A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

The others seemed as though they had no idea what he was referring to. Even Lasha herself seemed not to know. She hardly let her expression shift, as Oliver deftly rolled his shoulder to let the blade fly over the top of it.

He released a hand from his own sword, and reached out, now that she was in close, to gently pat her on her head. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to point out the weaknesses in her defence. She frowned, taking a step back, acknowledging that she'd lost. It was an improvement in attitude from the previous day, where she'd been so determined to hit him that she'd ignored all his attempts at decency.

She ran in again, her attack style furious. He could certainly imagine such a thing at the head of a cavalry charge. In the hands of a brawny man, this attack style would certainly be ruthless.

It was no wonder she was lacking, really. This wasn't who she was.

It made him once more appreciate Dominus' wisdom. Dominus had never tried to force a style on Beam. Never. He'd merely corrected weaknesses, and allowed Oliver to take care of the rest.

Despite Dominus' cynical outlook on the world, his natural teaching style bespoke of an acute optimism – the recognition that a person had natural gifts, and that they'd discover them themselves, if they had someone to guide them.

He saw that in Lasha, her own natural gifts, stifled. The quickness that the counterattack had come with earlier, and now, a little bit more subtly in her striking.

Oliver stepped off to the side, using his full speed, forcing her to keep up. If she was surprised by how quickly he could move when he wanted to, she did not show it. She followed him by spinning, casting the hem of her dress up with the movement, her black hair flying with it. Her sword came crashing into his at the end of the spin.

Oliver recognized why that strike felt so heavy, because it was something he'd spent so much time on himself.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

It was the conservation of flow within the blade, no wasted movements, saving momentum.

For the first time, he complimented her, and he did so seriously, without any of his earlier joking.

"Good," he said. He was stunned to see her blush at the compliment. The woman hardly seemed to have any emotion, but the slightest thing set her off.

How was he to know that it was the first time she had attempted something new of her own?

There was beauty in seeing her move like that. It was the same beauty that he saw in Nila, as she desperately ran after that which she cared about. As she took aim at a crow, and pinned it perfectly with her arrow.

Gods. He caught his own thought. When had he ever thought of Nila in terms of beauty? That was a shocking thing to catch himself doing.

But it was beauty. It was the same beauty that he'd learned on the battlefield, when he saw saw through both Claudia and Ingolsol's eyes, as he looked at people, right to their hearts, and he saw what lay there, if they were guided.

Perhaps with Blackthorn he might see the same… Was that the sunshine sparkling off her, or was that the golden light of Claudia's progress?

But Claudia had already gone missing, hadn't she? He hadn't felt that presence, nor Ingolsol's rumbling slyness, as he sought new ways to cause pandemonium. He didn't feel it, and yet he could see in Lasha a connection to that which he sought in himself.

She tried to kick him. A distinctly unladylike move. He laughed. Her swordschool had definitely not taught her that. He caught the boot before it could mar his forearm, and he once again tapped her on the shoulder with his blade, indicating that he'd won.

"I'm faster than you, and stronger," Oliver said. "If we play in those terms, I'd win. You have to find a way outside of those."

He liked the seriousness he saw in her eyes when he gave her advice. She genuinely yearned for this. For progress. Was this what Dominus had seen in him? This raw bit of excitement that came with seeing what someone else had to offer. Well, not just someone else, but someone of talent, someone who could surprise him.

She leapt back, once more putting distance between them. Even the act of leaping back seemed to be in defiance of her Blackthorn style. Oliver, obliging, followed, continuing to put pressure on her so that she might perform.

She pulled her leg back, the telltale sign that a kick was about to be thrown. He'd have to warn her about forecasting her strikes before she delivered them—

But then she booted off a pile of icy snow in his direction. It was his turn to be surprised. He leapt back, dodging the worst of it. He really didn't want to get that jacket of his dirty… But Blackthorn had no such reservations. In a spectacular thrust, she dove straight through it, her hair and the jumper sodden from the effort.

The point travelled straight and true. She was far closer to Oliver than she'd ever been with her previous strikes, owing to the screen that she'd cast up between them. He could see the smile of triumph starting to spread across her face. Perhaps if he'd been a better person, he would have allowed her that moment. She'd clearly put a good amount of effort into the trick, after all.

Oliver was not one for easy victories, though. He deflected the blade with his fist, jabbing the flat of it from underneath, so that the thrust missed its course entirely, and went sailing over his shoulder again. With his free sword hand, he tapped her on the head, laughing at the wetness that now ran through her hair, as the snow melted on her cheeks.

"Alright, alright," he laughed. "I'll take you. You're not as boring as that Blackthorn swordsmanship makes you seem. The Lady Lasha behind it seems to be far more interesting than the Lady Blackthorn."