Loopbreaker

[ New Skill - Riposte ]

“Finally!” he shouted.

Francis activated the skill immediately as a catkin attacked, claws coming at him.

A thread began to appear as the long nails came at Francis, and his mind followed their path, reacting to it. He parried and blocked both claws, his blade shifting the beast’s hand out of position. Francis’s hips drove forward, thrusting his sword into its neck, almost cutting its head off.

Without missing a beat, Francis weaved and dodged, watching and waiting for the same thing to happen again.

He could see the tiny threads more often as attacks came, but there was more to it than simply noticing them. Francis focused on an incoming attack, weaving around the thread, adjusting its pattern with his sword, and ending the life of another beastkin.

[ Riposte Increased - 2 ]

Like a madman, Francis stood there, surrounded by half a dozen animals, twisting and turning, adding more bodies to the blood-drenched ground. All around him was a tapestry of death.

It was beautiful and scary at the same time.

Do Stenson and Kels see fights like this? I’ll need to ask.

[ Riposte ( Rare ) - This skill is an activatable ability when engaged in melee combat. The user can parry an incoming attack and then immediately return their own melee attack. The skill uses a small amount of endurance with each use. As the rank of the ability increases, the number of times in a row it can be used, as well as some additional damage, will increase. ]

Lost in that thought and reading the description, Francis changed his original plans, knowing that in a minute or two, the advanced warriors would once again reach him, signaling the spell to come.

Spinning like a top, he cut down the wolf-kin behind him and ran as fast as he could, slaying the beasts he approached from behind, carving a path to the kingdom’s army.

“What are–”

He didn’t listen, running past the line of warriors that would die soon, seeing the look of shock on their faces as he emerged from the horde of beastkin, killing two catkin before their lines collided.

“Good luck!” Francis shouted as he weaved between the men. He knew it didn’t matter if he killed more of the beasts. Even if more of these men survived until the advanced warriors reached them, the death spell would claim them all.

And so he raced toward the advanced line, ignoring the cheers and calls that came from those who saw him. A few shouted for Francis to stop, while others told him to seek out healing.

I guess I do look like a man about to die.

Most of Francis’ skin was covered in blood. The good news was that a large majority of it wasn’t his. His endurance had made bleeding out harder, his body clotting the wounds faster.

Up ahead, he could make out the man he was looking for.

His blond hair was hidden under a helmet but Francis recognized the armor and the group of cavalry that Kels was riding with.

“Knight Kels!”

“Who goes there?!” one of the other warriors shouted, moving his horse between the man he sought.

“Get out of my way!” Francis shouted, trying to sidestep the warrior’s horse. “I’m the sage!”

“Piss off, you’re a cow–” the same warrior started.

“Let him through!” Kels’s voice rang out, stopping the man and his horse immediately. Francis could hear the chastised warrior grunting as he continued on.

“Sage Francis? Is… how?” Kels stuttered for a second. “How do you know–”

“Where I am? I’m the sage, remember?” he replied with a grin. “Can I borrow one of your healers, and then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find General Stenson and have a talk.”

“But… I mean, yes, of course!” the knight exclaimed.

After a set of whistles, a healer came forward, the man's eyes widening as he approached.

“Heal him,” Kels ordered.

The healer nodded and Francis smiled as he studied the one who had trained him in camp so many deaths ago.

“When this is over, you and I need a minute or two in your tent,” Francis said. “I’d like to test myself against you.”

Some of the warriors nearby scoffed, but that grin Francis knew far too well appeared on the knight's face.

“I would be honored to see what kind of warrior you are,” Kels replied. “Any man who can wade into the battle as you have, naked and with nothing more than a sword and shield and return as you did, has earned that honor.”

Francis chuckled, then paused, focusing on the words he had just heard. “Uh… can I borrow some clothes?”

“Here,” the healer said, beginning to pull his robe over his head. “You can have this.”

Taking the yellow robe, Francis set his weapon and shield down before slipping it over him. It felt tight against his skin and seeing the healer standing there in just a standard undershirt and pants made him wince.

“Uh… I’m sorry… you–”

“It is an honor,” the man replied, bowing slightly. “To know I healed and clothed the Sage is worth far more than a robe that makes me a target on the battlefield.”

Francis and a few of the other men chuckled as the healer returned to his original location.

This story originates from NovelFire. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Alright, I need to go,” Francis said as a horn blew and the warriors around him began to regain their formation. “Don’t push too far. Stenson told you about what will come, correct?”

Kels nodded, his smile fading as his lips tightened.

“He did. Again, I am grateful for your gift, Sage Francis. I look forward to when you summon me and we cross blades.”

Waving, Francis retrieved his sword and then took off running. He had to pull the robe up with one hand to his waist to prevent it from ripping. The outfit was obviously not designed for the speed he moved at. The looks Francis got as one hand exposed his blood-covered skin and the other held a sword made him laugh, turning the scene he was making even worse.

As Francis approached the stage where the King and the others were, a pair of guards got in his way, drawing their weapons, and prevented him from passing.

“Halt! Lower your weapon and identify yourself!” one guard shouted.

Dropping his cloak and thrusting the sword into the dirt, Francis held up both hands.

“I’m the Sage. Sage Francis. I need to speak with the General.”

A few more guards arrived and the pair that had stopped him glanced at each other and then at him.

“How can you prove you are who you say you are?” the same guard asked.

Francis knew these guards were the best in the army. The love of battle had him wondering if he could hold his own against one of these warriors, but he didn’t want to end up dying and having to restart this loop if he could avoid it.

“I’m buck naked under this robe which belongs to a healer,” Francis said. “I went out before the army’s first call and killed hundreds of those beasts and now have returned after seeing Knight Kels and being healed. In all this, I’ve told the King and the General of the plans and for what comes next.

“I entered the tent with Captain Vella alone last night,” he continued. “She summoned her father, the General and Nehemiah who came and verified that I have the rank I claim. Now I–”

“Forgive me,” the guard who had last spoken said, putting away his weapon. “You give enough details that most would never know, and from the blood that I saw as you ran here… it is obvious you have been fighting. Please follow me, and I shall take you to the General, but if you would, leave the sword here.”

“That’s fine, just make sure it’s returned to Stenson… I mean the General. He gave it to me from his personal collection.”

A few men grunted at those last words, and then the one Francis spoke with nodded to those who had arrived. Each of them returned to their normal positions.

“If you would,” the guard said.

They moved quickly, covering the short distance to the stage where an older man with one arm was smiling at his approach.

“Sage Francis!” the king shouted. “You’re alive!”

“Just as I said I would be,” he yelled back. “Forgive me. What is about to happen is going to be painful to watch.”

Baxter’s eyes narrowed, those red eyes glowing like rubies as he nodded slowly.

Moving up the stairs, Francis bid the guard goodbye with a nod and approached the King, studying the looks all those gathered were giving him.

“So, there is no other path?” Baxter asked, hand raised to give the signal.

Part of him wanted to tell the king to heal during the spell but he had convinced Stenson that doing so was far worse. The truth was, Francis wondered what would come from this path. He would be alive, the army would be gravely injured and whatever came next would be new to him.

“No… I am sorry, my King. What comes next, I do not know.”

He saw it. Tendrils of magic were coming from Queen Auri. They were so faint and minute that he didn’t notice them until they touched him. As quickly as he could will it, Francis deactivated his Magic Feedback skill, not wanting to reveal that card just yet as he wasn’t sure what would come next.

The tendrils wrapped around him, like a warm blanket. They didn’t squeeze or inflict pain but somehow they moved with his heart.

King Baxter nodded a moment later and Francis tried to figure out how the man could tell he hadn’t lied.

Is there a signal? Or–

“Join me,” General Stenson said, interrupting his train of thought. “Let us see what the darkness you say is coming will look like.”

Francis moved quickly and stood near the older man and giving Stenson a single nod and a wink, getting a tiny head shake in return.

Seconds ticked by and Francis knew it was time.

“Sound the horn,” he said.

“But–” Stenson said.

“Sound it, save a few more lives,” Francis said.

The general nodded, Baxter dropped his hand, and horns blew.

As they sounded, the spell began to form, and the giant sheet of black death raced out from the enemy’s back line.

Gasps and mutters came from those behind him, but Francis was focused on the troops.

A few more… this will save a few more.

With the horn sounding right before the spell started, it looked like those who were near the farthest edges of the spot where the sheet would end might make it back. A large line of warriors would return home tonight if they moved fast enough.

Francis stood there, rising to his toes, clenching his teeth and wanting to pray to some god.

Stenson grunted and the spyglass Francis had used many times was held out before him.

“Thank you,” Francis whispered, lifting it to his eyes and peering through.

He could watch through the magical screen showing other areas of the battle, but what it was focused on was men who wouldn’t return. They would die, and he didn’t need to see that again. It was a memory that was forever locked in his brain, having seen it firsthand and experienced it himself multiple times.

“Faster… run faster,” Francis whispered.

Through the spyglass, he could see the advanced warriors running with everything they had. The horns sounded again, the call for retreat at full speed. A few stumbled, but a line that stretched the length of the battlefield moved.

With each stride the men took, they gained a chance as the shadow formed above, blotting out the sun and hiding the holes in the soil.

A few more men tripped, and Francis winced, knowing they wouldn’t make it.

“Come on…” Francis muttered. He almost jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Lowering the spyglass for a second, he saw Stenson’s eyes locked upon the line he had been watching.

“Do they make it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Francis replied.

A hush filled the platform as the sounds of an army racing for their lives echoed across the plain. Cries started to come as the sheet of darkness descended on those furthest back. The screams of beasts and men in such great numbers drowned out the sound of hooves and feet moving as fast as possible to escape death.

Francis held his breath, looked once more through the General’s borrowed item, and watched, waiting, and remembering.

The end of the sheet touched down and more cries came, but these were different from the ones moments ago.

Across the platform, those who had been watching the line of warriors race for their lives cheered.

Stenson’s grip on his shoulder felt like it might shatter his bones before it relaxed.

“Well done, Francis, well done,” the older man said, a single tear rolling down one of his cheeks. “You know what you just did?”

Amidst the noise of celebration, even though so many had died, he shook his head.

Stenson pulled him close, pressing his lips almost against his ear. “You gave hope when we had none, which is worth more than you realize. We'll face it together even if you don’t know what comes next. No matter what, I’m here to–”

Francis didn’t get to hear those words as a set of gigantic hands lifted him off the ground and pulled him free from the general’s embrace.

“Sage Francis! I… I had my doubts, but know I am grateful for far more than you can imagine!” Baxter exclaimed. “Now, let us pray the gods reveal what comes next. Just know, there is a place in my tent if you desire it.”

An icy glare came from everyone who had just been celebrating on the back edges of the platform. Gone were the smiles that had rejoiced in the saving of lives.

Now the real wolves on the battlefield watched him, sizing him up even more.

Gods this is going to get fun.

Francis nodded and the King set him down.

“I’ll pray about that,” he replied. “In the meantime, I know everyone here has things to do if we’re going to win this battle.”

A massive hand slammed into his shoulder as Baxter gave him a nod. “He’s right! Everyone, take care of your duties! We meet in my tent tonight to discuss our next plan. Go!”

People moved immediately, most giving a slight bow as they departed.

In moments, only five of the real players remained on the platform, and Francis cracked his neck, locking eyes with Priscilla, meeting her icy blue gaze.

“A wonderful turn of events indeed,” the woman said, slowly moving toward the stairs. “Sage Francis, I would enjoy a moment of your time later if you are willing.”

“I look forward to it,” he replied.