Chapter 11
Francis saw the larger one in the middle point at him with a stone axe. It growled and one on the end came toward him.
Unlike the Rhinokin who seemed more comfortable charging on all four legs, these bears walked like a man.
His opponent carried a large stone hammer and gave a few practice swings before smashing it into the icy ground, sending up a spray of white.
Okay… so I don’t want to get hit by that.
Francis prepared himself, mostly uninjured as he had chain armor on. It had taken a few deaths to get it right, but he was getting to the point where the cold wasn’t bothering him much at all anymore.
Because he immediately headed out to the battlefield, ignoring the taunts that came from all the barbarians, it also didn’t matter what he wore upon arriving to Tules.
He had gotten stronger and faster. He didn’t want to bother with the gains in skills, happy to have reached the Advanced Perception threshold. Awakening it a hundred or so deaths ago had made it a lot easier to detect the Lynxkin.
[ Status ]
Francis Lancaster
Age 17
Strength: 49
Endurance: 51
Agility: 50
Wisdom: 31
Perception: 40
Magic: 10
Francis waited for his opponent to get closer and when the Ursaloth was about twenty yards away, he ran toward it.
The bear lifted its hammer, poised to strike but didn’t swing. Francis dodged sideways, using his speed to see if he could draw out its attack but nothing came. All the Ursaloth did was turn, keeping Francis before him, weapon held ready.
It’s being patient. Like it knows the reach its weapon has and won’t leave itself open.
Surprised at how smart the beast seemed, Francis knew that eventually the others would join in or he’d have to make the first move.
[ Iron Wall ]
[ Guarded Stance ]
He needed to get some other offensive skills, something to close the distance but so far none had been kind enough to be learned. This left him relying upon his natural speed. Darting in, Francis held both swords at the ready, expecting the attack that would come.
As he got close enough that dodging backward shouldn’t be possible, the Ursaloth swung. The two-handed hammer moved faster than Francis had anticipated. He used both swords to parry the attack; the power of the blow sent vibrations up his arms and sent him backwards a few steps.
With the weapon now out of position, Francis darted in, both swords slicing into the thick white fur. He managed to get in five slashes before he had to retreat, avoiding the two-handed hammer that was coming for him.
Grunts and low roars came from the line of Ursaloths, and Francis saw why they were making what sounded like a chuckle. Each of his cuts had barely caused the beast to bleed. His opponent didn’t seem phased at all by the strikes to its hip and leg.
Well… that’s new.
Facing a thick-skinned opponent was something he was used to, but these bears resisted the cuts from the swords gifted to him by the king and general.
Francis shifted his stance, the snow grinding under his boots. The bear’s eyes, two small yellow dots beneath its thick brow, never blinked. It rolled a shoulder, as if it were some warrior getting ready to fight.
It’s acting like a person. That’s crazy. Fine. Let’s see how patient you stay when I take off one of your legs.
Francis circled low, his swords ready. Each breath he took sent out a puff of white, yet he didn’t notice the cold. The Ursalof gave a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the ice. Francis dashed in. Once more, the hammer swept wide, just a little too high. He ducked under the arc, both blades flashing across the same patch of muscle just above the left knee.
The blades bit into the fur, red blood appearing against the white.
He backed off a few yards as the Ursalof got its weapon back into position. It stomped twice on the leg Francis had cut, seemingly to test its weight. It had a noticeable effect on the beastkin’s movement.
Good. I guess this is another lesson in wearing something down.
Francis went in again. The hammer smashed into the snow next to him. He used both of his swords to parry the massive stone head. As a cloud of white was sent upward, Francis unleashed another set of attacks on the same spot. This time, the Ursalof let out a roar that echoed across the valley. It was loud enough that it vibrated through his ribs.
Francis kept moving, always using quick, slashing movements. It was the same pattern. Attack then retreat. An unending amount of strikes was placed upon the same wound. It tried to keep up but failed, the left leg was covered in red from the knee down. The Ursalof gave up using the patience tactic; instead, it now charged at him. Something unexpected happened when the beastkin charged. The blood that had been flowing freely stopped. It lunged, bringing the hammer down with a crack that split the ground.
Francis moved to the right, but as he did, the hammer followed him, moving with a speed and force that hadn’t been there before. It struck his side, the impact sending him flying a dozen yards.
“Shit,” Francis cursed as he immediately got to his feet, facing the now charging beastkin.
Does it have something like Death’s Dance?
With no time to waste, Francis got serious, using skills he had held back to try and get a measure of the new foe.
[ Riposte ]
[ Quick Attack ]
[ Flurry ]
His blade cut and sliced as the weight of the beast moved past him. It stumbled, dropping its large hammer, dragging its injured leg. It was down on all three. Francis sidestepped a swipe from the Ursalof’s claws, his boots sliding on the blood-slick ice, and chopped with both blades into the same damaged area of flesh. He felt his weapon connect with the bone.
The Ursalof cried out once again, swiping with its free claw. It was becoming faster, making Francis consider the truth that he might be facing an enemy with a dangerous ability. The attack slashed him across the ribs, a pair of claws piercing his armor. Warrior’s Resolve ignited as the damage it had done was exactly what Francis thought a strike from this thing would cause.
He reset his feet, feeling the warmth of his blood flowing down his side. The cold wind picked up, racing across the battlefield, highlighting the stark contrast between the warmth of life and the coldness of death.
Power flooded his limbs, burning away the ache. Francis moved before the bear could raise its claw again.
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[ Power Strike ]
Francis pivoted hard, setting his feet and channeling everything into one strike. The right sword cut deep, severing through tendon and joint; the left sword followed, ensuring that there was no flesh left to hold the limb together. Its leg came free in a red burst of steam and blood.
The beastkin fell sideways, bellowing, pawing at the frozen ground. Francis moved in, using its injured state to his advantage. He planted a boot on its snout and drove his swords down through both eye sockets.
He was panting. Everything was silent when the last breath of a dead Ursalof was given. Looking up as he yanked the swords free, Francis saw the other Ursalofs watching from their line. A low, angry rumble came from them all.
Then, from the largest one of the ranks, most likely the alpha lifted its head and growled. It was short but carried the weight of a command. One of the bears at the far end turned and began to lumber forward. The stone axe it held was dragged through the snow, leaving a furrow as if planting a field for harvest.
Francis wiped the blood from his face and squared himself toward his new opponent..
“Round two,” he muttered, lifting his weapons.
The second Ursalof didn't do what Francis had expected. Unlike the first, it charged.
Francis barely had time to set his feet before the axe came at him in a vicious overhead chop. He crossed both swords above his head, stopping the stone blade between them.
The impact drove him to one knee, snow exploding outward from where his body struck the frozen ground. His arms protested, Francis’s muscles having to work harder than he had expected to keep the axe from splitting his skull.
This one's way stronger!
The Ursalof didn't pull back for another swing. Instead, it adjusted one hand on the haft and using its weight and momentum to press the advantage. Francis felt his knee sinking deeper into the snow, his arms beginning to shake.
He threw himself sideways, abandoning the block and letting the axe crash down where he'd been kneeling. Francis rolled through the snow, came up in a crouch, and immediately had to throw himself backward as the beastkin swung its axe horizontally. Time felt slow as the tip of the weapon head almost grazed his chest.
Shit! It’s faster too!
Francis backpedaled, trying to create some distance, but the Ursalof kept coming. It swung again and again, each attack flowing into the next with practiced ease. The beastkin was far more skilled than most of the ones he had faced in his kingdom. This thing knew how to fight.
A diagonal slash forced Francis to parry with his right sword. The impact jarred his arm so badly he nearly dropped the blade. Before he could recover, the Ursalof reversed the axe, bringing it back in a rising cut that Francis felt the cold breeze the attack created as he avoided most of it by bending backward.
The stone edge caught the front of his chain armor, tearing through several links and slicing through the skin and muscle of his chest. Blood gushed out of the wound immediately, hot against his cold skin.
Francis tried to counter, lunging forward with both swords aimed at the bear's midsection. The Ursalof simply batted the attacks aside with the haft of its axe, then drove a furry knee into Francis's gut.
Air exploded from his lungs. He stumbled backward, gasping, trying to force his lungs to work again. The beast’s massive fist came out of nowhere striking him across his head and sending Francis to the ground.
Stars burst across his vision. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
Get up! Get up or you're dead.
Francis hadn’t felt this overwhelmed in a while. Even fighting his way through all the Lynxkin hadn’t pushed him to this degree. He forced himself to his hands and knees, his swords somewhere in the snow nearby. The world felt off, and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Warrior’s Resolve was filling his body with power that he couldn’t seem to control.
The Ursalof's shadow fell over him.
Francis dove for his right sword, fingers closing around the grip just as the axe came down. He rolled, bringing the blade up in a desperate slash that caught the bear across its forearm.
[ Power Strike ]
Blood splashed against the white snow, but the wound was shallow.
The Ursalof growled and kicked Francis in the ribs, seemingly unaffected by the cut.
Something cracked. A notification flew by, but the pain he felt overwhelmed him, making it through Pain Resistance. Francis found himself airborne for a brief, terrible moment before crashing down hard enough to knock what little air he'd regained from his lungs.
Each attempt to breathe sent agony through his chest. Francis looked up through blurred vision and saw the Ursalof approaching, its axe held casually in one hand. It wasn't even hurried knowing that Francis was finished.
Francis's fingers searched in the snow, trying to find his sword but couldn’t. His left arm wasn't working at all. The punch to his head must have done something to his neck or shoulder. Everything on that side felt wrong, disconnected.
The Ursalof raised its axe.
Using the power that surged through Francis's broken body, he moved as his fingers found the hilt he had been trying to find.
Francis lunged at the beast, swaying, driving the blade at the Ursalof’s stomach.
[ Riposte ]
Francis parried the beastkin’s attack, his blade sliding along the axe's edge, allowing him to get close and land a strike of his own.
[ Power Strike ]
[ Quick Attack ]
[ Flurry ]
Multiple cuts appeared on the bear's stomach yet the Ursalof barely seemed to notice.
Francis unleashed everything he had, his sword moving in a blur of steel. But it wasn't enough.
The Ursalof absorbed the damage, its own version of Death’s Dance, Warrior’s Resolve, or something similar, kept it fighting despite the minor wounds accumulating across its body. With a roar that vibrated Francis’s body, the Ursalof dropped the axe and grabbed Francis by the throat with both massive hands.
Francis's sword fell from numb fingers as those hands squeezed.
A memory of King Baxter doing the same thing to him bubbled up.
Francis’ vision immediately started to darken around the edges. He clawed at the thick fur, but they might as well have been iron bars. The Ursalof easily lifted him off the ground, bringing Francis's face close to its own.
Francis could see his reflection in those small yellow eyes. Even with blurred vision, he could see himself dying again.
The Ursalof squeezed harder.
Something in Francis's neck popped, and the last of Warrior's Resolve faded like smoke.
The last thing he heard was the low, victorious growl rumbling from the beast's chest.
Then darkness took him.
---
The sound of a bell rang out.
His eyes popped open, and Francis was staring at the familiar ceiling of the room he shared with his brother. Every muscle in his body tensed as his hands moved to his throat, still able to feel the furry fingers that had gripped it.
"It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"
Francis sat up slowly. "Just another day," he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed. "Back to the grind."
Michael frowned at him, clearly not understanding, but Francis barely noticed. His mind was already turning over the fight, analyzing where he'd gone wrong.
The second one was stronger and faster. It was aggressive, whereas the first was defensive. It knew how to fight, possessed techniques, and did not rely just on instinct. And that ability it used when I damaged its leg... some kind of berserker skill that stopped the bleeding and increased its speed?
He needed more information. The Ursalofs weren't just strong—they were trained warriors with their own skills and abilities. Fighting them blindly was getting him killed faster than he could learn their patterns. Even with all the time he had to learn them, not having to fear death, Francis felt the frustration he had felt hundreds of deaths ago vanish.
I'm going to have to talk with Glitvall and figure out his thoughts on this thing. Maybe he knows what abilities these bears have, what I'm actually up against. Because going in blind against warriors this skilled is just asking to get my ass handed to me over and over. Or maybe I’ll let him tell me what I should do next.
?
