Loopbreaker

“Sir,” the guard at the gate said, “I cannot bother her, nor are you permitted to enter the dorms. You know the rules. You shouldn’t even be here.”

The guard stationed at the gate leading to the dorms for the mages wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he had pleaded.

“I know, but my sister–” Francis said.

“It does not matter, sir,” the guard cut him off. “Without orders, you cannot enter here. Rules are rules. Beyond this gate and these walls, none may enter who are not gifted in the art of magic.”

As Francis continued to plead his case, he saw a young boy dart past the other guard, holding up a folded piece of paper. The messenger passed untouched or slowed down, continuing into the grassy courtyard beyond the stone barrier.

“I understand,” Francis said, sighing. “Forgive me. I should have known.”

“Yes, you should have, now begone.”

Turning, Francis trotted off down the street, ignoring the looks he got from the mages who watched him turn tail and run.

As he made his escape, Francis smiled, glad to have unintentionally found a way to get his message through.

***

“That’s not cheap,” Samuel whispered as the two of them stood tucked away in a door frame half a block away from where dozens of other young boys waited to carry messages. “Normally, you’d have to register that letter with the mail master. He tracks all correspondence we carry… well, almost all of it. That way, if one doesn’t get delivered or something happens to the letter, he knows exactly who to blame. It shouldn’t be a problem as the guards seldom stop us, but if one did… and later it was checked… and nothing showed on the record, I’d be fired at best.”

“And he wouldn’t deliver a letter from me to my sister?” Francis asked.

“No, sir,” Samuel replied. “I doubt it, rumors or not, letters and packages in there go through a strict inspection checklist.

“But the other messenger that ran by, they barely gave him a second glance.”

“That’s because you were causing a scene,” Samuel stated. “If they’re bored, they’ll give us a hard time. It just depends upon their mood, sir.”

“It’s Francis. Call me by my name.”

“Habit, sir… er, Francis, sir. Bah!” the young boy exclaimed.

Chuckling, Francis nodded and handed the letter with a bit of wax he had melted down from the one Avelis had sent. “Don’t worry, I think I can help with the distraction. Tell me, if you were a guard, bored and tired of watching pompous noble children look down on you, what would you want during your shift?”

Samuel smiled and started to laugh a second later. “Si… I mean, Francis, I know exactly what they would want.”

***

“You realize we’re not going to let you in, even because you’re giving us these,” the guard said, an eyebrow raised as he stared at the box in Francis’ hands.”

“I understand completely, sir,” Francis said, giving a slight bow. “I simply thought about how my actions probably frustrated you two. You’re just doing your jobs and as one in training to be a soldier, I should have known better. I could have just come and said I was sorry, but that seemed inadequate, so instead I asked around and was told that these sandwiches from The Grinder are the best in the Spire. I even asked for a little extra of the spicy sauce on the side, just in case you two prefer that.”

Francis had increased the volume of his words, holding out the paper box to the guard he had originally engaged with. Francis watched the other guard slowly approach from behind. As he did, Samuel started his approach, jogging toward their post.

“Are those really the Mothercluckers?” the second guard asked.

“That’s what I believe they were called,” Francis replied. “Candied bacon, baked chicken, pork ribs, smoked brisket and…”

“A fried egg on top?” the first guard asked.

“Yes!” Francis exclaimed. “A fried egg, all on a freshly made roll. I mean, what I smelled as they made these two sandwiches was beyond anything I had imagined something could smell like.”

Finally, the guard before him took the offered gift, having glanced at his partner, who nodded immediately. “Thanks. I uh… am sorry if I was a little hard earlier.”

Francis shook his head as Samuel ran by holding up a letter, neither man bothering to pay him any attention. “Again, my fault and I hope you two enjoy them! Now, if you don’t mind, I need to head out. I’ve got a training program to follow and don’t want to be late.”

Both guards gave him a nod as they started tearing into the boxes, groans and moans coming from the first guard as he bit into the sandwich.

As he moved away, Francis heard the second guard say, “I swear, we need to piss off nobles like him more often.”

***

Oidrun tapped his foot, frowning as he and the thirteen healers waited. “You’re certain she will be here. No one does anything today… If it weren’t you, I wouldn’t be here, and these healers wouldn’t be here if the promise of coin and a chance at growing stronger weren’t so highly coveted.”

“She’ll be here,” Francis said. “Trust me. If there is one thing I know about Trina, it’s that she never turns down the logical thing.”

“And her doing this on–” His instructor stopped mid-sentence as the mage in question appeared through the large courtyard opening, accompanied by a trio of mages.

“Weren’t there only two last time?” Oidrun asked.

“Yup, but who knows?” Francis replied. “Mage stuff, who can tell?”

A snort came from the grizzled trainer before he clapped his hands. “Alright, you lot, get ready. We’re about to see some pain turn into wondering chance of skill gains. Rotate often and don’t hold back. This is going to be fast and furious!”

Francis moved to his usual spot and started taking off his top, smiling as his sister approached.

“I got your letter,” Trina said. “You are much smarter and far more cunning than I remember. The boy was adamant, I read it immediately before taking off like a lightning bolt. He didn’t even wait for a tip.”

“That’s because I paid him well,” Francis whispered. “Now then, who is the new one?”

Trina frowned for a second at that question.

“No doubt a new watcher to report my actions. You’re right, we have limited time if I am going to have a chance for this kind of growth. Father is not thinking logically. The potential gains could be a boon for our family. If he allowed others the chance to do this, he could garner favor with other families.”

This content has been misappropriated from NovelFire; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’ll pass,” Francis said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to be turned into some training dummy for his personal gains. I’m doing this for you and for me. Plain and simple. Now, if you’re ready, let’s get started.”

“When am I not ready? Same intensity and duration?” she asked.

“No,” Francis said. “Increase it by a second. I can handle the pain. The hardest part right now is that by the time you stop, I feel like I can’t concentrate on what is being done long enough to figure anything out.”

“And even when I use the same spell four or five times in a row, it doesn’t help?”

Shaking his head, Francis frowned, holding his shirt in his hand before tossing it on the ground. “You said it's possible to lower the intensity of what you’re doing a little. If you did that, how much longer do you think it would last before the same amount of damage was done?”

Her eyes twitched briefly as Francis watched her consider his question.

“It’s a good idea,” Trina said. “Based on what I’ve learned from studying the techniques Instructor Oidrun implements. I can decrease the spell by about ten or fifteen percent at best, and that should give you another four seconds before I’ll have to stop. I mean, I could keep going, but then you risk draining the healers faster due to the extent of the damage your body suffers. Still, it’s remarkable that you can stand, and sometimes I would believe you seem… sturdier the more damage my spells cause.”

“Probably because my whole body is tense,” Francis lied. “Let’s go for ten seconds. I guess we can eventually try the other if it doesn’t work?”

His sister nodded and moved to where Oidrun was waiting, snapping her finger and causing the trio of mages to give him a sideways look before following her.

One day, she will have her own army at her beck and call. Still, at least two people in my family don’t hate me.

Dropping everything but his underclothes, Francis stood before the gathered people. He took a deep breath and held up his thumb.

Heat struck his back, his skin burning what seemed just as fast as every other time Trina used her spells on him. Muscles began to harden and then vanish as the magic turned them into ash. Pain came as the flames ate away more, his Pain Resistance minimizing it as it lingered longer.

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 34 ]

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

[ Deaths Dance Increased - 4 ]

Power surged through him, and Francis fought to find the thread or connection of the magic that assaulted his body. He could sense it, like the barrier around him in Avelis’s office.

“HEAL!” The booming voice of his trainer called out and snapped him from the thought he was having.

Cool healing came, and the healer behind him muttered about how impossible it was to watch this.

Yet Francis realized that he could somehow sense magic now. It was there, and if he could sense it, then perhaps he could learn how to resist it. Until he had trained with Trina, that wasn’t possible. Something had changed, and he was going to find out how to unlock the Magic Resistance skill.

Laughing like a madman, Francis held up his thumb. “Again!”

***

Days blurred into another week, and it was the seventh day again.

Tens of thousands of sword thrusts had been made, and more flesh and blood had fallen from his body, permanently staining the area of stone that had become known as his spot.

A few had tried, wanting to see if they could endure what Francis did. One warrior almost died, and the other said it was pain unlike anything he could have imagined.

Yet every day, Trina came. Four other mages were standing next to her, while twenty healers were lined up, ready to do this for free now.

Over a dozen of them had gained a point in their skill, one had even gained two, and Francis no longer had to pay for them to do this on their day off.

Part of me thinks they’d pay me for this chance.

Coolness washed over Francis as the healer did their job. Suddenly, a cry of joy erupted behind him.

Applause and a few grunts were heard as the others celebrated the healer gaining a point.

It was a whisper from the healer who had just done their job, yet Francis didn’t even bother to acknowledge it.

His mind was focused on one thing.

The touch of magic was real.

He could sense it.

He could feel it.

Yesterday, Francis was certain he could grab it. It was so close and yet he couldn’t manage to get his mental fingers around it. It felt greasy, almost like it didn’t want to be controlled.

Pain Resistance had gained six more points, and Deaths Dance had acquired two more. Each point made enduring what came easier and gave him the strength to stand up against it.

“Add two seconds!” Francis called out.

“That’s too much!” Oidrun shouted. “Maybe one, but–”

“Two!” Francis shouted louder. He ignored his instructor's response. The man had given him a path to growth. Francis had embraced it. He knew Stenson had sent him here for a reason. This right now was one of them, and he wouldn’t give in. Even if it meant death.

“Again!”

Francis ignored the pain of his body tightening under the lightning bolt coursing through him. He barely cared or gave a thought to the pain. Instead, Francis was focused on the thread that assaulted his body and coiled around him. Francis could now see it. Thousands of tiny threads came from a main one coursing through every fiber of his body.

It was there, and Francis mentally willed himself to grab it, but once again, it evaded him. He tried over and over, and every time, it slipped away.

And then it vanished.

“Arggg!”

His voice rang out and the sensation of someone healing him almost pissed him off. He could sense the healing magic. Francis couldn’t see the thread or whatever it was because healing magic was completely different from the magic of the spell’s mages used.

Damn gods and their different styles.

“Trina, I need to ask you something,” Francis called out.

He moved, leaving a bloody trail of footprints, coming to the same spot they always spoke now when he had questions, trying to learn about magic and mana.

“I’m not sure what more I can tell you,” Trina said after joining Francis. “To wield magic is to hold onto the power of one's mana and shape it. To transform that thread into a tapestry of whatever spell they desire or can create.”

Huffing, Francis nodded, glancing at the others who were watching him, standing there, wrapped in a blood-covered towel as the magic had destroyed his undergarments. He was simply talking with his sister, while she did her best not to stain the yellow robe she wore.

“This… thread,” Francis said. “How do you defend against it? When someone else casts a spell at you.”

“I already told you. We weave a shield and make it stop it. Either your thread or theirs is stronger. One breaks the other doesn’t.”

“But how do you know whose is stronger?”

“Either your spell stops it or you die,” Trina replied. ”Sure, sometimes it’s not all life and death as one might bind another, but either you win or lose. There is no middle ground.”

Francis groaned and shook his head.

They had discussed this before. It hadn’t helped him accomplish anything, as Francis couldn’t weave the mana as she described it. It took at least a year for most mages with the ability to sense before they could learn to grab it. From there, it only got harder once they learned to hold onto it, because making it do what they wanted was many times harder.

And then an idea came. Something he hadn’t considered.

“What if someone cast a spell around you, like a… bubble of sorts. Similar to the one for silence, but a spell that says… doesn’t let you breathe?”

Trina’s eyes widened slightly, and her pupils dilated.

“That isn’t a spell you should know about,” she replied gravely. “One cannot use that without true power, as it is… difficult to close off a weave. I know of a few who can do that, but no one would ever tell you about that spell. How do–”

She stopped, her eyes twitching the entire time. Her fingers sparkled, and he felt a sensation spread around them. “You’ve felt it.”

“The bubble of silence?” Francis asked.

“Could you feel it or recognize it?” Trina replied.

“Both,” Francis stated. “But between you and me and no one else, Avelis used something like that on me once. I could sense it after you and I attempted this training. I don’t know how to describe it other than knowing it was there, and I struggled to breathe. Every breath became harder to take and felt like it did less.”

“Yes, it is a very dangerous spell, and even casters who are not paying attention can find themselves surrounded by that weave. One must always be aware and strong enough to resist it. That is one of the reasons why I have those two with me. If someone attempted something like that, say the Master of the Spires, or an instructor or a mage I wasn’t aware of, those two could help free me.”

“So, how would I escape it?” Francis asked.

Trina frowned and then chuckled.

“I’m sorry, did you just laugh?” Francis asked in shock. “I mean–”

“Stop it, but yes, I did,” Trina admitted. “My idea was ludicrous, but I imagined you doing it your way and it was… humorous. Now, you would have to fight your way out. Punching, kicking, or piercing, for example. You would have to disrupt the threads and tear a hole. Doing that would cause the weaves to unravel.

“A stronger mage could puncture it with a compressed spell,” she continued, “if they were still able to breath by the time they realized what was around them. “Once that hole is created, then they would take revenge. Even a powerful mage would struggle to patch that spot before a weaker one could escape. Many mages have found out the hard way that using that spell on someone stronger than them is a terrible idea.”

Francis nodded, realizing he was probably going about this the wrong way. He wasn’t a mage. He didn’t need to try and control the thread. What he needed to do was stop it.

Smiling, he motioned to his gore-covered spot.

“I think I’m ready,” Francis said. “Let’s go.”