Loopbreaker

Zachary had taken them to a small shed behind the forge and motioned for them to stay put until he returned. Francis was in awe of the number of swords crammed into barrels. He took one out and inspected it, recognizing it as the one all the other initiate fighters had been given on the battlefield.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Phillip said. “You know those aren’t that great of a blade. How is that possible?”

“Well, they’re slightly better than the ones we trained with,” Francis replied. “I mean, these don’t have dozens of nicks and dents. It doesn’t take that keen of an eye to see they’re probably what the ones we used started off as.”

“Close, but no. Yours were even worse.”

Francis shook his head as Phillip grinned.

“Hey, don’t mess up those counts!” Zachary called out, appearing from around the shed. “I’ve got em of them labeled and marked. I don’t need to get in trouble for shorting a barrel even if the other one has an extra.”

The smith quickly moved over to where Francis had retrieved the sword and put it back.

“Sorry,” Francis said.

“It’s alright, I just don’t need the king’s quartermaster on my arse. Now tell me, how does this sword feel to you?”

Francis frowned at those words but took the weapon offered to him by the smith, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.

It was five inches longer than the ones he had trained with, but the weight was well balanced. Francis took a few steps away from the men and gave it a few swings, setting his feet and doing a few of the motions he had witnessed Kels do once.

“Uh… where did you learn that form?” Phillip asked.

Francis turned and saw that both men had narrowed their eyes and were watching him intently. “What do you mean? They’re just weapon strikes.”

Zachary rubbed his eyes with a thick finger and then glanced at Franci’s trainer.

“Did… no, you couldn’t have. Not to be mean, Phillip, but both of us know you wouldn’t even try to teach those sword forms to those trainees.”

“None taken… but I’m just as lost as you are,” Phillip replied. “Francis, we’re serious, do you even know what you are doing?”

“Uh… obviously not.”

His trainer frowned, scratching his chin for a moment. “I don’t know if the style of the name is right, but I think you were attempting to do the… a… shoot… no… It’s the blossom… or something technique. I know they’re named after the season, but only warriors who have gained a master level in swordsmanship even try to do them. Those moves are some of the most prestigious--I think there are only four in our kingdom who can do them all.”

“Three,” Zachary said. “Thirty years or so ago, Master Zegor died… or so it’s rumored. No one's seen him in several decades, so who knows? I think he was the last true master of the art. Not even the general knows them all, if the rumors are true.”

“I doubt he could manage, with that arm missing,” Phillip muttered.

“So… I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be doing?” Francis asked.

The scar on his trainer's face bunched up as he frowned. “Without all the training and knowledge of how those really work, yes. Trying to imitate them in a fight would likely result in your death. I know that people don’t practice them unless someone is training them. And getting trained like that… Well it requires one to be very skilled in swordsmanship.”

“I don’t want to change the subject,” Zachary said, “but I do have a forge to work and while I’m interested in learning more about how Francis knows those, I don’t trust my two boys to not burn the place down if they’re left alone too long.” The blacksmith turned to Francis, “So, do you like the sword?”

“Yes, sir. It’s really nice. Far better than anything I’ve ever held.”

“Says the boy doing techniques he shouldn’t know,” muttered the smith. “Tell you what, twenty-five silver and you can have it. Trust me when I say it's worth more than that, but with Tom’s recommendation and seeing what you just did, I’d feel wrong asking for more.”

“I’ll take it!” Francis exclaimed, pulling a bag of coins off his hip and holding them out.

“No buyer's remorse either,’ Zachary teased. “Just make sure to bathe it in our enemies' blood. And if you somehow survive, tell people I made it.”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Now what about a scabbard?”

“I knew that was coming--I’ll have to get it for you later tonight. I made that for a lower noble who hasn’t come back to pick it up or pay in over a year. The scabbard is at my house as I was still doing some detail work occasionally. That’s part of why I’m selling it so cheap. You’re helping me recoup a little money for the metal and time I’ve spent.”

***

Stolen from NovelFire, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Crap… I mean… all this stuff. You are going to make me look bad,” Michael said, staring at Francis.

Francis turned again, showing off the outfit and weapon he’d procured.

“It’s really kind of crazy. Hard to believe I’m going to have to wait till the last minute before putting this on.”

“Yeah, so now what?” Michael asked.

“We sleep, get up tomorrow, and endure a boring trip to the battlefield. After that, stay behind me once the fighting starts. I’ll do what I can to protect you but–”

“Don’t worry about me,” Michael said, stepping forward and touching Francis’ shoulder. “You’re doing the impossible. I… I still struggle to really comprehend all this, but seeing you and Phillip together… that money and now this getup? Either you’re the greatest storyteller in this land while also being the greatest conman, or you're telling the truth. I’m betting on the latter.”

***

“Francis! Go!”

His brother’s encouragement fueled Francis on as he cut through the wolf and tiger-kin before him.

Each trainee near him seemed energized by what he was doing. Somehow, it was helping them resist the fear affect the lizard kept sending from the woods.

Flee! Run away!

[ Mental Resist Check Successful ]

Another wave washed over him, doing nothing; the beasts that drew close for an easy kill found themselves dying to his blade.

With his new agility rank, these creatures' movements felt slow. Each attack they made was easier to dodge, block, or parry than it had been in previous lives.

“Shift left!” Francis shouted.

He didn’t look back, having already told Michael what to do--they left the area he knew a spell would soon hit.

Less than a minute passed before a figure he had been searching for caught his eye and a pair of daggers flew toward him.

This time he easily blocked and deflected the weapons, smiling as the tiger-kin’s eyes widened.

“Payback’s a bitch!” he roared, charging toward her while cutting down those who got in his path.

The Tigress tried to disengage, moving through the line of cat-kin and wolf-kin, yet Francis’ speed and skill made escape impossible.

He was surrounded, having left the safety of his fellow warriors, but it didn’t matter. In this small section of chaos, he was king.

Dozens of tiger-kin fell around him, his new blade cutting them far more easily than his previous weapons had.

[ Power Strike ]

Three had tried to box him in, but Francis’ blade bisected the trio as he spun.

His nearby opponents stopped their assault and took a step back, giving him time to catch the fleeing beast and cut her down from behind.

As she bled out, he yelled in triumph; the thrill of the moment made Francis feel alive.

He had died so many times. Each time he had died, it had been to get stronger--right now was proof of how much it had paid off.

He turned and moved toward the side of the battlefield where he knew the next enemy he needed to train against would be.

He was one man, moving through the horde of beasts that came at him like an avalanche.

Some managed to land blows, a few piercing the armor he wore and drawing blood, yet those injuries were easy to shrug off.

The Pain Resistance made all the injuries seem like nothing as none were life-threatening.

Every minute, he used a Power Strike to clear the clumps of opponents who pressed against him. Finally, their lines thinned out, and what he had been looking for came at him.

The massive rhino-kin charged, head down, horn in his direction.

Francis dodged and rolled to the side as the creature lumbered past him a few steps before skidding to a stop, creating a furrow in the soil.

It rose on its back feet, towering over him, and huffed.

This one had limited armor, not like the ones he’d watched Kels and Stenson fight. Only a chest piece covered the vital areas. Even though it didn’t have a weapon, Francis knew a single blow from its hands would crush him.

Instead of waiting, Francis charged, praying the improved stats would give him an edge against this behemoth.

He darted left, then shifted right, barely avoiding the swing that came at him as he brought his blade across.

[ Power Strike ]

The weapon dug into the rhino’s thick leg, creating a gash about three inches deep and caused the creature to stumble before it pivoted.

[ Skill Increase Power Strike – 3 Basic ]

It can do this!

Preparing to swing again, Francis saw the incoming strike and held up his shield, changing his stance to prepare for what came at him.

The large left hand backhanded him, shattering his shield and sending him rolling a dozen yards.

Pain radiated through his left arm—when he looked over, he saw bones sticking out of his forearm, the top section of it, hand and all, gone.

He blinked, trying to register what had happened. The pain was dull, still throbbing, but not overwhelming.

Blood squirted from the missing appendage and the rhino roared, coming toward him, its steps seeming to shake the ground on its approach.

Just before it reached him, Francis charged it, weapon moving.

[ Power Strike ]

It swung another backhand and Francis aimed the blade for the fist. When the metal and fish collided, Francis was sent backward, yet the rhino-kins' approach faltered as well.

Francis’ sword arm ached. His blade was broken, half of it sticking out of the rhino-kin’s fist.

Blood dripped from the giant gash; for a moment, both he and the rhino looked at each other, stunned at what had happened.

“Crap!” Francis cursed.

Wincing, he dashed forward, hugging the thing's left side while slamming his fist against the thick hide.

None of the punches didn’t do anything, and the beast roared, spinning far faster than Francis had anticipated. Its right arm came, connecting with his chest.

Pain radiated everywhere inside.

Only one eye seemed to work, and as he coughed into the soil, his limited vision allowed him to spot the approaching beast.

It didn’t move quickly; instead, it huffed as it came, each stride seemingly intentional as the rhino-kin bore down upon him.

There was a slight pause when it got to him.

Francis knew he would die soon even if the beast didn’t do anything else.

Yet the rhino appeared to be roaring. He could feel its breath as it bent down near his face. It snorted one more time before standing upright.

Then it lifted its foot.

***

The sound of the morning bell rang.

Grabbing his chest, Francis sat up, gasping for air.

“You okay?” Michael asked, tiredness in his voice. “It’s earlier than usual.”

Francis took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Bad dream. Felt like a horse or something was sitting on my chest.”

“Ahh, yeah, I’ve had those… I hate the ones where I feel like I’m drowning.”

After sitting up, Francis grabbed his boots and smiled. “Good news is, we’re both alive. Guess those bad dreams aren’t going to kill us after all.”

“Why should we worry about dreams when the real nightmare, Phillip, is outside waiting for us? Let’s hurry up. I don’t want to be late.”

Francis opened his mouth, ready to say something, but stopped.

His brother frowned at him for a second and returned to getting dressed.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to find out what happened to Phillip before all of this, and also learn who hates him. For now… I’ve got a rhino to go die to a few more times.