Loopbreaker

“Tell me, Francis Lancaster, how did you come by that phrase?” Vella asked. The captain’s brown eyes were narrowed as she waited for an answer after the tent had been cleared.

“I’m going to tell you something. You won’t believe me, though, it will require you to summon Nehemiah.”

“That wrinkly ball of skin? Why would I want to summon him?”

“Because I have a skill of the Sage rank and because you and your father, General Stenson, will want to hear how badly the battle tomorrow will go.”

Her head jerked so hard that Francis wasn’t sure if she hurt herself with the motion.

“You claim to be a Sage?”

“How else could I have known the passphrase that would guarantee me a private audience with you?” Francis asked. “I could talk about how you wanted to be a fighter like your father but he made you take the path you're on. We could also discuss how you and he joke about your mother. Or–”

She held up her hand and shook her head. “Those things are not well-known. Only a few who are close would speak of them, and they would not reveal them even under torture. I will summon Nehemiah as you have requested and we shall see if what you say is true.”

Smiling, Francis moved away from the tent flap. “Go ahead and ask for your father as well. I’ll try to remember not to mention his sword before him unless I want to find myself in an awkward position.”

Vella shook her head and frowned, pulling her bottom lip in slightly as she stopped mid-step. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

For the first time he could remember, he saw a small amount of humanity show. It was not like the first time Nehemiah had revealed he was a sage. Her voice and face appeared to prove that a few of the walls she kept erected seemed to have come down.

“I am, and believe me when I say we’re in a fight far worse than any of you realize.”

***

Stenson and Nehemiah both appeared frustrated by Francis’ attempt to prevent them from leaving the tent.

“Listen and please stop with the nonsense for a moment,” Francis said, glaring at both men. “Nehemiah, you will report to King Baxter in a moment about my presence. You will also summon your son, Kels, and tell him I need to train with him. Make sure he brings the rings and Dawn so that she can keep me from dying under his training.

“General Stenson –” Francis started to continue.

“How? How can you know these things? Sage skill or not, it’s impossible,” Nehemiah said. “I know of no skill like what you claim. I cannot determine what it is, as your skill is higher than mine, but you are talking about knowing things that haven’t happened yet!”

“I am,” Francis replied. “Now look at those two next to you. Each of them realizes that what I’m about to share has immense value. Both care about the lives of everyone in this camp, including an old man who likes to sleep naked.”

Stenson had a chuckle escape as Nehemiah’s face flushed red.

Francis shook his head and pointed at the table, where the battlefield model was displayed.

“Before anyone else comes into this tent or goes out, I need to show you three things, and I need you to understand a few truths.”

“But the King–” Nehemiah began.

“Can wait,” Vella stated. “Use that old brain of yours, you fool, and see what is standing before us. Perhaps for the first time in so long, we might end this battle and you can finally go back home to your easy life.”

A grunt came from Nehemiah as he turned and stomped toward the table.

“You speak with authority not common in one your age,” Stenson said, moving to stand beside Francis. “Not many men can command the power and presence you do in a room like this.”

“I had a good teacher. Moving on, let’s discuss a few things.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, Francis went into detail about everything that could and would happen that he knew of. Questions came constantly, thought he refused to answer any until he was finished.

“In the end, all I can tell you is what the gods have revealed to me. Either you don’t change tactics and face an army you cannot beat fighting hand to hand, or you mix things up a little bit and remove magic from the equation for both sides. Whatever path is taken, you’ll have to adjust, but know that beyond that moment, I am aware of nothing else.”

Nehemiah opened his mouth and closed it, his jaw muscles flexing repeatedly.

“So this still doesn’t guarantee us any kind of win,” Vella muttered.

“Saving all of those men is a win,” her father replied. “While it’s not a victory that ends the war, it gives us a moment to consider alternative plans.”

“But without magic, we’ll have to fight hand to hand,” Vella said. “And if what Francis says is true, you’ll die facing whatever monster is on the other side.”

“At least your mother will be happy.”

She groaned, giving him the middle finger.

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“And what am I supposed to do?” Nehemiah asked. “I mean, I can speak to the King and he will test what I say is true. He will know you have a sage skill. Beyond that, why keep me here?”

“Because if I had let you go, you’d have already acquired a summons for me before I told you everything I just shared,” Francis replied. “Keeping you here allowed these two to hear everything I know, and we can discuss some alternatives before I’m whisked away. Every second is important, so I do not want to be paraded before the crowd that joins him and his wife in the tent. Convince him to forgo that moment entirely. If he needs, I will appear; he can then test what I say is true while he is on his throne, and then he and those who are responsible for the mages and any other useful combat aspect need to return to this tent and not leave until we have a plan.”

“He’s wise,” Stenson said, giving Nehemiah a soft pat on his shoulder. “You have a different kind of power in that tent that I don’t.”

“Bah, you’re the General!”

“And those in that tent hold more sway than I do because of their magical power. Francis is correct. Play the role the gods have given you. I’ll do what I’m best at: keeping this kingdom still standing.”

Snorting, Nehemiah nodded. “Am I free to go?”

Francis motioned that he was and returned to the model battlefield.

“What is it like?” Vella asked.

“What?”

“The ability to see the future.”

“It’s not like you think,” Francis replied. “It’s painful and hurts. The weight of what is… impossible to measure. Even if I had access to the enchantments the camp has, helping me rest or not grow tired, it still weighs on me. Every moment I have to wonder what is going to happen that I don’t know, and what the outcome is. It’s like trying to direct a stream, and the water always runs over any dam I build.”

Both of them nodded slowly.

“So which path do you think we should take?” the general asked.

Francis sighed and shrugged, unable to give a good answer to Stenson.

Francis had six more hours than usual this loop because he came directly here upon arriving at the camp, not waiting for bedtime. Phillip had vouched for him after speaking with various guards, since Dirk wasn’t around. One time, he would keep his promise to his trainer and try to find out who was out to get the man. As much as he disliked how Phillip had treated him, there was a method to that torture.

“You prefer going into melee because you don’t have to worry about magic, but with an impossible field of anti-magic area, you lose in the forest,” Francis said. “Whatever happens, you must burn at least a hundred yards in the middle of those trees.

“The beasts are at home there, and they will slaughter any scouts who venture in. They slowly make their way through the trees, which means they are able to attack us from two sides whenever they wish. Without the enchantments in the camp, you’ll have exhausted men and women. That’s why you’ll ensure everyone remembers how to operate without magic.”

“The old days,” Stenson muttered.

“Those days cost you an arm,” Vella said.

“No, it was my stupidity. One I prefer not to repeat, especially with this knowledge.”

Francis found himself smiling as he listened to the two of them chat. As before, he wondered how having a parent who actually talked and listened would feel.

“Can I change the subject a moment?” Francis asked.

Both of them looked at him and nodded in agreement.

“Let’s talk combat skills. The wolf-kin and tiger-kin are easily defeated one-on-one by someone with a thirty or higher in a weapon skill. The rhino-kin can easily cut down someone at forty-one. Beyond that, I’m not sure where they stack up.”

“And you know those specific numbers… how?” Vella asked.

“I’m a sage. Isn’t that good enough?”

The captain shrugged. “I guess it will have to be.”

Francis smiled and shook his head. “Now, how many of your warriors have active weapon skills? Say like Power Strike?”

Clearing his throat, Stenson frowned, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Those numbers aren’t openly discussed, but more than half of our elite soldiers have it. A single active weapon skill can change a fight between two matched foes or even one slightly lower. Why do you ask?”

“How rare would you say it is for a warrior to acquire it?”

Scratching his chin, Stenson stared off to the side for a moment. “They are hard to come by outside of real combat. There isn’t a surefire way to learn them. Those who have it have spent a lot of time in fights. I can think of maybe one woman who acquired that skill during training, and she was gifted, different from the rest. It is why the skills are rare.”

“Forgive me for what I ask next, but is that what you use with your sword when the red slash comes out?”

Stenson’s calm demeanor disappeared—the man’s nostrils flared as he took a single step, though he was stopped by his daughter, who had her hand on his shoulder.

“Father.”

“You… ask a question that only a fool would ask,” he said slowly, glaring at Francis. “I did not consider you a fool, yet here you stand, asking like one.”

“There is a reason I have asked,” Francis said as he moved to the edge of the tent and grabbed a wooden chair, then set it in the middle of the space between them.

Forming a fist, he punched downward at the two-inch-thick plank.

[ Power Strike ]

The chair shattered beneath his strike. Upon looking up at the general, Francis saw both eyes were as wide as a cup.

“You… have the skill?!” he exclaimed.

“How? You’re a mage class, aren’t you?” Vella asked.

Shaking his head and chuckling, Francis smiled. “No. I prefer having a sword in my hand. I’m only a forty-one in swordsmanship, thought, and I’m hoping to eke a few more points from sparing with Kels. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to lift the sword in the training area like the general can.”

Both coughed at his last statement.

“So, General, I’m no fool. I’m asking because someday I want to know how to achieve such a thing.”

A multitude of expressions flashed across Stenson’s visage for a few seconds… and then he sighed.

“Mine is a legendary skill. I used to have the Power Strike skill you had, but it evolved. My arm…” He paused, his hand briefly touching the stump of his shoulder. “I lost my arm because I used my skill in a fight. Instead of researching my opponent like I should have, I naively got in a fight because I let my temper get the best of me. I was a fool and believed I could overpower anyone and learned the harsh lesson that I could not.

“Youth makes you sometimes do stupid things,” Stenson continued. “My opponent was smarter than I gave him credit. No one knew he had that defensive ability. But he knew of my skill and waited until I used it to end the fight. My left arm was blown clean off, and I almost died from the blood loss.”

“And the one you were fighting?” Francis asked.

“He died. I killed him with the sword in my right hand. I lost more than just my arm from that fight. I also acquired this…” Stenson stopped talking and began unbuttoning his coat. Once he had removed the jack, the older man slowly pulled up his shirt.

Francis tried not to react, but he couldn’t help it, holding his hand to his mouth.

Scars that looked fresh covered the older man’s entire torso, stopping just a few inches from his neck. Had he not known better, Francis would have wondered if they’d start bleeding at any moment.

“The temperamental man I was is gone. Before you stands a better warrior. One who is grateful for your wisdom about what is to come. Knowing anything about an enemy that I must fight gives me hope that I might be able to find a way to overcome, no matter how great the odds are against me.”

“So what would it take to evolve Power Strike into what you have?” Francis asked.

The general sighed, slowly tucking in his shirt.

“You will have to bathe yourself in blood, throw yourself into endless conflict, and strike down more lives than you want to count. Eventually, if the gods shine upon you, you might acquire it. The fact that you already have Power Strike at such a young age… Perhaps the gods might be kind enough to grant it to you some day. But first, we must win this next battle.”