Eight Intertwined

15 - Warrior

It took roughly half an hour for Olberic to take the members of the militia through their regular drills. It was a normal routine for him by that point, and he scarcely minded it. For a few brief minutes, he was able to pretend that he still had a reason to swing his blade beyond mere necessity. He was passing his skills on so that the next generation might one day understand them, and that was something that Olberic could take pride in. After many difficulties from the past involving his sense of purpose, he felt almost uncomfortably fine with slipping into the mask of having a reason to fight once again. 

However, training did not come and go without any issues in Olberic's eyes. The two soldiers that Olberic put the most time into training were the members of the patrol that had gone searching through the hills of Cobbleston that morning. They were both competent fighters in their own ways, yes, but Olberic could tell that if they combined their prowess in combat, they would be able to create something far greater than the sum of their parts. Offering such advice to the young men came with a twist of bitter jealousy to him. 

Deep down, Olberic knew that he was in no position to envy those who were so much younger than he was. It was an immature action, and he didn't want to indulge the darkest shadows of his daily life. However, the way that the two young men fought together reminded him all too much of his past with Erhardt. One of the two fighters had light hair and dark eyes while the other had brown hair so deep that it bordered on being black. Everything about them in personality was different from what Olberic had come to understand during his connection with Erhardt, but the similarities still overwhelmed him. 

He and Erhardt had fought together for many years, and that was one reason that the betrayal on Erhardt's part had come as such a bitter punch to the stomach. Olberic had trusted Erhardt more than any other, sharing secrets that he would never dream of telling to any other. Erhardt had accepted them all with a carefully-constructed smile and eyes that made it clear he could be trusted with anything. In the end, such faith was misguided as Erhardt raised his blade and used it to slay the one person that had brought them together in the first place. Erhardt had never appeared so out of his element and lost prior to that moment, but Olberic couldn't hep but feel if perhaps that had all been a figment of his imagination. For all he knew, Olberic was simply trying to convince himself that Erhardt was still a good man as a way of lessening the deep stab of betrayal and denial that had come the moment that Erhardt swung downwards to take Alfred's life. 

Olberic watched with distant, shaded eyes as the two young men made their way towards the hills of Cobbleston once again, no doubt off to test their skills against any rogue ratkin that just so happened to get in their way. Olberic was completely silent, unable to bring himself to say a word. He could see such innocence and hope for the world in the eyes of those two young men, and it reminded him all too much of the care that he had come to recognize in his own gaze from when he was young. Erhardt had once possessed that same optimism as well, though it had always been jaded in retrospect. Were Olberic's reminiscent moments being altered through hindsight because of Erhardt's betrayal? Perhaps it was simply a figment of his imagination that he had planted in his past images because he was too afraid to confess the truth of the matter behind Erhardt's treachery. 

The sound of footsteps against the cobbled ground below pulled Olberic out of his thoughts, and he forced his stony expression into a mask of effortless passiveness to keep anyone from intruding on what was passing through his mind. "Sir! Me next, please!" came Philip's cry as he dashed towards Olberic. His smile was so full of youth and life that it almost hurt to see, like a star of innocence that glowed so bright because it was undoubtedly going to flicker out soon. 

Olberic shook his head in response to Philip. The young boy didn't show any signs of picking up on his moment of tempestuous thought, and for that, Olberic was thankful. "You are not ready yet. You need to work on your form," he instructed simply yet sternly. Philip sagged in response, and Olberic's expression softened. "Do the drills as I showed you, and you'll be sparring soon enough. You have talent, lad."