He was the only reason that so many men could exist with such unity. Through the strength of his Command, he bound thousands of wills to his own, and used them as tools of war, and it was Oliver who was given the sword's task of cutting through that immense foundation, stabbing at the unified enemy through its very heart.
"What are your orders, Oliver?" Verdant said. Oliver had all but frozen, as he wheeled his horse around, evaluating their position. His men cut down any Verna soldier that tried to get close to him, finding their vitals even through the loose fabrics in which they were dressed.
It was a good question, and one that Oliver wasn't hastily answering. The temptation of running at the enemy General, and testing all he was worth, it was nigh on overwhelming. The only thing that held him back was the worry for his men.
