A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

They watched as Oliver walked forwards, seemingly unhindered by the deep snow. Unlike the clearing where they'd fought the goblins, here the footing with the depth of the snow was an actual problem. As if fighting such a monstrous creature wasn't enough, to have to do it with poor footing as well…

Oliver regarded the creature with an impossible casualness. Come to think of it, Kaya realized he'd never seen Oliver fight. Not in person. Neither had Karesh or Jorah. They'd heard stories, they'd heard what he'd done to Bournemouth, but they'd never caught sight of him in physical combat himself…n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

He did have that aura to him, that aura of dangerousness. That aura made them think that whatever stories they told about him were likely true. The story of his battle with the Yarmdon – still subject to immense doubt amongst the yellow-shirted students – was something that Kaya himself had enthusiastically proclaimed as true.

Jorah had been more doubtful, whilst Karesh had jumped on Kaya's side, once he'd met Oliver himself, and Oliver had complimented him as a shield breaker.

But, there were levels to strength, weren't there? It was one thing being able to defeat a man, someone older and larger than yourself – that was impressive, they were still young, after all. But to defeat something otherworldly like a Hobgoblin. To defeat something that looked like a king among demons, that was a whole different story, a whole different dangerous game to play.

Kaya was suddenly struck by a sudden emotion, besides his fear. The want to protect. An acknowledgement of his own cowardice, and wanting to move despite it. He'd sworn an oath, hadn't he? Seeing his Master facing off against such a creature alone put a bad feeling in his chest. From the way Jorah was playing with his sword, he must have felt it too.

But without orders from anyone else, they couldn't move. He looked to Verdant. If there was anyone who could change that, it was him. Verdant was like a second Master to them, given his status as a high-ranking noble. Or was he more like Oliver's Vice-Commander? It was hard to say, but regardless, he was someone Kaya knew to treat with immense respect.

It felt strange to be serving the same Master as such a man.

They watched as the Hobgoblin swept its club out madly behind it, thrashing the air in front of it long before Oliver had approached. It seemed to be enraged merely by the fact of Oliver's existence. It was an insane rage, one that wouldn't allow it to sit still.

It ran around the clearing, with the same kind of erraticness that a goblin had, though its erraticness was manifest far more destructively than a goblin ever could be. It was almost five times a goblin's weight, after all.

With each mad dash that it did, it cast up a cloud of snow, and carved out a piece of the earth underneath. It was like a cannonball in organic form.

Oliver began to jog. The Hobgoblin fixed its gaze on him, and bellowed a roar. It lifted its club from the ground with ease, and began a batter's swing right towards where Oliver's head was bound to be if he kept running at the same pace that he was.

Oliver ran even faster, making it even more likely that the club would hit him. That seemed to be the only thing that could stifle the Hobgoblin's erratic movements even for a second – the notion that its swing would reduce the man in front of it to a red splatter. Even then, it seemed impatient enough to detest the half a second it took before the club struck home.

Kaya could hardly look. He almost closed his eyes as he saw the club near, but some better part of him forced himself to keep them open. If his Master were to die, then he should look upon that death, and acknowledge his own failure to protect him, should he not?

Yet what he saw was not the colour red. It was the blue of the back of Oliver's jacket, as he somehow eclipsed the club entirely, using some sort of trick, or some brilliant bit of speed that eclipsed Blackthorn, he seemed to have phased right through the thing.

Before he could celebrate the fact that his master was not a bloody mess, he had to fight down the disbelief. It seemed like his eyes were playing tricks on him. There was a discontinuity to what they were tracking. Even the Hobgoblin seemed stunned.

A half a second later, before Kaya could even begin to catch up, the Hobgoblin's head was already flying through the air, accompanied by a fountain of blood that spouted from its still standing corpse. A second later, the body fell to its knees, and then fell to the ground.

Kaya's mouth hung open. He shared a look with Jorah, and saw the same stunned look in his eyes. This was the Master they were serving, they suddenly realized. This was the most dangerous student in the Academy, and by such a distance that it wasn't even fair.

Oliver collected himself, allowing thoughts to creep back in, once he was sure that the Hobgoblin was dead. He cast his eyes downwards, acknowledging the kill. Just how far would his vendetta against Hobgoblins carry him, he wondered? After all this time, how did it feel so good to kill such a beast?

Every time a Hobgoblin was in front of him, he felt like he couldn't help but use nearly all his strength. He didn't feel that way against any other opponent. Against them, he used a strength proportionate to their abilities. But Hobgoblins filled him with such a visceral hatred that he had to kill them just as quickly as the Hobgoblins wanted to kill him.

"That was faster than last week," Verdant noted. He hadn't even heard the priest's approach.

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"Mm," Oliver agreed. The priest had brought the rest of the party running across the snow with him. He could see the excitement in Karesh's eyes, followed by the awe that he saw in Kaya and Jorah's. "I'm pleased that we planned the expedition for a Boulder Crab. This isn't enough," he said, flicking the blood from his sword.