A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

And such heavily armoured men, they all beat their feet together, as a single unit, making a grand noise, lent energy by the extra weight they were carrying. Beam noted as he narrowed his eyes that very few of them wore swords – most had daggers at their waists instead, with the spear being their primary weapon.

That was, until, he caught sight of a man riding atop a white horse. There was a man that did indeed wield a sword, as the scabbard hung from his waist and tapped against the flank of his mount as he rode.

Even from a distance, the man's temperament was clearly distinguishable. He rode with the laid back swagger of a competent man – even his horse copied him. A swaggered confident stroll was what the two of them engaged in.

As he came closer, Beam could make out his face. A stern face, middle aged, with a hairline that was starting to recede. He held his reins with one hand as his blue cloak billowed behind him. He too wore the same chain mail of his men.

The army continued to march, easily cowering the villagers with their aggressive display. Beam glanced around to see the worried looks about the faces of the masses as the army shuffled ever closer, without a single drop of warmth displayed on a single man's face.

And why would there be? They were far away from home just as winter was about to come crashing down – and it was peasants they were greeting. As members of the serving class, they stood far above the ranks of mere farmers.

The army came to a halt just a short distance away from the platform, the men ending their steps as one, sitting in a tight square with their weapons pointed skyward, all of them standing to the strictest of attention.

The mounted man was in front of him. The man that Beam could only assume was their captain, and as such, a knight. The very first knight he had ever seen, aside from Dominus.

"At ease," the man said lightly, and yet his words reached all four corners of the village square, and they were as hard as stone despite their lack of volume. The voice of a man that had commanded many for many years.

The villagers couldn't help but relax slightly at the command. It was only when they saw the soldiers relax their shoulders somewhat that they realized the commander had been addressing his men.

There was a palpable tension in the air as the man dismounted his horse.

"Sir," a soldier hurried quickly forward from the ranks of men, taking the reins of the horse from his captain. The captain merely nodded in place, before he turned his discerning gaze to those on the platform.

He took a brief sniff in through his nose, as though dissatisfied, and then he plunged one foot onto the wooden platform, the noise ringing out across the square.

At that signal, both Greeves and the Elder hurried forward to meet him.

"Well met, Captain Lombard!" Greeves said, flashing him his best smile, though he could not hide the sheen of sweat that coated his forehead.

The captain gazed at him for a moment, his pale blue eyes seeming to bore a hole through him, and then he turned his gaze to the Elder expectantly.

In turn, the old man dipped his head in a bow as deep as he was able, leaning heavily against his staff. "I am the Elder of this village. It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Captain."

"Hm." A brief noise, as the captain regarded them both. Beam couldn't tell whether they'd done something to displease him, or whether the captain was just hard to please in general.

Greeves took that opportunity to rush towards the gifts that he'd prepared. He picked up a box and opened the lid, revealing a bottle of fine wine, sitting on cushioned furs. "A gift, captain. One of many. To celebrate your taking command of the village, and a thank you for your services," Greeves said, holding the bottle out to him as he too dipped his head.

"I do not drink," Lombard said, looking down on the wine as he spoke his first words to the merchant, unable to keep the disdain from his voice. Or perhaps that was simply how he always talked – Beam couldn't tell. The man seemed to be chiselled from rock with how cold his aura was.

And all the while, Beam watched him ever so carefully, gauging his strength.

There was an aura to the man, that was for sure. It made his skin tingle with excitement to feel it. It was the first time he'd felt a true aura from another man – before he'd only felt it from the hobgoblins, and a low level menacing from the other monsters he had encountered.

There was Dominus too, who one would expect to feel a crushing aura from, but the old knight hid his well.

"The aura is the draw of a cultivated man to subordinate that which is around him. As the moon draws the tides, so do vast men afflict those around them with – at times – a painful gravity. On the low level, it is a tingle of fear, on the high level, a physical restraint," Dominus had told him when Beam had asked about it once.

With the captain's rejection, Greeves' momentum faltered for just a second. As Beam watched, he was sure he saw the Elder smile, even as he kept his head lowered to the floor, in a display of harmlessness.

"Ah, do forgive me, Captain. I was foolish to offer such a thing. Will you partake in the meal that has been prepared for you? I can have the other gifts sent to your quarters at your leisure – you may give them to your men if they do not suit you," Greeves said.

"Hm…" Lombard looked at him long and hard. "I truly am in the country." He murmured to himself.