"Look at me," he said, eventually. He could think of no other alternative. Fear was as good a medium as any, after all. "You will not stand idly in this next confrontation. You will raise your voice, as you've seen Sergeant's raise their voices before. You will command the men nearest to you, and you will give a thought to nothing but pushing forward."
There were golden flecks in his eyes as he gave that order. The tiniest little glimpse of Ingolsol's power. He'd only ever used it on people that were for a certainty his enemies – people that would never want to fight for him, no matter what he said to him. For these men, it was different. With the help of Ingolsol, he gave them the slightest nudge.
He didn't know whether it would work as he expected it or not, but he needed it regardless.
"Good, go on then," Oliver said, sending them back. "You'll return to me after this battle, and you'll share your names with me."
He dismissed them. It was hard to tell if there was any sort of change in them whatsoever. They moved with that same manner of stooped puppets that all the slave men moved with.
"Was that a failure, my Lord?" Verdant asked. "Perhaps it might have been more useful to speak to that man Judas, or to Lady Nila. They seem more likely to have understood what you wished from them."
"Perhaps," Oliver conceded, glancing to the side. Jorah and Kaya and Karesh were still there, waiting for an opportunity to show themselves. Oliver didn't doubt that they'd cause some sort of change – as would Blackthorn, who was there with them.
But, he figured, if the foundations of the army were rotten, throwing his best retainers on top of them wouldn't do much to rectify that already broken structure.
He shouted over to Cormrant. "Let's go again," he said.
The Vice-Commander nodded, apparently growing accustomed to the idea of training battles. It seemed at first he had expected it to be more violent than it had ended up being. No doubt he was ready for the same to happen again.
By now, even the men tasked with improvement were returning to their work, shaking their heads. The slaves had proved to be a great disappointment, after all. There had been no competition. It just went to show that, no matter how large the man, if he lacked training, then he would never stand a chance against a far mightier army.
Judas was shouting as he gathered his men behind him, giving them some sort of speech, in that passionate way that he had, thumping his chest far more times than any man ought to. He seemed to think that all big men spoke the same ape speech that he occasionally fell into. Nila was there as well, with the occasion interjection, a clear look of judgment on her face as she evaluated them.
She gave a few furious points, offering instructions of some sort, and she even managed to get a reaction out of the men from it.
"I wonder how many battles it will take before they can hold their ground…" Kaya murmured.
"Too many," Blackthorn replied. "Father would call it 'fighting paper walls'. They're not nearly as strong as they look."
"Begin!" Oliver shouted, bringing the pre-battle discussions to an end once again. They'd only been afforded ten or so minutes to rest, but the first battle had been such a short affair that they could have gone immediately after.
At once, it began to play out much the same as it had last time. Judas and Firyr were by far the most enthusiastic of all the men. They took to the front straight away, and were charging at top speed, not an ounce of fear on their faces. Judas had always been an aggressive man, but it was only now, when Oliver's eyes were firmly on him that he began to grasp the scale of that aggressiveness properly.
It was hard to believe that he was soon to be a father.
"CRUSSSHHH THEM! FOR THE BOSS!" Judas shouted something nonsensical, seeming to think that he was back in Solgrim, collecting money for Greeves. Whatever he was thinking, it seemed to work. His sword caught one spear shaft firmly as he went in. The blow sent the weapon veering wildly off to the side, tangling up with another two spears, bringing them out of position, and opening up a gap.
But once again there was no one behind Judas to take advantage of it.
On the right flank, Firyr was engaged in much the same battle, though the breadth of his concentration seemed to be broader than it had been before. Instead of just focusing on the enemy in front of him, he was glancing behind him, making sure his men were following. Oliver recognized five of the slave men from yesterday amongst them, a clear fire in their eyes.
They were far more motivated than the rest, and they were keeping pace with their Sergeant. The others in their squadron hurried to do the same, swept along by the current of emotion.
This time, when Firyr hit, he did so with the weight of ten men. His spearmanship won him a strike of another soldier, sending him to his knees, opening up a gap – and this time, it was a gap that his men streamed straight through, widening it in an instant.
"Gods! What the hell is that?" Oliver heard a soldier shout, as he paused his axe work to watch the battle.
All of a sudden, men were flying. The gap of a single man was widened in an instant to five. Padded swords and axes were swung with a messy lack of efficiency, but every time they struck something, they carried enough force to lift men up off the ground. Firyr had built them a bridge, and now that the men were in melee range, they had a use.
The fire of the blooded men spread to the entirety of the squad. Something was in front of them, and it began to smell of victory. They were giving roars and battle cries as they put their all into the fight. Something, evidently, was building.