There is a sense for greatness.

Some people carry it around like a bad smell. They make us stop on the street, and look their way, whether we wish to or not. Their appearance might be ordinary, but there’s something about them, something beyond the norm. Something that makes you almost wish to bend the knee to them.
Our kings have likely had that something, those that came from nothing but ashes and ruin, in times of trouble and famine, where the hearts of the masses are restless, and they need a cause to bind to. What makes them choose one man over another?

It is my contention that there is a true gravity to such individuals. That progress, or competence, or greatness itself carries a weight. That a man might grow greater in the dark, and whether he wishes it or not, by the sheer gravity of his existence, tigers will make their way towards his door, catching his scent in the wind.

The tigers hide themselves in the forests, in villages unknown, amongst the peasantry, but sooner or later, it does seem, that they are always cast into the light. It requires an immense effort of will to keep them hidden. A man of such a gravity will see themselves risen, without will, to ranks beyond that of the norm – in times of peace, they might rise high indeed. But in times of chaos? When the world is in upheaval, when every piece in up in the air? Then a tiger from the most lowly of starts, with a competency – a density – beyond belief, as if they were a different creature entirely – they might go all the way. They might be the creature that – though a peasant themselves – the peasantry themselves kneel to. They might go further, and make the soldiery kneel, and then even the nobles after them. And a special class, beyond all others, might go even further still, and snatch a crown the head of a king, on a flurry of brilliant victories, on a story so overwhelming it almost might have seemed preordained.

It is those men that we ought to fear, and it those men that we will eternally be at the mercy of. It is those men that we do the honour of addressing as our kings, and our emperors.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Oliver peeled the paper back, revealing that which he had wished to see for the longest time – the curved blade of Dominus Patrick.


With Oliver armoured, and thoroughly equipped, most of his more minor preparations were well out of the way. He had his new mount, Walter, and he had the armour and weaponry to go alongside him – all without having to pay the coin cost himself, something that troubled him to a rather large degree.


So too were Oliver's men similarly equipped. Verdant assured him that he had completed his own preparations, whilst Oliver had been sure to see to it that his other retainers had been given anything extra that they needed to complete their own equipment lists.


When he had spoken to Blackthorn, she'd given him the same assurances. Now, the only thing that seemed to be left to do was to fight the battle itself – of course, though, it could never be quite that easy. There were still numerous logistical tasks to complete.


Chapter 782 - Final Preparations - Part 4