Chapter 25
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis opened his eyes.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
"It is," Francis replied, sitting up and stretching. "But it's also time to get to work."
---
The first three Ursaloths lay dead behind Francis, their corpses cooling on the frozen ground. He'd defeated them with only minor wounds, a testament to the one hundred and sixty-four deaths he'd spent learning their patterns. His breathing was steady and controlled, and his swords were slick with blood that was already starting to freeze in the northern cold.
The alpha's growl echoed across the ice field again.
Francis looked up to see three more Ursaloths stepping forward, and immediately he knew something was different. These three were bigger than the previous set, their muscles more defined beneath their thick white fur. Each one stood at least a foot taller than the others he'd faced, and the weapons they carried looked heavier, more worn from use.
But it wasn't just their size that set them apart. It was the way they moved.
The first trio had fought as individuals, coordinating but still operating independently. These three moved like a single organism, their steps synchronized as they spread out to form a perfect triangle around Francis. One carried a massive stone hammer that looked like it could pulverize bone with a single strike. Another wielded a double-bladed axe, both edges gleaming with what might have been frost or just polished stone. The third had a war axe that was nearly as tall as Francis himself, its blade chipped from countless battles.
Veterans. These aren't just some crazy beastkin fighters, they're experienced killers.
The hammer-wielder charged first, its weapon swinging in a wide horizontal arc that forced Francis to make a choice. If he dove beneath it, he'd roll right into the range of the axe-wielder on his right. If he jumped back, the war axe wielder would be waiting. They'd positioned themselves perfectly to eliminate his options.
Francis chose a third option. He charged forward, directly at the hammer-wielder, and slid beneath the swing at the last possible moment. The hammer passed over him, and for a heartbeat, Francis was inside the creature's guard.
[ Quick Attack ]
His swords lashed out, both blades finding the back of the Ursaloth's legs. Blood sprayed across the ice, and the creature roared in pain. But before Francis could press his advantage, the double-axe wielder was on him, both blades coming at him in a scissoring motion.
[ Riposte ]
Francis caught one axe blade with his right sword, redirecting it, but the second blade was too fast. It caught him across the side, cutting through his armor and into the flesh beneath. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, but Francis used the momentum to spin away, putting distance between himself and his attackers.
I’m already bleeding... This is going to be way harder than the others.
The triangle reformed instantly, the three Ursaloths adjusting their positions immediately. The hammer-wielder limped slightly from Francis's attack, but it didn't seem to slow the creature down much. If anything, the injury had just made it more aggressive.
They came at him together this time, all three attacking in perfect coordination. The hammer high, the double-axe low, the war axe from the side. Francis tried to dodge, but there was nowhere to go. He blocked the hammer with both swords, the impact driving him to one knee.
[ Iron Wall ]
The skill activated just as the double-axe caught him in the back. His body hardened, absorbing some of the impact, but the force still drove the air from his lungs. Francis rolled forward, using the momentum and trying to escape, but the war axe wielder seemed to anticipate his move. Its massive weapon descended like judgment itself.
Francis brought his swords up to block, crossing them above his head. The axe struck with enough force to drive him flat against the ice, his arms screaming in protest. For a moment, he was pinned, the Ursaloth pressing down with its full weight.
Move or die!
[ Power Strike ]
Francis surged upward with everything he had, his enhanced strength throwing the war axe wielder off balance. He rolled to his feet and immediately had to parry a strike from the hammer-wielder. The impact sent shockwaves up his arms, and Francis realized with growing dread that these three were stronger than him, even with his improved stats.
[ Flurry ]
Francis unleashed a rapid series of strikes at the double-axe wielder, his swords moving so fast they blurred. Three hits landed, opening wounds along the creature's chest and arms, but the Ursaloth didn't retreat. Instead, it pressed forward, accepting the damage to land a devastating counterstrike.
Both axe blades caught Francis simultaneously, one across his shoulder, the other across his thigh. His left arm went numb instantly, his sword falling from useless fingers. His leg buckled, and Francis crashed to one knee.
Warrior's Resolve roared to life, flooding him with strength, but it wasn't enough. The hammer-wielder's weapon was already descending, and Francis had no way to block it with only one functional arm.
[ Guarded Stance ]
His body hardened further, the defensive skill stacking with Iron Wall, but the hammer still caught him full in the chest. Francis heard ribs crack, felt his sternum give way, and tasted blood as it filled his mouth. He fell backward, his vision swimming, and saw the war axe wielder step forward to finish him.
The massive blade descended, and Francis tried to raise his remaining sword to block, but his body wouldn't respond. The axe took him in the neck, and the world went red, then black.
Well, it's only been less than two hundred deaths, so this feels about right.
The sound of the morning bell rang.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
---
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The three Ursaloths formed their triangle again, their movements precise and coordinated. But this time, Francis was ready. This time, he knew their patterns, understood how they worked together, and had spent enough deaths learning how to break them apart.
The hammer-wielder is going to charge…
The hammer-wielder charged, just as it always did, its weapon swinging in that same wide horizontal arc. But instead of diving beneath the blow or charging forward, Francis sidestepped at the last moment and pivoted, using the creature's momentum to position it between himself and the double-axe wielder. For just a heartbeat, their perfect formation was broken.
[ Quick Attack ]
[ Power Strike ]
Francis's swords sliced through the air, both blades enhanced by his skills. The first caught the hammer-wielder across the back of its knee, severing tendons and dropping the creature to the ice. The second strike came immediately after, his right blade driving into the base of the ursaloth's skull.
The hammer-wielder collapsed, its weapon clattering across the frozen ground, and Francis was already moving. The double-axe wielder tried to circle around its fallen companion, but Francis stayed close to the corpse, using it as a barrier.
One down. Don't get cocky.
The war axe wielder came at him from the left, its massive weapon sweeping in a deadly arc that would take Francis's head off if it connected. But Francis had died to this exact attack dozens of times, and he knew exactly how to counter it.
Instead of dodging away, Francis stepped into the attack, inside the weapon's effective range where its size became a liability. The axe passed harmlessly over his head, and Francis was face-to-face with the Ursaloth.
[ Riposte ]
His right sword caught the axe's haft and redirected what little momentum remained, while his left blade drove upward into the Ursaloth's exposed armpit. The blade sank deep, finding the cluster of arteries and nerves that Francis had learned were there through painful experience.
The creature howled and tried to grapple Francis with its free arm, massive claws reaching for his throat. Francis twisted away, but he had to leave his left blade buried in the wound to do so. He drew the spare knife from his belt in one smooth motion as the double-axe wielder finally cleared the fallen body and came at him.
Two on one, and I'm down a sword. Perfect.
The double-axe wielder pressed in, both axe heads coming at him in a scissoring motion designed to catch him, whether he dodged left or right. Francis chose neither. He dropped flat to the ice, feeling the wind of the weapons as they passed over him, and swept his remaining sword across the creature's ankles.
The blade sliced deep, cutting through fur and hide to scrape against bone. The Ursaloth's balance failed, and it stumbled forward, trying to catch itself. Francis was already moving, his knife finding the creature's throat even as it tried to catch itself.
The blade punched through fur and flesh, severing the windpipe and opening the carotid artery. Blood sprayed across the ice in a wide arc, steaming in the cold air. The Ursaloth fell, clutching at its neck, its movements growing weaker with each passing second.
Two down. One to go.
Francis turned to face the war axe wielder and saw that the creature had pulled his sword from its armpit. Blood poured from the wound, staining its white fur red, but the Ursaloth was still standing, still fighting. It held Francis's sword in one massive paw, studying the blade as if considering whether to use it or discard it.
Then it threw the sword on the ground before Francis and gripped its war axe with both hands.
Francis understood the message. This would be decided with their chosen weapons, warrior to warrior. He retrieved his sword from the snow and faced the wounded Ursaloth.
They circled each other, both bleeding, both exhausted, both refusing to give ground. The war axe wielder attacked first, a series of overhead strikes that forced Francis to give up ground with each block. The creature was weakening from blood loss, but it was also desperate, which made it all the more dangerous.
[ Iron Wall ]
[ Guarded Stance ]
Francis activated both defensive skills as the Ursaloth launched a final, desperate assault. The war axe came down again and again, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone. Francis blocked what he could and absorbed what he couldn't, feeling bones crack and muscles tear despite his enhanced defenses.
But the creature was dying, its movements growing sluggish as more blood pumped from the wound in its armpit. Francis saw his opening and took it.
[ Power Strike ]
[ Flurry ]
His swords became blurs, each strike enhanced by his skills and driven by every ounce of strength he possessed. The first blade opened the Ursaloth's stomach. The second took it across the throat. The third and fourth drove into its chest, finding vital organs.
The war axe wielder fell to its knees, its weapon slipping from its grasp. It looked at Francis with eyes that held no hatred, only a warrior's acceptance of death. Francis drove his right blade through the creature's heart, ending it quickly.
The Ursaloth collapsed forward, and Francis stepped back, his chest heaving, his body screaming in protest from a dozen different injuries. Blood dripped from wounds on his shoulder, his side, his thigh, his back. His left arm throbbed where the double-axe had caught him, and he was fairly certain he'd cracked at least three ribs. Maybe more.
But he was alive, and they were dead.
Francis walked to the war axe wielder's corpse and retrieved his sword, pulling it free from the creature's body with a wet, sucking sound. As he did, something inside him shifted. It wasn't painful, but it was profound, like a lock finally clicking into place after years of trying.
[ Swordsmanship Increased - 76 Master ]
Francis's eyes widened as his body began to vibrate. It started in his hands, spreading up his arms and into his chest, a sensation that was both strange and exhilarating. The sword in his grip felt different somehow, lighter and yet more substantial, as if it had become an extension of his arm rather than a separate tool.
What is this?
A notification appeared before his eyes, the text glowing with a faint golden light that Francis had never seen before. His breath caught as he started to read, understanding immediately that something significant had just occurred. Whatever reaching Master rank meant, it was clearly more than just a simple increase in skill level.
The alpha Ursaloth's growl rumbled across the ice field, drawing Francis's attention away from the notification. The massive creature stood among its remaining warriors, and for the first time since Francis had begun this grinding battle, he thought he saw something like respect in its eyes. Maybe even acknowledgment.
Four more Ursaloths stepped forward, their weapons ready. These ones looked even larger than the trio Francis had just defeated, their scars more numerous, their bearing more confident.
Of course, there are more. Why would it be easy? I’m going to have to ask Glitvall if he’s got a reason for why he wants me to do this. And how the creatures attack… it’s so weird about the honor and stuff.
Francis looked down at the notification still hovering in his vision, then back at the approaching enemies. Whatever this new rank meant, whatever abilities it had unlocked, he was about to find out. The vibration in his body was beginning to fade, but the feeling of rightness remained. His swords felt perfect in his hands, balanced in a way they hadn't been before.
He raised his swords and smiled.
Let's see what a Master Swordsman can do.
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