A handful of seconds later, the strength finally left him, and he fell to the floor.
Jorah could not help himself. He raised his spear and bellowed.
"VICTORRRYYY!" He cried.
Kaya joined in the shout with a raised fist. Firyr and Karesh soon echoed it, as did the rest of the slaves under command. Their energy was once more reignited, and they pushed back at the enemy even harder.
The only one who didn't join in the cry was Nila. From her, there was only a wry smile.
"Hear their cries, Talon?" Oliver said. He'd heard Jorah's bellow clear as day, and he could see that on the right flank, the same overhaul was beginning to take effect. With the death of Oomly, the strong were freed up, and they bit into the Macalister soldiers with vengeance, finally able to fulfil the mission that they'd been assigned from the start.
"Impossible…" Talon said. He too had caught a glimpse of Claudia's light. As well cultivated as his Fragment was, it would have been impossible to miss it. "The Gods favour you, boy… To have it happen twice, on the same battlefield."
"These are my seeds, Talon," Oliver said. "We're here to reap the harvest."
"You cannot claim that," Talon said, denying it. "There's no place for that. No. That is not the path of the Sword, nor the General – that is luck, as plainly as it can be stated."
"Do you think it, truly?" Oliver said. "Do you think it's luck that I overturned you? How could it be luck that my men have learned to do the same?"
"Arrogance," Talon said accusingly, pointing a finger. "I did not think you had that in you. That stain will be the death of you. Untended self-belief will burn all those around you."
"It is not self-belief," Oliver corrected. "It's the belief of my men. The image of me that they have birthed."
"Pah!" Talon said, snorting, and throwing a strike with a glaive. A sudden and powerful swing, with the same killing intent that he'd kept up for the duration of their duel.
But now Oliver brushed that strike aside with ease. He'd seen it too many times now. Besides – that was a blow thrown as Talon was walking backwards, retreating, covered in the many wounds that Oliver had already dealt him.
"Will you surrender, Talon?" Oliver said. "I will spare your life."
"You jest, boy," Talon said, angrily. "Look at the numbers – this battle is far from over. My victory looms closer. Look towards the centre. Gadar pins your man down. He's already of the Second Boundary – luck will not save you this time."
"We shall see," Oliver said, continuing to walk his foe down. He could not dive in recklessly, for there was still life in Talon, but with every step that Talon took back, his end loomed ever closer.
Verdant heard the cries come from the right flank, just after the victory came from the left. He swelled with pride at the sound. He knew it was his Lord that those men had responded to, and it was their very image of him that had allowed them to pull through and do the impossible.
Even as Verdant celebrated internally, Gadar's expression remained emotionless. He spared the two flanks nothing more than quick glances, and seemed to come to terms with the deaths of his long-term allies in an instant. He pressed his attack even more assiduously, battering down on Verdant's guard, again and again, covering him with all manner of wounds.
"Verdant! We're about to break!" Northman shouted, his voice strained. The centre had taken the worst of the battering, and they were in dire need of relief. Verdant knew that aid would soon arrive from the flanks, but with how exhausted his men were, he wasn't sure whether it would arrive quickly enough.
"The way is open for a retreat!" Cormrant shouted.
"No!" Verdant said, even as he was under the rain of blows. His men no doubt would want an explanation for that denial, but he could not offer one with the pressure he was under. He hoped that their own eyes would see just how fatal a decision a retreat would turn out to be. It would allow the central men the free reign they needed to squash the fires that had ignited on both flanks.
Gadar pounded away against Verdant's spear, slamming him back. Verdant's strength was about the only thing keeping him alive, but with every extended exchange that he was forced into, Gadar's sword would eventually reach him, and his superior speed and technique would draw yet more blood.
'Clumsy,' Verdant thought to himself, every time he was dealt a blow he ought to have dodged. His mind knew what he ought to be doing, but his body was unable to follow through.
In a way, he was like a Commander with a poor connection to his soldiers, which was an ironic thing to be, considering that he was now quite literally a Commander, and his command of those men had been meticulous enough to keep their fight alive, despite numerous setbacks.
If he could do that with other men, it was a mystery to Verdant why he could not do it with his own body. If not for Bohemothia's overwhelming strength, Verdant would have been useless on the battlefield entirely.
He lamented that fact more deeply than he'd lamented anything in his life. His calculating brain didn't allow him to overlook just how close he was coming to losing – to being the fatal link that caused the defeat of their entire army.
'Just a little bit more…' He told himself. All he needed to do was buy two minutes. That was enough.
The gap between him and Gadar was tremendous. He realized that. He even dared to be pleased by the fact that he'd managed to keep him occupied for so long. However, if he fell, it would all be for nothing.
"GREAT GENERAL, WHY DO YOU FLEE?" Oliver's voice boomed, closer now, cracking like a whip on the men nearby them. He was both a devil and a General. Talon's words had lost the greatness of their effect, as he was forced further and further back.
Now, Verdant thought he could almost see his Lord, over Gadar's shoulder.