Loopbreaker

“Francis, you've got to get up,” Michael called out.

Grunting, Francis rolled over. “Phillip can go screw himself…”

“We’re not at that camp, you idiot,” Michael replied. “We’re in the King’s section. We’re in the area with the good food and soft beds.”

Blinking and yawning, Francis bolted up and saw that they were indeed in the tent he now remembered returning to the previous night.

“What time is it?!” Francis asked.

“About twenty minutes before the horns are going to sound. I just got in and–”

“You just got in?”

Grinning like a fool, Michael nodded. “Uh… yeah… apparently, there are tents which reduce the endurance drain and… those two women… uh, kept me up for most of the night. They wanted me to ensure you knew they did what you asked.”

Unable to help himself, Francis started laughing and shook his head as his brother turned a deep shade of red.

“So… should I ask what happened all night?” Francis asked

Michael nodded. “Yes, but there isn’t time. In a few minutes, the general… the fricking general… is going to summon you. Now get dressed.”

After rolling out of bed, wishing he could stay tucked between the soft blankets and the mattress that conformed to his body, Francis quickly splashed water from a bowl on a nearby table against his face and neck.

“Your clothes, my lord.” Michael teased.

Rolling his eyes, Francis snatched the new outfit from his brother's hands and started getting dressed.

“You weren’t kidding about this… I thought you were drunk… or just an idiot but…” Michael’s voice trailed off as he motioned around the tent. “This tent alone is better than anything I think we have ever seen. How?”

Fixing the belt on the pants, Francis frowned. “Long story. I have a sage-level skill. No, I can’t answer any more questions, but I promise I will.”

“That’s a load of bullshit if I’ve ever heard it,” muttered his brother. “I mean… why… why did we have to live like that for so long if this was possible?”

Putting the shirt on the bed, Francis turned and grabbed his brother's shoulders. “I promise to tell you when I know it's safe. For now, just always know you’re the only thing I care about. Stay safe, and don’t go into battle. Promise me that.”

Blowing a raspberry, Michael bobbed his head. “Trust me, I have no desire to go down there.”

“Good. Now, get my boots and help your lord get dressed.”

“Screw you,” Michael replied as he glanced around the tent. “They’re over there, and you can get them yourself.”

***

Staring out over the battle about to begin, Francis couldn’t help but frown.

“Something wrong?” Stenson asked.

Shaking his head, Francis couldn’t tear his eyes from the army he was hoping to save today. “Sorry, General. Just knowing there are so many men below who are going to die.”

“It’s a horrible sight,” Nehemiah stated as they stood on the king’s platform set up behind the army. “Those in the front have no idea what is before them.”

Unlike the previous time, Stenson was on the platform, studying the army with a frown.

The thud of boots against wood rang out as the king made his way up the steps, his black plate armor looking glossy in the rising sun.

“Are we ready?” Baxter asked as he moved to where the three men stood apart from all the others on the stage.

“Read for a mission where we have no idea how it will go, after we threw out our entire previous battle plan? Sure,” Stenson said.

“No different than any other time,” replied the king.

Stenson’s only reply to Baxter was a grunt.

The kingdom leader moved to where the pair of crystal orbs were waiting for him and placed a hand on each.

"Warriors! Know that your King honors your bravery! Survive and be rewarded! Find wealth and a new life by proving ourselves today!”

The trickle of power that came when the king spoke was almost not even noticeable, unlike all the other times the man had spoken. The army below cheered and roared as always.

Horns marked the sound of battle, and both armies moved toward each other.

“The special fighters are in the woods, heading to the location you marked,” Stenson stated, pointing in the direction Francis had indicated. “How you appear to know so much still boggles my mind, but I am grateful to the gods that you have come. Now I just pray that things work out for our side for once.”

All the newest sage could do was nod, eyes focused on the line of fodder that was forced face-first into the charging line of minotaur.

Francis grimaced as the first line was mowed down, as always. “So I’ll ask and not try to sound stupid, but tell me, what is the chance of mixing the veterans and the elite with the untrained troops?”

“The chances are next to zero of me trying it again unless you can convince me the gods wish it,” he replied, as the one-armed man held a looking glass up to his eye. “None of our attempts at that in the early days were worth it. The enemy sent spells that hurt us, so we had to adapt. It’s impossible to know how many troops they have, and if we send our best in first, they’ll die long before reaching the real troops our enemy keeps in reserve, as we do. Knowing they are fighting on four battlefields has made us wonder how an enemy can commit to such numbers.”

Scratching his head, Francis knew he was frowning.

“Do you want to watch?” Stenson asked, holding out his looking glass.

Even though he didn’t, having lived the scene that was taking place, Francis knew there wouldn’t be many chances to use such a rare and expensive item. Holding the metal tube and lifting the smaller end to his eye, he saw the battle as if it were right before him.

Men and beastkin were cut down, more men than the enemy, but slowly, the fight changed as a steady flow of humans continued to press forward.

So much carnage…

He watched as a soldier lost his head and another took a claw through their chest. Three men managed to cut down a wolf-kin, though they died the moment they celebrated when a pair of beastkin retaliated.

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Lowering the telescope, he returned it to the general, who took it, collapsed it, and stored it in a pouch on his left hip.

“Battles and wars are not pretty. I, for one, know and understand more than most,” the older man said.

"DO NOT FLEE! STAND STRONG!"

Baxter's words informed Francis of how fast this fight was progressing -- the next part would really determine his course.

Soon, the ragged lines of the untrained men like himself were almost gone and the advanced warriors moved forward.

“You’ve put more space between the lines,” Francis said.

“Correct,” Stenson replied. “Even if we’re not sure they might use a spell like you described, I would prefer to limit the destruction it could bring.”

Rows of men stepped forward, shouting and fighting, hacking through the lines.

For what seemed like an eternity, their advance troops moved ahead, only slowed down when the number of beastkin grew too thick to push through.

“Should we use the healing spell?” Lester called out.

Baxter shook his head, ignoring the man.

“But the soldiers!” the bald man protested.

“Will die if we use it or if we don’t!” Baxter snapped. “You know the plan, do not argue. If you prefer, I can find you a place on the line.”

Those words were sharp as a blade, almost cutting, and they made the middle-aged man take a step back and hide behind the line of others.

“Lester’s not happy to watch this, but I can’t blame the king,” Stenson said quietly. “We’re losing too many men. The third line is approaching now.”

“Yet they pushed in farther than expected. Am I wrong?” Francis asked.

“No, you’re right… I think… I think the enemy is waiting… expecting us to use the healing spell. The enemy is smarter than most believed when we first faced them. Perhaps they finally realize how wrong they were after all this time.”

That statement forced Francis to close his eyes, trying to remember what he had seen in his previous life. Burnt into his memory was that fight and exactly how it turned out. It took a few seconds for Francis to realize that the enemy had matched the space between the ranks of the human army. Unlike last time, there were larger gaps than usual between the beastkin lines.

He opened them quickly and didn’t wait before reaching out and touching the general's arm.

“How far can our archers shoot? Will they be able to reach the rows of the enemy farther back?”

The older man pulled his telescope free and, with a flick of his wrist, extended it completely.

“Damn it, you’re right… We might if we move them up about one hundred yards, but that would be into the range of the enemy spells.”

“They’ve always been in the range of enemy spells,” Francis stated, “but the shield provides enough protection back here. Do it! I mean… uh, perhaps we should do it, sir.”

Chuckling once, Stenson moved to where Baxter stood, the general’s gaze fixed on the fighting armies.

Francis watched the two men conversing for a moment, and then the King stared at him. A questioning look came from Baxter and Francis nodded once, trying to look certain of the recommendation he had just made.

Horns blasted a moment later after the king gave the orders, and then the archers moved up with the fourth line of advanced troops.

“He agrees it might be worth it, even though we’re waiting on more arrows,” Stenson said.

“Why are you waiting for more?” Francis asked. “Surely, they aren’t that hard to make.”

Snorting, Stenson shook his head. “We’ve been fighting for half a year. The drain on everything is more than most realize. Four of the six nobles tasked with providing for the war effort are way behind. They blame it on our taking of the men who fight and the constant drain on the animals, trees, and glue production. Wars are not cheap, and the cost isn’t just the lives lost. While a kingdom might win a war, it can often take generations for the land to recover… and by then another war might appear, catching that kingdom unable to defend itself.”

“How long can we endure? I mean, how long can this war really last?” Francis asked.

“Until we are all dead and there is no one left to fight,” Stenson replied, frowning. “This enemy doesn’t talk with us. They make no demands, have no emissary come, and they don’t seem interested in our surrendering. They only wish to remove us, and what I fear the most is that they are doing just that… slowly killing us before they can overrun us entirely.”

A horn blew, and every eye on the platform focused on the rain of arrows moving through the air.

It was like a large flock of birds, only made of wood and metal, flying up into the sky and then racing toward the enemy. The downward arc came and the arrows fell into the midst of the beastkin, killing and wounding hundreds of troops in a few seconds.

“Yes!” Baxter shouted, his outburst causing others to celebrate, each witnessing the devastation caused to the enemy.

“That was a good call,” Stenson said, allowing a rare grin to paint his face. “Now we shall press and see.”

“But you remember what I told you, right?” Francis asked.

Nodding, the older man erased his smile in a second, the ever-present frown back once more. “We shall see. Soon, there won’t be another option. Our men and mages are moving forward as we speak.”

Four people in yellow robes appeared, each holding a crystal gem. Behind them came a group of men and women carrying a purple object.

The very nature of what he looked at was hard to focus on. It was as if the metal twisted and changed shape like runny clay, almost as if trying to hide itself from his view. A large rectangle was quickly built, easily eight feet long and four feet wide. Once it was completed, the yellow-robed individuals put the gem they held into a different corner, and the purple metal began to hum.

Light radiated from the sides and stretched across, forming an image of the battle farther away.

“What –” Francis started to ask.

“A scrying screen. It's not the largest, but it's still very powerful. One of the groups has the gem that the four are connected to,” Stenson said as the entire space in the middle of the box came into view. “Some are much stronger and can see farther away, but we cannot waste the mana on such things now.”

Swallowing the spit that had formed in his throat, Francis could only nod. He now watched the fifth and sixth row of the advanced soldiers engage with the weakened ranks of beastkin.

He could feel the change in the battle and see the difference these warriors made versus the ones who had only received the training he and his brother had.

Their attacks were consistent, and they operated as a cohesive unit. Each man stepped forward, thrusting, blocking, and protecting the one next to them.

With the enemy lines already weakened, the human troops moved quickly across the beastkin-littered battlefield, pushing closer to a line Francis knew was waiting to unleash a new foe.

“There!” Francis shouted. Pointing his finger.

A gasp came from someone nearby when the first of the rhino-kin emerged.

“There’s more than we thought!” an advisor exclaimed.

“How can we fight that many?” another asked.

“How can–”

“Silence!” Baxter roared.

The king turned, his face matching his eyes, and glared at the ones who were surprised at the sight before them. “We will not lose this battle just because of what you see! Our sage told us about their numbers, and because of that we have already made deeper strides than in months. Now silence. Only speak if you have an idea on how we might help turn the tide.”

Each man and woman went silent, most of them averting their eyes from the king’s glare.

“It’s time,” Stenson said, loud enough for Baxter to hear.

“Sound the horns, we make a play and hope that our gift from the gods works,” the king said.

Eight short horn blasts came, and the cavalry moved off to the sides, forming up as the next part of the plan was implemented.

If they use that healing spell, at least we can prevent the entire army from getting wiped out.

All of the remaining advanced groups charged, shouts barely audible from this distance, and there appeared to be excitement in each man's step. They charged as one, ignoring their fallen brothers littering the ground.

Can we win? I mean… here come the next troops…

The enemy seemed almost to hear that question in Francis’ mind, for their rows parted and lines of rhino-kin came forward, lining up and charging at the rush of men.

It didn’t seem to matter that the rhino-kin ran over the beastkin, who were unable to dodge the incoming charge from behind. The distance closed quickly between the groups. All the advanced warriors, including some of the elite troops, began gathering close, preparing to defend against this new enemy.

Dark clouds began to form, and Francis saw them, recognizing immediately what they were. “Call them back! Quickly! That’s the spell!”

“You’re certain?!” Stenson asked.

“Yes!” Francis shouted.

“CAST HEALING! TROOPS RETREAT! SPLIT UP AND FALL BACK WITH EVERYTHING YOU HAVE!”

Unlike earlier that day, the wave of overpowering commands washed over him, and this time, it was almost impossible to endure.

[ Mental Resist Successful]

The sheet of darkness spread across the field as before, racing past the rhino-kins, who stopped their charge. The speed at which they halted caused furrows of dirt to form.

Those sheets of black magic fell, and Francis frowned as he watched those who could not get away or dodge what was coming.

Light began to form as clouds appeared above, and the healing spell rained down upon the troops at the same time the beastkin’s death spell began its awful destruction.

The scene before Francis unfolded in a way he hadn’t expected.

People on the viewing platform passed out as the view showed exactly what happened when those black magic ribbons touched a warrior. Like someone had heated metal, they began to melt, bubbling and turning into a pile of goo.

Each warrior lifted their hands upward, almost as if calling the gods for mercy or some miracle.

The moment the healing spell touched the edge of the death magic, both a miracle and a curse took place.