contorted his lips. Humour took over. "Actually, I have a proposition. Gargon is paying you each a silver, is he not? I will pay you two silvers each, for this same project."

"B-but-but ser!" The boy who had been covered in water spluttered, clutching his arm, as his glasses ran down his nose. "That's far too much money!"

"Ahhh," Oliver flashed with understanding, as he saw the boy and Gras exchange a glance. "He was underpaying you, was he? Because you're younger, and less experienced? Come now, I can afford to pay you two silvers, even if the Lordling cannot, so you may cease your minor squabbling for scraps, Gras."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Gras gulped. It was a lot of money. "But we had an agreement with Gargon… We could do the next project with you—"

"No, not going to work. I wish for this one," Oliver grinned a mischievous grin, his smile wide. He knew that he was toying with them, but he simply couldn't help it. The noble title came with such power. And Gargon – he'd already revealed himself to be a poor sport. The whole situation with the Academy, with a glaring eye wherever he looked, it irked a man like Oliver. Continue your journey with empire

Someone that longed for direct confrontation, a sword, a battle. Amusing though it was, he decided to kick the hornet's nest a little, if only for information, to let him know where he was.

"We'll… We'll have to tell Gargon," Gras said finally. "And then we'll come and find you, ser… But who should we ask for, when we come looking for you?"

"Oliver Patrick," he said, wearing his same mischievous smile. He turned his look to the boy, with his mispositioned glasses. "And what is your name, boy?"

It seemed to take the boy a moment before he even realized that he had been addressed. "S-storm! Storm Gotman, ser!" The boy said, standing up straight, and actually saluting.

The gesture startled Oliver so much, that his smile faded. Scenes of battle flickered through his mind. An army, a sword, armour… He needed to lead, he needed to fight, he needed—

"Ah, sorry… ser," Storm said, blushing uncontrollably as he realized what he'd done. Military parents – obviously, Oliver realized, snapping out of his daze.