And then, there was the Minister of Blades, simply in standing near him, Oliver felt the presence of a mighty man, and it made him bellow internally, "why can I not use you? Why can I not secure victory from your might?".
That was one thought too many. In the heat of combat, anger ran through his sword, and he swung at a foe in front of him far too heavily, almost dislodging himself from his saddle in his process.
There was another bit of magic there, when his eyes fell on his horse – the fact that the beast was still standing. The fact that it had been delivered to him at all. Were the Gods not on his side?
It trickled, and trickled, until Oliver could hardly fight it anymore. That will to coalesce, and make use of everything. The world was filled with the most profound meaning, everywhere he looked, there was something that demanded use of him, there was no escape.
