A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

And that was the truth of it. Although he'd broken through to the Second Boundary before his first goblin quest, he was nowhere near Lasha's current strength back then. It went against all the supposed normal of Blessings. An individual was meant to get an instantaneous burst of strength as soon as they broke through that barrier. That hadn't been the case for Oliver.

For him, his ascension to the Second Boundary had only meant one thing: that he was able to progress, despite the Curse of Ingolsol bearing down upon him.

He knew enough to realize that he couldn't compare his own situation to others. It was too unique, and there were too many variables. If Dominus was to be believed, there wasn't another case like it in the history of the Stormfront.

Lasha didn't seem to believe him when he said that, but she nodded anyway, and drew in a deep breath. They could already hear the screams of another goblin party approaching. Oliver had worried that the number of monsters would be too low for him to hunt them effectively.

When he'd suggested that to the Gamesmaster, the man had laughed and said that if he managed to cull any of the monster numbers enough that it became a problem, then he'd give Oliver all the gold that he had.

Whether that was a mere boast or not remained to be seen. Either way, the next party of five approached, and Oliver swiftly dealt with the front-running two, before leaving the rest to Lasha.

She faced them with considerably more poise than she had the first one. Oliver saw that her hand was shaking as they approached. The group fighting ability of goblins was not to be sniffed at. If she let one of them trail too far around behind her, they'd have an encirclement, and she'd been in real trouble. Oliver had warned her of that.

He saw a goblin start to edge forward, screaming insanely, jabbing out with its spear. It made a run – but not at Lasha, it made to go round her, to go for her back.

She feinted with her sword, pretending to attack another one of the goblins, and then she lunged at the runaway, at unbelievable speed. It was the style that she'd grown up with. The Blackthorn attacking style. She seemed just as surprised as the goblin as her sword went through the back of its neck.

"DON'T DALLY!" Oliver shouted. She'd frozen up again upon making the kill, and the other two goblins were screeching, looking for her exposed back.

At Oliver's shout, Lasha pulled her sword free, and spun again, about to confront them – but they were already too close. She was forced to take a step back. A few days ago, that would have been the end for her. She had been too used to her attacking style. But now, the step back carried with it a threat, and she balanced her weight perfectly off the back foot, looking to count.

A goblin went airborne, as was their usual way of being. They attacked as madly as they could – and it usually worked for them. This time, Lasha's backward step transformed into an explosive forward thrust, even faster than the one that she'd killed the first creature with. She was like a coiled spring. Her sword punched right through its mouth.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

This time, she didn't hesitate. She'd clocked the other goblin diving for her calf. Amelia shouted her warning, but Lasha was already there. She freed her sword, and then stepped back once more, hitting twisting her hips into a ferocious kick, catching it in the side of the head with the very toe of her boot.

It clattered to the ground, stunned. She dashed after it, and pinned it back to the ground with a clean thrust.

She was breathing hard by the time she withdrew her sword, and more blood spattered her clothing. She looked to Oliver, her expression asking for approval. He gave her a smile and a nod in return.

"Better, much better," Oliver said. She was better suited to counter-attacking than she was outright attacking. Her counters had a fluidity to them that bespoke of her instinct for finding them.

Whether it was a lifetime of training purely in attacking combat that gave her such an awareness, or whether it was an instinct that she was born with, it was hard to say, yet the potential was undeniable regardless.

She smiled a rare smile. Even Amelia – who was as white as a ghost from all the violence – couldn't help brightening up when she saw that expression on her mistress. And then she saw her hands.

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"My Lady! Your hands!" Amelia said, horrified. Lasha frowned, and held her hands up in front of her. They were shaking, trembling like the branches of a tree on a windy day. Amelia sidled up to her in awe. "Are you okay, my Lady?"

Pauline followed after. They both seemed to think that it was mere fear, that she was absolutely terrified, but in truth, the worst of it had already passed. Blackthorn was settling down. She'd plunged into the deep end, and she was already growing used to it.

"It's the adrenaline in her," Oliver said, coming over. "The fear helps that get started. That's why you need it. It keeps you sharp. It makes your reactions faster."

He expected Amelia to question him, as she always did, but she said nothing. Out here, it seemed, that even that girl respected his authority.

"Alright, shall we go for one final test and call it a day?" Oliver said. "Five now. If you can manage that, I'll buy you a cake, for a job well done."

He said it jokingly, with a wide smile. From the frown on Lady Blackthorn's face, the comment wasn't particularly well received. He might have killed her motivation. He glanced over at Verdant, wondering if he'd trodden on one of those ever-present noble taboos. The priest just shrugged, and smiled back.

In came the last group, interrupting them. Seven this time. Oliver trimmed the fat, just as he had before. His own sword felt itchy. He ached to decimate the entire party. Seeing someone else fight brought about all the adrenaline of combat with none of the thrill of victory.

He couldn't wait to hunt something of his own. He relented, leaving the five for her.