A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Tsch… The fools who designed this test all those centuries ago, they didn't know what they were doing. Even more than the Three Trials in the summer, this is liable to get someone killed," the man said. He glared at the sky, as though cursing someone, and then began to shamble away, Oliver's clothes in his hand.

"I had to hand them off. They didn't want them in reach," Verdant explained.

Oliver shrugged, and glanced at the crowd again. It was a mere quarter of what it was before, as the students continued to stream away. The interesting part was done – now they would get their news and their entertainment in the morning.

"I suppose tonight will be a night of training then," he said. "Seeing as I have to keep moving."n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"It will do no good for your wounds to push yourself too hard," Verdant said, but Oliver was already on the floor, performing an energetic set of press-ups, as he sought to get the heat back into his body that the swim – and the slow walk back – had cost him.

Verdant sighed, realizing that it wasn't as though Oliver had much choice.

Though Oliver was treating it quite cavalierly, and he deemed the test to be easy, if anything, he still had to pay it the minimum amount of respect that it was due. Spending the whole night, keeping his body heat up, that would be the answer to that.

Once he'd done his press-ups, he began to run. Lightly at first, and then faster, until he was sprinting. He bounced from foot to foot when he came to a stop, allowing his feet to loosen up. There was a freedom to his body that he hadn't felt in a long time. Though wounded, this was the body of the strong.

Since his battle with Francis, he was stronger than ever before. Faster. More agile. His sparring with Bournemouth had already proved his improved skill with the sword. There were other heights to be reached, despite the challenges that were inherent in them. There was the Third Boundary to claw towards.

For the next hour, Oliver trained like he had not trained in a while. Since the situation in the village the month before, he'd been battling constantly. He hadn't been able to train just for the sake of learning, for the sake of progress. There'd been a purpose in it. The desire to protect, the need to fulfil the duty that Dominus had set him.

This here was a far more playful thing. To test his limits and devise new skills, like a scholar playing with old formulas to come up with new theories. It was a wonderful thing. This was hardly training, it was more like play.

He tried balancing in a handstand, after he'd run out of things to do. Immediately he stumbled, and managed to recover himself by falling into a forward roll and launching himself back to his feet.

The crowd only held a handful of people now. Oliver hardly seemed to notice them anymore, he hardly seemed to care. There were five yellow shirts, and one girl with black hair dressed in blue. Verdant recognized Blackthorn, but he was not aware of the Serving Class boys that stood there, or their relationship to Oliver. He wanted to ask, but he dared not interrupt.

Two hours passed in the darkening night, and Oliver had half forgotten the cold. His trousers were sodden, and they'd have no chance of drying anytime soon, as were his socks. The bare skin of his chest was cold to touch, but the heat of his body beneath it was very much alive. His condition had stabilized, and he was quite confident he could survive that night like that.

"Verdant, do you think you could get me a practice sword?" He asked suddenly. He'd been playing, and Verdant had watched transfixed. Playing with the right word. The boy, covered in scars, likely freezing cold, had actually been enjoying himself, as he tossed his body around, finding the limits of his strength.

Verdant found it a marvel, but Oliver's words startled him out of his revelry.

"A practice sword..?" He repeated thoughtfully. He did not have to ask why Oliver had wanted such a thing, he merely considered how he would get it.

He was meant to be a member of staff at the Academy, after all. His position was an ambiguous one – they didn't seem to know quite what to do with a priest of the rather unpopular god Behomothia, but they'd allowed him the job regardless. To that end, Verdant made sure to uphold their rules.

He pondered it for a moment, wondering whether it was breaking the rules of the trial. Then he wondered whether he would be able to get into the storage room at this time of night, as he imagined the walk there, and the walk back…

"I suppose I can, if you like," Verdant said. "It will take me a while, though. Half an hour, perhaps?"

"Ah, you don't have to. But it would be nice if you could," Oliver said. He'd stayed in the area around the Central Castle by unspoken agreement, to make it easier for the soldiers that watched over him, and the trainee medical staff that were on hand with them.

"I'll go," Verdant assured him.

…

…

Oliver spent much of the night like that. Midnight came and went, and his relentless movements did not cease. In fact, they grew even more intense. He found that there was a wealth of discovery to be had. There was so much he had not yet tapped into, so much he had gained, and not yet integrated. It was an absolute delight.

That warm feeling that came with strength and progress, the feeling that touched Oliver's heart more than any other thing, filled him as he played in the snowlit courtyard. He quickly got the hang of handstands, and then proceeded to perform handstand pushups. It was a skill that would have taken him much longer to acquire in the past, but now it came to him easily.

The newfound balance that he'd gained from his prolonged dizzy spells, and his newfound strength from all the battles that he'd been forced to undergo, they worked together excitedly, as he conquered one task after another.