Chapter 23
When Glitvall and Francis were finally alone, Francis told him everything. The month in Tules that had been ripped away without warning. The discussions with Stenson, Baxter, and Auri about the possibility of an enemy looper. The implications of fighting a war where both sides could reset, learn, and adapt indefinitely.
Glitvall listened without interruption, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. When Francis finished, the warchief was quiet for a long time before he finally spoke.
He shrugged. "You still have the gains you made since the last time you died, right?"
"Yes," Francis replied, somewhat taken aback by the casual response.
"Then we continue what we're doing. Everything is the same." Glitvall's voice was matter-of-fact, as if the cosmic implications Francis had just described were no more concerning than a change in the weather. "Knowledge is power, but we don't know what knowledge they have. We can worry about what they know, or we can prepare you for what you need to become. So tell me, Francis, are you ready to start that process?"
Francis grimaced, seeing the fire that burned within the warchief's eyes. There was something predatory in that gaze, something that spoke of pain and hardship to come. "I want to say yes, but the way you're looking at me is almost scary."
Glitvall snorted as he stood, his massive frame seeming to fill the tent. "That's because you are in for a lot of pain and a lot more deaths."
---
The line of Ursaloths was exactly where Francis remembered them being. As it had the first time, the alpha one grunted and his opponent stepped forward.
The massive bear-like creature moved toward him on the frozen battlefield. Its white fur ignored the wind, and its stone hammer rested on one massive shoulder. When it saw Francis approaching, it let out a roar that echoed across the ice field.
Francis knew this fight. He'd died to this creature before, back when he'd first arrived in the north. But this time was different. This time, he knew how it moved, how it fought, where its attacks would come from.
The Ursaloth didn’t charge, playing the defensive game once more. Its massive form looked intimidating but he knew how to bring it down. Francis rushed toward the bear, knowing the speed at which that hammer would come. As the Ursaloth attacked, he dove forward and to the left, rolling beneath the creature's swing and coming up behind it.
[ Quick Attack ]
[ Power Strike ]
Both swords bit into the back of the creature's leg, cutting through fur and hide to find muscle beneath. The Ursaloth howled and spun, its hammer sweeping in a wide arc that forced Francis to throw himself backward.
But Francis knew this pattern. He knew the creature would overextend on that swing, leaving its right side exposed for just a moment. He was already moving before the hammer finished its arc, his blades finding the gap in the Ursaloth's defenses.
[ Flurry ]
[ Power Strike ]
Three strikes, each one precise, each one aimed at vital points. The Ursaloth's roar turned to a pained grunt as Francis's swords opened wounds along its ribs. The creature tried to bring its hammer down on Francis's head, but he was already gone, dancing away across the ice.
The fight continued, a brutal dance of steel and stone. Francis took hits, his armor absorbing blows that would have crushed a normal man, but Warrior's Resolve kept him moving, kept him fighting. Every wound the creature inflicted made him stronger, faster, more dangerous.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was only minutes, Francis saw his opening. The Ursaloth raised its hammer for an overhead strike, and Francis didn't retreat. He charged forward, inside the creature's reach, his swords driving up into its exposed throat.
The Ursaloth collapsed, its hammer falling from nerveless fingers to crash into the ice beside its body. Francis stood over it, breathing hard, his body aching from a dozen different injuries.
One down.
The second Ursaloth was waiting nearby. As it had the previous time, the Alpha roared, sending Francis’s next opponent toward him. This one was larger than the first, its stone axe chipped and stained with old blood. Once again, when it saw Francis, it didn't roar or posture. It simply attacked.
Francis met the charge head-on, his swords already moving in patterns he'd practiced thousands of times. He knew this fight, too, or thought he did. The creature swung its axe in a horizontal arc, and Francis ducked beneath it, his blades seeking the exposed stomach.
But something was different. The Ursaloth's follow-up came faster than Francis remembered, its axe reversing direction mid-swing to catch him across the chest. Francis felt his ribs crack, felt the impact drive the air from his lungs, and then the world was spinning as he flew backward.
He hit the ice hard, rolled, and came up ready to fight. The Ursaloth was already there, its axe descending. Francis brought his swords up to block, and the force of the impact drove him to his knees.
[ Iron Wall ]
The skill activated, hardening his defenses, but it wasn't enough. The Ursaloth's next strike came from the side, the axe blade catching Francis at the waist. He felt the stone cut through armor, through flesh, through bone.
The world split in two, top and bottom, and Francis had just enough time to think—
Fuck.
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis lay there for a moment.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Francis grunted in response and threw off his blanket. No time for explanations. No time for anything but getting back to that fight.
---
The second Ursaloth's axe struck Francis in the chest, slicing through his sternum and through his heart. He died before he hit the ground, cut in half.
The sound of the morning bell rang.
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"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Touching the spot the axe had cleaved him in half, Francis took a second, ignoring his brother’s comment about how they were going to get in trouble because of him.
---
The Ursaloth caught Francis's sword with one massive paw and yanked him forward. Its teeth closed on his throat, and the world went dark in a spray of blood.
The sound of the morning bell rang.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Francis growled under his breath before getting out of bed.
---
The axe took Francis's head off in a single, clean strike. His last thought was that at least it was quick.
The sound of the morning bell rang.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Growling as the bear had, Francis roared, ignoring the look his brother gave him before leaving their room.
---
The Ursaloth grabbed Francis by the leg and slammed him into the ice repeatedly until his skull cracked open like an egg.
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis just sighed.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Rubbing his face, Francis replied. “It’s just Phillip. Come on, let’s get up.”
---
Twenty-six deaths later, Francis stood over the second Ursaloth, ripping his swords from the back of the beast's neck. Blood sprayed across the ice, mixing with his own that dripped from a dozen wounds. His left arm hung at an awkward angle, probably broken. His ribs felt like someone had taken a hammer to them, and he could taste copper with every breath.
But the second Ursaloth was dead, and Francis was still standing. That was what mattered.
A growl echoed across the ice field.
Francis looked up to see the alpha Ursaloth, larger than the others, its fur marked with scars from battles. It stood in the center of the other beastkin nearby, and at its gesture, two more Ursaloths stepped forward, their weapons ready.
"Fuck me," Francis muttered.
The two Ursaloths charged together, their movements now coordinated in a way they hadn't been before. Francis barely had time to raise his swords before they were on him.
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis wanted to scream.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
“I swear to all the gods, I’m going to punch you in the face if you say that again!” Francis exclaimed.
---
Fifty-three deaths. That's what it took to kill the first of the pair that the alpha had offered to him. Francis's body was a mass of flesh. He ignored every notification that came. He'd learned to fight one Ursaloth while defending against another. Learned when to dodge, when to block, and when to accept the damage he had to, letting Warrior's Resolve turn it into strength.
The second guard fell thirty-eight deaths after that, Francis's swords buried in its chest, falling on top of his defeated foe.
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis lay there in shock.
“Don’t say it!” Francis shouted.
Michael grunted as he sat up. "What crawled up your butt?"
---
Seventy-three more deaths taught Francis how to fight both guards without dying. Learning their patterns, their combinations, and the way they worked together was harder than he had expected. Each death brought new understanding and gave him a few new strategies to try out. Even better was that he was learning new ways to exploit their coordination against them.
It had taken a total of one hundred and sixty-four deaths before Francis finally stood over the corpses of both guards, his chest heaving, blood streaming from wounds that covered nearly every inch of his body. His left eye was swollen shut, three fingers on his right hand were broken, and he was fairly certain he had ruptured some organ inside his midsection.
But he was alive, and they were dead.
The alpha Ursaloth's growl rumbled across the ice again. Francis looked up through his one good eye to see three more Ursaloths stepping forward, their weapons gleaming in the pale northern light.
Francis pointed his bloody sword at the alpha, his voice hoarse but filled with determination.
"I swear... I'm going to take your head off one day."
The alpha's eyes gleamed with what might have been amusement or respect. Then the three new Ursaloths charged, and Francis raised his swords to meet them.
Again.
---
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis lay there smiling.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
“Oh, you know Phillip,” Francis replied, sitting up. “Now then, why don’t you and I go take a trip?”
Michael started to chuckle, but then choked, his eyes bulging as he saw Francis.
“You–”
“Yeah, I’m bigger, no, you can’t have any, and we’re going to go have some fun. It’s been a while and I need to spend some time with you.”
His brother continued to cough, and then their door swung open, a face Francis hadn’t thought about popped in.
“You two girls giving –” Malcomb’s voice stopped as his eyes fell upon Francis.
Smiling, he obliged the bully of the training area by standing and swaggering over to where the teen was. “You want to finish those words?” Francis asked, flashing his teeth. “I’d be happy to repay some of the beatings you gave me in return.”
Malcomb’s face went white and only due to his improved stats was Francis able to catch the bully as he passed out.
“Huh… who would have thought,” Francis said, hoisting Malcomb over his shoulder. “Come on, Michael. I need to go talk with Phillip before you and I go take a much-needed vacation.”
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