A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Oliver's scars proved far more than he thought. His body was more scarred than a veteran's soldiers, but that was not all. The density of muscle about his small frame was something phenomenal as well. It was not wastefully big muscle, but everything was developed, defined, and hard.

The boy noticed the gazes of the women that turned away, Verdant saw, for he saw the boy's disapproval that followed his recognition. What he did not see was the faint swirlings of admiration that hung amongst the crowd as well. Few likely did, aside from Verdant, for all who felt such things kept their feelings carefully hidden.

The women admired the well-developed body of a warrior, and the men admired his scars.

Regardless of who, there was a truth unfolding, one that they dared not speak quite yet: the tales that had been told of Oliver Patrick, they were already beginning to believe them.

Greatness could be stifled with information, propaganda could be spread, but when confronted in the flesh, when action was giving weight, truth shined through, and the Young Wolf Oliver Patrick could not shy away from who he was. He could not keep a low profile for even a day, for, like gravity, the events of the world drifted towards the strong, and things changed to flow in their favour.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

And so Verdant acknowledged it.

…

…

The crowd had only grown larger when they arrived at the Moonlight Lake. This was the part of the challenge that most of them would dread more than any other. The Moonlight Lake was large, at nearly half a mile in diameter, it was one of the bigger lakes that lay upon Academy grounds – and indeed, there were many of them.

Wearing their jackets, with their breath fogging in front of them, as they rubbed their hands together to keep warm, these people knew of the cold, far more intimately than they could emphasise with the pain. They flinched away from the whip, knowing it to be horrible, but most of them had not experienced pain enough to really compare it to.

But the cold was a different story. They'd felt cold, to a degree, and most of them could not even bring themselves to part with their jackets, not in this weather. The snow was falling calmly from the sky, in thick flakes, and Oliver was standing calmly on the edge of the Moonlight lake, on the end of a short jetty that was meant for launching boats.

The path in the ice that had been spoken of was there. Someone had been out in a boat with a hammer. The ice was less than half an inch thick, so not truly an obstacle, but still an inconvenience that needed to be dealt with. The Trial would have been far different, and far more dangerous if it was left.

On the edge of the jetty, Oliver looked out over the dark water. The darkness itself seemed to only add to the cold. He recalled those winter mornings meditating before the waterfall with Dominus. That was surely worse than this – with the mountain cold… But still, it was a less-than-appetizing prospect.

He could see floating blocks of ice amongst the water where it had been shattered. They'd cleared the way for him, true, but it was still a slush that was left in his wake. It was hardly going to be an enjoyable task.

General Tevar stepped up behind him, acknowledging the cold with a glance. He spoke once more to the crowd.

"The Second Trial will now begin. Oliver Patrick will swim from one end of the Moonlight Lake to the other. Do we have a volunteer to drag his body from the lake if he should fail?" Tevar asked.

Oliver grimaced at the grim announcement. The day before, Tevar's question likely would have been met with silence, but now it was Verdant that answered him. "I do not believe it will be necessary, but I will be available regardless," he said solemnly.

Tevar nodded in reply. "Oliver Patrick. You may confront the cold clothed, or you may remove what you will before your entry. Whatever your choice, your state of dress will remain the same going into the Third Trial. What clothes you decide to take off will be withheld from you until the end of the trials. Is that clear?"

Oliver nodded. He'd already taken the layers from his torso. Verdant held onto them. He looked down on his trousers, and debated whether he would want to remove them as well. His shoes too, they would serve to weigh him down as he swam, but they would also serve as a barrier between his feet and the snow, once this Second Trial was over.

It was a grim decision to make. These clothes were far too fine for him to be comfortable with removing them, but the boots more so than the rest. Being the good treated leather that it was, he knew they likely would have been fine, even if he'd kept them on, but he decided not to take the risk with them.

He slipped them off, keeping only his socks and trousers on to deal with the snow once he was done – despite the fact that they would be wet – and he handed the boots to Verdant.

The priest took it from him wordless, as Oliver gave a nod to Tevar. A tension had built up as the students waited for Oliver to ready himself. As he gave that nod to Tevar, there were a few restless anticipatory shuffles.

"Very well, if you are ready, then you may begin," Tevar said.

The general did sound as though he was rushing him as he spoke, but there was a hint of urgency in his voice all the same. The trial by cold was meant to be a twelve-hour long affair, until dawn finally broke. Oliver stepped up to the edge of the jetty, allowing his toes to hang over the edge. His socks were already sodden from the wet snow, and he could feel the heat rapidly draining from his feet.