Chương 13: Reaching Higher

The supply tent smelt of oil, leather, and old iron — thick enough to taste. Inside, racks of spears and shields lined the walls.

"Here you go," the quartermaster said.

"One custom-made shield reinforced with drake scales, as you ordered." Alcyr examined the compact shield in his hand. It was smaller than standard — just broad enough to cover his torso, but without excess bulk or unwieldiness. The centre was tempered steel — curved to turn blades or redirect heavy impacts rather than absorb them flatly — while the rest was the usual dark-stained oak, banded with iron. Its design was unique enough to draw attention.

However, the most eye-catching features were the drake scales of deep blue, layered over the wood.

"I've added hooks and adjustable straps to the back," the quartermaster added.

"Should make it easy to carry around on your waist. The handle's centred with a palm grip, so you can equip it in a pinch without hassle. Could also strap it to your wrist, in case you want to free up your hands." Alcyr tested the drake shield. It barely took a second for him to bring it up from his waist or re-hook it. The quartermaster continued.

"Size and shape are closer to a buckler than a real shield. Makes it a lot riskier to use, but assuming you got the Shield Discipline levels to wield it properly, you'll find it far more versatile than the standard-issue stuff."

"This is fine work," Alcyr praised.

"I'm surprised the blacksmith agreed to get it done in time, especially with how scarce materials are."

"Well, when our resident sword fanatic starts worrying about Elite-tier archers coming to kill us, we tend to listen," the quartermaster shrugged.

"It is a quality piece of gear. Scales were freshly shredded by the Drake Cavalry in the aftermath of the recent battles that destroyed the 8th and 9th Irregulars, so it's pretty tough. This thing will stop an arrow from a warbow even as close as twenty-five yards."

"Even from a High Elite archer?"

"Hm… Well, maybe not then. But I'd wager you're dead anyway if your convoy encounters an actual High Elite, shield or not." Alcyr would know soon enough, he supposed.

"Thanks for the shield."

"Try not to break it, or it's coming out of your commission. And it ain't cheap, I will tell you that for free. The Drake Cavalry aren't known to hand out their shedded scales easily."

He tested the shield that night and was pleased with the result. It was a little difficult to 'parry' an arrow strong enough to take a man's head off, but it was possible. For the first time in over forty resets, Alcyr was able to survive the opening strike of the warlord without losing his arm. He did not come out of it completely undamaged. The impact of the arrow still travelled through the drake-scale shield and into his shoulder with enough force to numb it.

However, his arm remained whole and regained functionality within seconds rather than being useless throughout the rest of the fight. More importantly, by working on the arrow deflection multiple times over the next few loops — refining the angle, the timing, and the precise motion that would redirect the most force — Alcyr gained another unexpected ability. [New Arte: Perfect Parry 1 (Uncommon)] Alcyr had been ecstatic, at first. A new Arte, so soon after his last one?

And it was another Uncommon-tier Arte as well! That made it a remarkable boon. But Perfect Parry was frustratingly difficult to use, especially compared to his other Artes. For one, activating the Arte alone didn't do anything. It did not automatically let him deflect an attack or negate the damage he took, as he first thought it would. Rather, Alcyr learnt over the next few loops that what he needed to do was both activate the Arte and deflect the blow at the same time.

This might seem simple, but activating an Arte already requires a significant mental effort to execute. The parry window given by the Arte was also punishingly small — perhaps not even half of a tenth of a second, by his best estimate. Even with Combat Sense boosting his reaction speed to near-inhuman levels, successes were far and few between.

But in the rare event that he did succeed in meeting such a minuscule window, the Arte would completely negate all force behind the parried attack — all of it, in complete defiance of physics or force conservation. When Alcyr perfectly parried the warlord's arrow, the impact on his arm barely felt more than the lightest of breezes. It was as if a feather had brushed against his shield, rather than a missile strong enough to punch through buildings.

More shockingly, the arrow didn't spin off and crashed into the snow from redirected force, as it always had. Rather, the projectile had simply lost all momentum upon hitting the shield, dropping harmlessly at Alcyr's feet. The Arte didn't just work with shields or against arrows either. On a later loop, when he was exhausted and on the verge of defeat during his duel with the warlord, Alcyr attempted a Perfect Parry using the dagger in his left hand.

Utterly spent, he had raised the blade limply on a whim to meet the warlord's mighty axe swing before activating the Arte. The force of the axe should have easily broken his hand. Instead, Alcyr watched with satisfaction when the powerful attack simply bounced off his dagger, as if it struck a rock. The expression on the warlord's face as he stumbled was nothing short of memorable. Alcyr still died seconds later, however, when his next parry attempt failed. The timing of the Arte left much to be desired.

In the end, Alcyr concluded that the ability was only situationally useful. There weren't many cases where negating the force behind an attack was better than just deflecting it, especially considering the stamina cost involved in activating the Arte. He wagered that as he levelled the ability, the parry window would increase. But doing so was incredibly difficult given how troublesome and risky it was to execute it properly.

For the time being, the drake-scale shield would continue to serve as his primary means of defence. Regardless, it was good progress, and it served to remind him of a simple lesson: there was more than one way to improve his odds through the time loops than just levelling his skills. Using his endlessly refreshing finances to acquire better equipment was one. Abusing the knowledge gained across time loops was the other.

In regard to the second point, he finally figured out what Red March Swordplay was supposed to do. It was a greater achievement than one might think. The Status Screen did not detail how skills, Artes, or titles functioned unless one had specific analysing skills like Insight, Elucidation, or the more powerful Divination. While most times the ability name itself served enough as an explanation, certain more esoteric abilities required the guidance of skill mentors or even diviners to comprehend their effects.

Red March Swordplay, however, was not an ability Alcyr could discuss openly. It was undoubtedly powerful. When activated, the strength of his sword swings grew to incredible levels, beyond what raw Physical Conditioning or Sword Discipline should allow. More interestingly, it appeared that whenever Alcyr clashed his blades against another while the Artes was active, a small portion of his wounds would heal. The effect was even greater if he killed someone. However, there were downsides to using the Arte.

His stamina rapidly drained when it was in use, especially if he tried using it in tandem with Cleave. Aside from that, the healing effect from the Arte was relatively minor. While it helped stem blood loss or minor debilitating effects such as head trauma, it definitely could not fix major injuries. Broken bones sadly stayed broken, and dismembered limbs remained dismembered. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

On a separate — and somewhat confusing — note, he had noticed that the crimson glow that covered his blade when he activated his Arte was not visible to others. No one — not Vormas, the barbarians, or even the warlord — ever commented on the ominous red engulfing his swords before, even when he used the Arte in their faces. A curious quirk, but beneficial nonetheless — though Alcyr did wonder occasionally why only he could see it. Overall, the Arte was a great addition to his arsenal.

The only problem was the damning association it carried with it. The Red March is not a name spoken of in polite company. Across ten thousand years of known history, only twelve figures had ever ascended to the Godless Heavens, claiming a shard of fragmented divinity and securing a seat in the modern pantheon. These figures were known as the Twelve Saints.

In the current era, after a war saw the shattering of the multitude Heavens and the scattering of all known divine power, these Saints now fulfilled the responsibility the Old Gods once had: granting blessings, receiving prayers, and making the power of Divinity felt in the lives of the lesser mortal races. Even the barbarians of the north venerated the Twelve Saints, with the Twelfth Saint — the Saint of Violence, otherwise also known as the Averter of Evil, or the Slayer Saint — being their patron deity.

Though all twelve were legendary figures in their own right, not all of them were remembered fondly. Several had raised themselves to the Heavens through deeds of unspeakable atrocities, rather than heroic wonder. Their ascension left scars that could be felt even thousands of years later, and their names became taboo to speak of. The Prince of the Red March was one of them.

Known otherwise as the Saint of Agony, or the Flayed Saint, the Seventh Saint was the patron deity of murderers, cultists, and the rabidly deranged. And Alcyr had just drawn the Prince's gaze and gained himself a new Arte in the process. Not great… but not exactly terrible, either. A gaze was just that: a fleeting moment of attention. It was not a declaration of interest.

Drawing a Saint's personal favour was vastly different to being bestowed a mere gift, and often preluded grand power and even grander obligations. In Alcyr's case, what he received wasn't exactly that meaningful. Red March Swordplay was powerful, of course, but an Arte was nothing compared to an actual blessing or a Divine Mystery. It was simply the barest sliver of the Saint of Agony's attention, likely due to his killing of several barbarians while he was badly wounded.

This did not mean he was beholden to the Red March in any capacity, nor did the deity proclaim Alcyr to be his champion in any sense. But it does risk me drawing their attention again, he mused. I wonder if the Saints themselves are affected by the time loop. If the Prince of the Red March sets his eyes on me once more, will he wonder where I received his Artes from? More complications. Alcyr briefly considered not using the Red March Swordplay, but quickly discarded the notion.

That will be crippling myself far too much, and for too little gain. For the moment, the risk is acceptable. It might be a different matter if Alcyr actually received a blessing from such a vile Saint, but for now, he remained relatively unnoticed by the Twelve. I can't afford to hold back. To reach my goal, I will use everything I have. And if any of the Saints looked his way again, well… He would not say no to more gifts, provided that they did not seek to chain him with them.

Rather than avoid conflict or waste time seeking a way to break the endless day, it was better to maximise the gains from each loop, in whatever form they might be.

Time passed. The hundredth loop came and went without fanfare. At some point, the warlord's pre-duel declaration changed.

"In honour of this duel, I shall grant you the privilege of facing me at half strength. Die knowing you were better than most of your peers, foreign pup." Then came the hundred and tenth loop. The hundred and twentieth. The warlord's smile was eager when he leapt down from the rise to face him.

"Brave mongrel, though you may be young, warrior's blood runs in your veins. You face a descendant of the Twelfth Saint in all his might. To honour this duel, two-thirds of my strength I will use, and no more. Let the Path of Violence bear witness!" The hundred and thirtieth loop passed. The hundred and fortieth. At long last, the warlord drew his Silverite axe.

"It has been many moons since an opponent made me take up the weapon of my forefathers," he said.

"Be honoured, unchained struggler. Though you lack the blood of the Twelve, you are worthy of facing me at my full strength. The Slayer Saint watches us from the Godless Heavens. The victor of this battle shall receive his favour!" And then, finally… the hundred and fiftieth loop passed. On the morning of the hundred and fifty-first loop, Alcyr stood on the training grounds and mentally called upon his status screen.

[Status Screen] Alcyr Rivers — Age 18 Titles: Godless Low Elite Sword Fanatic Combat Skills: Sword Discipline 46 (Common) Unarmed Discipline 40 (Common) Dagger Discipline 42 (Common) Shield Discipline 41 (Common) Armour Discipline 38 (Common) Throwing Weapon Discipline 32 (Common) Combat Sense 39 (Uncommon) Missile Deflection 33 (Uncommon) Paired Blade Mastery 29 (Rare) Life Skills: Physical Conditioning 44 (Common) Pain Tolerance 41 (Common) Movement 43 (Common) Natural Resistance 32 (Common) Leadership 14 (Common) Field Triage 8 (Common) Presence 7 (Uncommon) Mortal Defiance 31 (Rare) Artes: Cleave 36 (Common) Red March Swordplay 27 (Uncommon) Perfect Parry 21 (Uncommon) [End Screen] Despite having no inherited Mysteries, Alcyr was now an Elite.

Nothing would be the same after this. Just a year ago, Alcyr was merely a talented foot soldier — a stubborn fool who had obtained above-average skills by training himself nearly to death each day. But now, with all that the time loops had granted him, there was no way anyone would look at him the same anymore. Not just one, but several of his skills were past level 40.

For the average peasant — void of powerful blessings, bloodlines, or other inherited privileges — advancing even just one skill above level 40 was the task of a lifetime. Even if one were decently talented and managed to reach level 30 at a young age, the gap between a High Journeyman and a Low Elite normally required at least a decade of dedicated training. In the span of less than half a year within the loops, Alcyr had crossed that gap several times over. It was insanity.

He could not think of a recent precedent where anyone else managed to grow that fast in so short a time. Regardless of what powers or backgrounds one had, lethal combat was still the most optimal way to raise skill levels. Some would argue there were ways around it. Retired adventurers often sold their services as tutors to young bluebloods, overseeing their safety as they hunted monsters.

But though better than standard training, it still contrasted greatly with those who endured repeated brutal battles and survived them. However, no one would ever engage in repeated, genuine, life-threatening conflict if they could avoid it, especially on a daily basis. The skill gain, no matter how expedited, was not worth the risk of death. But they were worth it for him, because death costs him nothing that he couldn't recover from. A hundred and fifty deaths.

A hundred and fifty mornings waking to the same bunk. Each time he'd returned with everything the previous night had given him, and the loop had taken nothing back. Whatever consequences might exist for what he was doing — and he couldn't rule out that there were some he simply hadn't perceived yet — none had materialised. Part of him considered whether he was better off making plans to desert the military at this point. The Regulars would almost assuredly welcome him into their ranks, but why bother?

At his current age and skills, Alcyr could apply to one of Morwyn's noble academies instead — home to the greatest scholars and warriors in the kingdom — and begin working up to the ranks of Master or even Grandmaster. His lowborn background would not matter. While he wasn't at the same tier as the kingdom's top Mystery-blessed talents or royal peerage, he would certainly qualify for an offer, probably even a scholarship, once he completed the examination.

Under normal circumstances, the gains he could accumulate there would be immeasurable, opening doors for him that his background alone never would have allowed. A year ago, it had seemed like the distant horizon to aim for — a worthy goal to walk towards once he completed his military service. But now… Did going to the academy even matter? More importantly, was it even worth the detour? His time loops were best exploited in a dangerous environment, not in the safe confines of a prestigious university.

Perhaps one day, there was worth in plundering the kingdom's famed academy for its secrets, but for now…

"Basics first," Alcyr murmured.

"My martial skills. My Artes. This frozen wasteland has more to offer me still." But that would only work if he kept moving forward. He was done with this 'today'. This tiny Well has nothing left to offer him. It was time to kill the warlord.