Chapter 35

  The sound of the morning bell rang.

  "It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted as he sat up. "What gives?"

  Francis lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Death one hundred and three. The alpha had gotten him again, but this time he'd taken it down with him. A small victory that still ended with his ribs being crushed, but progress nonetheless.

  "Just another day, brother." Francis sat up and began dressing. The routine was familiar now, comfortable even. Wake up, get to Thules, tell Tormund, work the forge, fight the Ursaloths. Repeat until dead. Repeat until stronger.

  ---

  Tormund listened to Francis's explanation of the loops with the same patience he always did. By now, Francis had refined the telling down to its essentials. Quick, efficient, enough to prove he knew things he shouldn't.

  ?

  ? After the first day of being at the camp, smithing and going out to fight, Francis couldn’t believe what the blacksmith said.

  "Death one hundred and three," Tormund said when Francis finished a small blade. "You are persistent."

  "I don't have much choice." Francis heated another piece of steel in the forge. "Michael dies, the barbarians die, everyone dies if I'm not."

  They worked in silence for a while, the rhythm of hammer on steel settling Francis's mind. He'd come to appreciate these mornings at the forge. The repetitive motion, the heat of the fire, the satisfaction of watching metal take shape. It was meditation disguised as labor.

  Francis smiled. "Hit twenty-five in Life Core Channeling three deaths ago. It’s making a big difference. I can close wounds about twice as fast now compared to when I started."

  "But still not the true regeneration you desire, is it?"

  "Still not true regeneration," Francis confirmed. "That's going to take a lot more. My Magic stat finally hit twenty, though, so that helps."

  "Good progress." Tormund examined the piece Francis was working on. "This joint is better than yesterday. Your control is improving."

  A notification appeared as if summoned by the compliment.

  [ Blacksmithing Increased - 24 ]

  "Twenty-four now," Francis said.

  "Then you are ready." Tormund set down his hammer and moved to the back of the forge. He returned, carrying a peculiar, half-finished yet recognizable weapon. An axe, its head roughly shaped but not yet sharpened or balanced. "We make this together. Proper barbarian axe."

  Francis felt something stir in his chest. Pride, maybe. Or anticipation. "You want me to help forge an axe?"

  "I want you to learn how to fight with an axe," Tormund corrected. "I don’t want you to just learn to make them. You need to learn how to use one to truly understand how to make them. You fight with swords, yes? Good weapons. But here in the North, the axe is king. If you truly want to be one of us, you should know our weapon."

  Francis took the unfinished axe head, feeling its weight. It was heavier than his swords, but balanced differently. "I've never really trained with axes beyond a few sparing matches."

  "Then we fix that." Tormund gestured to the work area. "First, we finish this axe. Make it good, make it yours. Then, I teach you to swing it properly. And after that..." He smiled slightly. "After that, you find warriors to spar with. Learn from dying, as you do with everything else."

  They spent the rest of the morning working on the axe. Tormund showed Francis how to shape the blade, how to create the proper curve, and how to ensure the balance was right. It was different from sword-making, required different techniques, but Francis found he enjoyed it.

  By afternoon, they had a rough handle attached and the blade properly shaped. Not finished, not sharpened, but close.

  "Tomorrow, we sharpen and balance," Tormund said. "Today, you take this and learn to swing it. Go to the training grounds. Find someone who will teach."

  Francis hefted the axe, testing its weight. "Any recommendations?"

  "Kerhi," Tormund said without hesitation. "She is a shaman, but she trains with an axe when she is not healing or channeling. She is a good teacher and patient."

  Francis thought about the woman who'd been watching him for the past several loops. The one who always seemed to be studying him, trying to figure something out. "You think she'll agree to teach me?"

  "I think she has been watching you for a reason," Tormund replied. "She is curious. Use that. Ask, and see what happens."

  ---

  Francis found Kerhi near the training grounds, as Tormund had suggested. She was working through forms with a well-crafted axe, her movements fluid and precise. Francis watched for a moment, noting how she shifted her weight and controlled the weapon's momentum.

  "Are you going to stand there staring, or are you going to speak?" Kerhi asked without looking at him.

  Francis moved closer, the unfinished axe resting on his shoulder. "I need to learn to use this. Tormund suggested you might be willing to teach."

  Kerhi finished her form and turned to face him. Her blue eyes studied the axe, then Francis himself. "You made that?"

  "With Tormund's help. It still needs sharpening and final balance work."

  "Let me see it." She held out her hand, and Francis passed her the axe. Kerhi tested its weight, made a few experimental swings. "It’s good work. Not perfect, but good. You have talent for smithing."

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  "Thank you."

  "Why do you want to learn axe?" Kerhi asked, handing the weapon back. "You fight with swords. I have seen you. You are good with them."

  "Because I'm here," Francis said simply. "Because if I'm going to be one of your people, I should know your weapons. And because..." He paused, considering. "Because every skill I learn might be the one that saves someone's life."

  Kerhi's expression shifted slightly. Not quite a smile, but something close. "That is a good answer. Better than 'I want to be stronger' or 'I want to kill more enemies.'"

  "Those too," Francis admitted. "But mostly the first thing."

  "Honest. I like that." Kerhi picked up her axe again. "I will teach you. But you must understand, axe is not a sword. You cannot use it the same way. They have a different balance, a different rhythm, and a different mindset."

  "I'm ready to learn."

  "Good. Then we start now." She moved to the center of the training ground. "First lesson: stance. An axe is heavier than a sword, and needs a stronger base. Show me how you stand when fighting."

  Francis fell into his combat stance, the one Phillip had drilled into him over countless hours. Balanced on the balls of his feet, weight distributed evenly, ready to move in any direction.

  "Good for swords," Kerhi said. "Too light for axe. Feet wider. Lower center of gravity. Like this." She demonstrated a solid and grounded stance. "Axe has more momentum. If you are too light on your feet, the weapon will control you instead of you controlling the weapon."

  Francis adjusted his stance, trying to match hers. It felt strange, too planted, but he trusted her expertise.

  "Better. Now, basic swing. Overhead, straight down." She demonstrated her axe coming down in a clean arc. "Power comes from the whole body, not just the arms. See?"

  Francis tried to copy the movement. His swing was a little off-balance, nothing like Kerhi's fluid motion.

  "Again," Kerhi said. "Focus on hips. They start the motion. Your arms just guide the weapon."

  Francis swung again. Slightly better.

  "Again."

  They worked for over an hour, Kerhi patiently correcting his form, showing him the basic strikes and blocks. By the end, Francis's arms burned, and sweat soaked his furs despite the cold, but he was starting to feel the rhythm of the axe.

  A notification appeared.

  [ Axe Skill Acquired - 20 ]

  Francis smiled despite his exhaustion. Progress.

  "Enough for today," Kerhi said, lowering her practice weapon. "You have a good foundation. Natural balance. It will be easier to teach than some."

  "Thank you for taking the time."

  "You are welcome." She studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course."

  "Why are you really here?" Kerhi asked. "Not just in Thules, but here. Learning our ways, working our forges, fighting our battles. You are a Southerner. You could be safe in your kingdom, far from war. But instead, you are here, fighting against our enemy and learning to swing an axe. Why?"

  Francis considered the question. He could give her the simple answer, the surface truth. But something about the way she asked, the genuine curiosity in her eyes, made him want to be honest.

  "Because I have a brother," Francis said. "And he dies if I'm not strong enough. Because there's a war coming that will consume everything if someone doesn't stop it. And because..." He met her eyes. "Because I'm the only one who can see the whole picture. The only one who remembers. So it has to be me."

  Kerhi's brow furrowed slightly. "The only one who remembers what?"

  Francis realized his mistake too late. He'd said too much, revealed something he hadn't meant to. But backing away from it now would be worse than explaining.

  "It's complicated," Francis said carefully. "And probably sounds insane. But I promise you, everything I do, I do for good reasons."

  Kerhi was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "I believe you. I do not understand, but I believe you." She picked up her practice axe. "Come back tomorrow. We will train more. And maybe, when you are ready, you will explain this complicated thing to me."

  "Maybe," Francis agreed.

  "Until then, practice your forms. Get your body used to the weight of the axe." She started to walk away, then paused. "And Francis? Thank you for being honest with me. Even if you cannot tell me everything."

  Francis watched her go, feeling something shift in his chest. Kerhi was different from the others. She saw more, understood more, even without knowing about the loops. And she was patient enough to wait for answers.

  Maybe in a few more loops, I'll tell her. See if she accepts it like Tormund did.

  ---

  Three deaths later, Francis stood over four dead Ursaloths, his new axe dripping with blood. The weapon felt better in his hands now, more natural. He'd died twice learning to use it properly in combat, but the skill was climbing steadily.

  [ Axe Increased - 25 ]

  Francis pulled power from his core, healing the gash across his ribs. The wound closed faster now, the flesh knitting together in seconds instead of minutes. Not instant, not true regeneration, but progress.

  He heard the alpha's roar in the distance and smiled. Not today. He had what he needed from this fight. Time to retreat, regroup, and come back tomorrow.

  As he jogged back toward camp, Francis thought about the pattern he'd established. Tell Tormund, work the forge, train with Kerhi, fight the Ursaloths. Each loop, the same routine, but each loop, he was a little stronger, a little faster, a little closer to the goal.

  Death one hundred and six had brought him Life Core Channeling to twenty-five. His Magic stat sat at twenty. His Blacksmithing was twenty-four, his Axe was twenty-five. Real, measurable progress.

  And more than that, he had allies now. Tormund, who knew the truth, and Kerhi, who was starting to understand that Francis was more than he appeared. Both of them were helping him grow stronger in different ways.

  The path ahead was still long. Hundreds more deaths, maybe thousands. But Francis could see it now, the slow climb toward the power he needed.

  One death at a time.

  One skill level at a time.

  ?