A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

Yet, catching onto such a habit, even covered in goblin blood as he was, was enough to cause Beam to smile. A grim sort of a smile. To think, that the difference in strength between him and goblins now was so vast that he could kill them in whatever way he felt was best.

Beam breathed out a sigh, steadying his breathing once more, as he reflected on the battle. His skill – that was how he was thinking of it for now, for he knew not what else to call it – was slightly more effective than it was before. It lasted longer than an instance, maybe closer to a full second. He figured such a thing was likely down to the magnitude of fear that he had inflicted.

These goblins had been, after all, pretty shaken. They'd routed as a group. That was enough to completely shatter their morale permanently. It was as though the fear of multiple goblins together created a sought of resonance, increasing it in magnitude compared to what it would be if it was just a single goblin by its lonesome.

But he wondered if that was not the only reason their fear had been increased. He dared to hope that it might have been a result of his improved swordsmanship – even though he found it hard to dare to call him that, because as far as a normal swordsman was concerned, these were mere tricks.

He decided to hope that things were indeed at least a little improved, but he couldn't help feel somewhat dissatisfied, for he knew he was still missing something, he just didn't know what that something was yet. He wasn't even sure if these techniques that he was practicing would work on prey more intelligent than a goblin, like a human.

But at such a thought, he merely shrugged to himself, deciding that it was the progress that counted, and as long as there were incremental improvements, he was going in the right direction.

Mere misdirection was not the end result, after all. He had something in his mind that was greater than that. An idea that incorporated the teachings of his master into, the fluidity and lack of wasted movement that characterised a master swordsman. But he knew he wasn't there yet – indeed, he was far from it.

He finished cleaning up his corpses, pulling them together. He knew that if he got the entire goblin corpses to Greeves, he'd get far more coin than delivering just the heads, it was just a problem of how to get them there.

He beheaded the goblins just as he usually would, gathering their heads into a sack. But he found himself unwilling to burn the corpses like he usually might.

"I'm stronger than I was before, after all. Dragging six or seven corpses like this along isn't much of a bother," he mused to himself. "…But then it's not like I can go through the village with them, can I? Or can I?"

He was still undecided on such an idea. His master had warned about the dangers of drawing attention to himself before, but despite him not exactly desiring it, the attention was continuing to mount up. Just the other day he had been stood on the stage with the village leaders, after all – if only as a background character. And Captain Lombard had noted him too.

Beam grimaced as he recalled such a stare. "Mm… I guess at least for now, I definitely don't want any attention from that captain," he mused, putting a stop to any ideas of dragging them through town. "I guess I'll hide them somewhere for now and then work something out with Greeves," he decided.

Just after making his decision, he heard the sound of voices in the distance.

He paused to listen to them for a second, before going back to work. It wasn't especially uncommon for him to meet people in the forest whilst he was out.

The majority of the monsters were appearing higher in the mountains, where most hunters tended not to go, but that didn't mean that there were never any hunters there at all. And, more recently, it was the soldiers who'd been venturing that high up.

Beam had seen them once or twice from a distance, doing the rounds in parties of ten under the orders of their captain. It seemed Lombard was exceedingly cautious of more Yarmdon being holed up in the mountains, after that was the prevailing theory as to why so many had managed to make it this deep into allied territory.

From the sounds of their boots – and the number of them – Beam was able to determine that it was indeed the approach of soldiers.

He sighed to himself, having to pause his work halfway through. He quickly stashed the rest of the goblin corpses behind a rock, before he jumped up and hid himself in the thick branches of an old fir tree.

The soldiers came by not long after.

"Oh, shit, you see that? That's more goblin blood again," one of them pointed out. Beam frowned, wondering if he should start doing something to wash the blood away in future. But then he figured it was unavoidable – especially when the goblins were so close to the trail, as this lot were.

"Huh… That's a lot of it as well," another man said, as the rest of the soldiers gathered round. "How many do you reckon, Gareth? 5 or 6?"

"From the blood, I'd probably go 7 or 8," Gareth said back.

"Heh, you just love pretending to be right, don't ya? If I'd have said four, you'd have said five," the man said back.

"No, if you'd have said four, I'd have called you stupid, and then said 7 or 8," Gareth said back.

"Tsch, whatever," the man said in reply, clearly annoyed, but unable to think of a solid comeback.

Beam could see all of them in his spot in the tree, though his own face was obscured by the many branches that stood his way. All the soldiers wore their full armour, just as they had the first day that they had marched into the village, with lid helmets on their heads and chainmail over their torsos and thick boots on their feet.

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