Their confidence still hardly dipped. There were fifteen of them, after all, and they all had close-quarters weapons ready on hand. They rushed to draw them. Axes, long knives, and even one or two swords that they'd no doubt stolen from richer men.
Oliver neared them, still holding the corpse. Even for him, crashing into a wall of well-armed men head-on wasn't the best idea. He needed to use more of his skill set in order to soften them up a little before the initial moment of impact.
Finally, he was given an obstacle that was more akin to a challenge than a mere chore to be solved. With the corpse still in hand, he tossed the man at them. He couldn't throw it particularly hard or far, but it was enough to start a shift of momentum.
It hit the men on the right side, distracting them enough that they struggled to keep their feet as it crashed into their legs. Oliver dove towards the left, letting loose all the menacing that his eyes could muster. The men on the left and the centre tensed themselves, fully prepared to meet him, whilst the men on the right relaxed a little and focused on untangling themselves from the corpse.
Of course, just before he clattered with those men on the left, he drew back and plunged towards the men on the right at twice the speed, moving far faster than they knew him to be capable of. They didn't even manage to think about attacking in response. Oliver was amongst them before they got the chance, plunging a hole in what had once been a solid wall.
He kicked the first man away, hard, slashing him with his sword as the man exited, making space for himself amidst the blood. He'd bought himself enough time for two more moves, and he made good use of them.
Once more, as he'd done earlier, he slashed at the men's legs. He was finding that he liked that as a dismantling strategy. Not only did it deal with the enemy in front of him, it also set up attacks on those that came next. A strike at the legs was always delivered from a crouch, making him difficult to track, especially amongst a crowd of people.
As a building move in combat, it was quickly becoming a favourite. Even then, he saw all sorts of opportunities for a transition.
He used the momentum of the bounce to kick another man, sending ripples throughout their formation, and effectively crippling the whole of the right side, even before he dealt the finishing blow.
But now the men from the centre were on him. He was forced to deal with them, before he could cash in on all the chaos that he'd sewn. He dodged an axe and retaliated with a fist in response. Then he grabbed the hand that thrust a knife towards him, and with a quick motion broke the thumb.
Still, others were flooding around him. It was incredibly difficult to control so many at once. Each strike only had a particular amount of control that it gave him. It would affect two or three men at once. That was all well and good on the lesser numbers, but when it got larger , Oliver had to use everything he had at his disposal just to break them to pieces.
He made a gamble in the midst of battle. He'd been playing with Ingolsol's power more and more lately. He'd resisted it strongly at first, but that inky darkness was becoming more a part of him, just as Claudia's righteousness was. He swung a sword at a man's neck, stopping it just before he made the kill, bathing in the overwhelming fear that followed.
Even with all those men around him, the fear of death so close sent the man's heart into a fearful frenzy. The smoky anxiousness arose from his chest, as intoxicating as any drug. Oliver seized on it, and issued a command, hoping that the man's life would have more worth in sowing chaos than his death would have.
"LET LOOSE!" He said, not intending to shout, but with how pressed against a wall he was, he couldn't help it. He knew that he'd likely have been able to deal with that number of men far more easily if he hadn't approached it quite so recklessly. But time was of the essence – it was a fitting excuse to test his limits.
The man responded instantly, as though he was an extension of Oliver's own arm. It didn't seem to be the words that were important, but Oliver's want as he said those words. The man did exactly as he'd wanted him to when he spoke the command.
He turned around, and buried the axe that was meant for Oliver into the head of his fellow man.
"Wha—" the man choked, seeing his friend's axe buried in his chest. "Stew..?"
Of course, the man made no move to reply. After killing that man, he was straight onto the next. The others couldn't react nearly quick enough. That amount of confusion was difficult to digest in a single instant.
Now Oliver was finally afforded the opportunity to finish off those men on the right. Once more he kicked at them, unbalancing the same men that he'd unbalanced before. He sent them towards the screaming men with their leg wounds, pushing them towards the edge of the open wall. Even without looking behind them, they no doubt knew it was there, and it lent their movements a nervousness.
"It doesn't matter! Kill him!"
He heard them finally work up towards the sensible solution behind him, but Oliver had already bought all the time that he needed. He killed the men and their leg wounds, before butchering those that he'd unbalanced – a quick slash across the jaw, and then a plunge through the chest saw to that.
He enacted the same law that he'd told Blackthorn over and over – always draw your sword straight from a body after a kill. There was to be no lingering.
Thanks to the efforts of the man he'd commanded, Oliver had thoroughly butchered the right-hand side, and now even the centre was a mess. From counting the corpses and the wounds, it seemed that the man had managed to kill two men himself, and wound a third, before they'd finally managed to kill him. That was four men dealt with all at once.