Chapter 10

  Francis had been expecting a little bit of a cheer or some kind of celebration at him bringing back three Frostfang Lynxkin corpses back, yet all he received were a few grunts and nods.

  “You look… disappointed,” Kerhi said as they handed the bodies off to a pair of barbarians. “Like you were expecting something.”

  “Was it that obvious?” Francis asked. “The last time I waded into the enemy territory and returned bloody and naked, I got a lot of cheers.”

  “Well you didn’t return naked and that probably would only bring laughter,” Kerhi said.

  Francis wanted to reply, seeing how her face gave no hint of teasing or joking. Instead, he pulled at one of the torn pieces of hides and tapped a gash he had made to start bleeding again. “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some healing.”

  This time, Kerhi laughed and shook her head. “We don’t waste that kind of power on cuts like that. Come, I’ll take you to the healing section and you can get someone to take care of you. After that I’m sure Glitvall will want to see you at some point.”

  “Yeah… I was kind of expecting him to be here when we returned,” Francis said, following the shaman as she started to walk away. “I guess I’m not that special.”

  She stopped, turned and drew close to him. He could see the look in her blue eyes as they narrowed.

  “Killing three of these and returning isn’t that great a feat,” Kerhi stated. “I have witnessed many barbarians slay dozens and return home. Some come with no cuts, and others return missing an arm or two. I believed you were… different, but perhaps you are not if you expect some kind of honor for killing the smallest of the beasts we face.”

  “I… It’s not…” Francis found himself in a hard spot, having to look up at the towering woman, sensing the others who were nearby watching and listening to his chastising. With a slightly bloodied hand, Francis rubbed his face and sighed. “Forgive me. I am being foolish and acting in a way that doesn’t honor your people or mine.”

  Kerhi stood there for a few seconds, not saying a word, and then nodded once. She spun on her heels and began walking in the direction of the camp, where the healing tents were located.

  I'm going to have to get used to not being that important if I want to survive here… I wonder what someone must do to get at least a half-hearted cheer.

  As he caught up with Kerhi, he remembered exactly what had been required. All he needed to do was let her rip his heart out.

  ---

  “At least you don’t squirm or complain like some of them do,” the older healer, Hilde, said as she finished up stitching him together. “Those should leave nice scars. All you’ll need now is a few tattoos to speak about your character and a woman might consider you worth a night or two.”

  “Only a night?” Francis asked, having endured the older woman's constant teasing for almost an hour. Her fingers were well-worn, but her skill with a needle and thread was impressive.

  “Bah, do you hear that?” Hilde said as she reached for more of the awful-smelling poultice and put some on the spot she had just stitched. “He thinks he can last longer than a single night!”

  All throughout the tent, both men and women laughed with her. Some winced in pain as they did, but the fifty or so who were recovering all seemed to enjoy his constant teasing.

  Frowning, Francis just stared at the blond and gray-haired woman. Her blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she grinned at him.

  “Oh, don’t be a sourwort,” Hilde teased. “You wouldn’t be the only one. Many of the men can’t last that long either.”

  This time, it was only the dozen or so women in the tent who laughed.

  “You’ll need to take a few days and let them heal,” the healer said. “Probably in three days, you should be fine to return to fighting. Just remember to come every morning and I’ll replace the old bandages.”

  Three days? Stitches don’t usually heal that fast.

  “So I’m good to go then?” Francis asked, sitting up as Hilde finished wrapping his waist.

  “You are… though you might need to find some new furs. These are going to go into the cleaning tubs and need to be repaired or converted into something else.”

  Francis nodded, not concerned that he was only wearing a thin pair of leather pants. “Well then, I guess I’ll be off. Thank you again for the gentle touch. Maybe next time you could kiss each of the spots before you wrap them up.”

  He was surprised to see a slight hint of red shade the older woman’s cheeks and laughter came from all the others who had been in earshot.

  “You best not tempt me,” Hilde replied, pointing a finger at him. “I might just pull out a few stitches when you come tomorrow and we’ll see how you handle it then.”

  More laughter came and Francis shook his head, ready to escape the scent of blood, sweat and some kind of mixture of herbs that smelled horrible.

  Leaving the tent reminded him that he was not accustomed to the cold. Inside the healing tent, it was warm, with a small fire, lots of bodies, and no cold breeze. Now his skin immediately goosebumps as the wind struck his naked skin.

  A few barbarians chuckled when he shivered, but Francis didn’t see Kerhi or anyone else who seemed to be waiting for him. Unsure what to do with himself, Francis quickly made his way to the tent he had been given.

  Upon arriving, he found no one standing outside and was thankful for the warmth of the small fire and the small bowl of food that was waiting for him. It was colder than warm, but he was hungry and a bit frustrated as he sat there on his bed, eating.

  What is it about these people? Sometimes I get right what should be said but then I am totally wrong about how to impress them. Confidence is important but looking for honor or praise is bad. And the whole man and woman thing is intense. It’s like the women hold all the power and the guy just has to accept it. Michael would probably still thrive here. He always understood women better.

  His bowl was empty faster than his thoughts and Francis looked at the pile sitting on the small table. Someone had dropped off a few new furs, but the truth was they didn’t look near as nice as the first set.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  If I’m not careful, I might end up relegated to the quarters with all the other barbarians.

  That thought made Francis shudder. Imagining himself being in a tent with fifty or more barbarians seemed worse than the training area he woke up in every time he died.

  His spoon kept tapping the rim of the wooden bowl, his eyes focusing upon the furs sitting on the table.

  Grunting, Francis knew what he needed to do. Sitting here, stewing wasn’t going to change a thing.

  ---

  Francis’s left leg wasn’t working as he tried to change positions. Even with Warrior’s resolve roaring like a furnace that could melt metal, his hamstring being sliced made it almost impossible to stay upright.

  Half a dozen of the Lynxkins surrounded him, many of them nursing wounds and injuries. Over twenty were dead as he carved a path toward the enemy camp.

  Frustration was getting the better of him, but Francis needed time to think. Sitting in a tent wasn’t going to help and waiting around to see if Glitvall or Kerhi might swing by seemed like a stupid idea.

  He had considered going and watching them work metal, but the truth was, right now, Francis just needed to do what he was good at. Killing beastkin.

  Less than a quarter of a mile toward the enemy lines, Francis had encountered pack upon pack of these Lynxkin that always seemed to be in groups of three or four. Until recently, they seemed to stay back if he encountered another group while fighting a pack. But having killed at least five sets, the beastkin appeared unconcerned about whatever rules they operated under.

  Two came from each side. A half-second behind them were more beastkin approaching at the angles. They were content, clawing and slicing at him. Their white fur was stained red by their blood and his. Yellow eyes seemed hungry to feast upon his flesh and Francis knew it wasn’t going to be that much longer before he fell.

  Still, he fought back.

  Every skill he had was used. He was at his limits, calling upon Warrior’s Resolve to not give up. Claws ripped off more flesh, his new leather outfit torn to shreds. He didn’t feel the cold anymore. Even though his body was basically naked, loose shreds of leather stuck to the blood that froze on his skin, Francis hacked at the ones that drew close.

  Two more Lynxkin died to his blades as multiple claws ripped flesh and tendons from his legs.

  This is how an animal feels when attacked by a pack.

  His legs gave out, both of them injured beyond the ability of Warrior’s Resolve to keep him upright. Even then, Francis swung and thrust, scoring more wounds and managing a strike that pierced a heart.

  As he crashed into the icy ground, the Lynxkin pounced upon him, teeth and claws going after any flesh they could find. Francis unleashed one last attack with a Power Strike charged fist, the sound of bone breaking under the impact silencing for a moment the cry of victory that came from the beasts.

  ---

  “So you’re asking me for advice instead of doing what you always do,” Stenson said. “You’re that worked up about all this?”

  Groaning, Francis nodded. He could see the way the general was looking at him. There wasn’t shock, or even displeasure. It was something else. “It feels worse than trying to figure out the Spires. At least there, I knew how our kingdom worked. Over there… It’s as if everything I do is either absolutely right or absolutely wrong. There’s no middle ground.”

  “That’s the way things are here,” Stenson replied. “You’ll find that there is only right or wrong in life and the ability to stand in the middle is difficult.”

  “But you can… at least for a while,” Francis said. “I mean… you’re doing it. I’m doing it.”

  Stenson’s eyebrow rose. “I’m doing what? Standing in the middle?”

  The tone of the older man had changed and Francis threw up both hands. “See! Right there. I just said something that you consider offensive.”

  “Because it is,” the general stated. “I have never played the middle ground. I’ve told you what I care about, and based on the story you just told me, we have agreed to get what we both want. You desire your brother to be alive and safe. I desire our kingdom to survive, which means all the kingdoms must win. For that to happen, you must get stronger and I will help guide your path to get there. How is that the middle ground?”

  “I… you… argh.” Francis shook his head in frustration. “I’m just… how did you learn to talk and make friends with those in other kingdoms?”

  Stenson shook his head and chuckled. “You use that word friend way too easily, son. I think we define it differently. I respect them. They respect me. We occasionally have goals that align and operate in those moments on the same path. Sometimes we are at odds and so we go in the direction we feel we must. There is respect in how we do it.”

  “But what do I do?” Francis asked. “I can’t make friends like that. Whatever I do is limited to my time between deaths. How long can I go before I die?”

  “Forgive me, but surely I must have told you that at some point you might need to find that out?” Stenson asked. “Have you or have you simply omitted telling me of a time like that?”

  Shaking his head, Francis frowned. “But the war! My brother.”

  “Will all still be there unless something drastically changes,” Stenson replied. “You’ve died thousands of times and nothing has changed. I don’t see why you can’t try and live a week, two weeks, or longer. I’m fairly certain I’ve also mentioned it would be easier to do it on your own because if you and Michael ran, he would be your limiting factor'.”

  The stupid binding… and the only way to break it is to find the mage who cast it and get them to remove it or ask someone like Priscilla to attempt to break it.

  Francis knew that wasn’t the best option either, as Stenson had informed him once of how difficult a task it was.

  Feeling trapped, Francis stood. “What if I just want to go and throw myself back at our enemy? Or Glitvall’s enemy?”

  “And do you have some kind of time frame in mind that you would be doing such a thing?” the general asked.

  “Until I work out the rage that is inside me or get strong enough, I come to a point where I need help to figure out the next step.”

  Stenson chuckled, that slight smile of his appearing. “Well… I guess I would normally say, ‘have at it’.”

  ---

  Francis panted, his breath unleashing a cloud of white as he stared at the army before him.

  Almost two hundred deaths to get this far…

  Behind him lay a trail of frozen blood and corpses. Francis had slain well over a hundred of the Lynxkin to get here. And now came a new foe. About twenty of the largest polar bears he had ever seen. A few deaths prior, he had seen them, waiting, almost as if they were challenging Francis to get to them. The barbarians called them Ursaloth Brutes and had warned him that they were exceptionally difficult to bring down.

  Each was easily ten feet tall and carried a weapon that was the same size. Some were hammers with massive stone heads, while others had giant stone axes.

  Taking a deep breath, Francis smiled. “Well, who wants to die first?”

  ?