Chapter 50
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis was already moving. Six loops against the Jaguarkin and Pantherkin. Six deaths. He knew their patterns now, knew their tells, knew exactly how they would attack.
What he didn't know was how to beat them.
---
Same council meeting. Same armor. Same force-redirecting shield. Francis went through the motions with mechanical efficiency, his mind already on the battlefield.
He'd scored hits on both Elites in the last loop. He'd lasted longer than ever before. But lasting wasn't the same as winning, and Francis needed to win.
The regular beastkin fell before him as he pushed into enemy territory. Wolfkin, tigerkin, rhinokin—all of them died without slowing him down. His focus was entirely on what came next.
The roars announced their arrival. The Jaguarkin and Pantherkin emerged from the enemy lines, taking their flanking positions with practiced precision.
Francis didn't wait. He charged the Jaguarkin directly, closing the distance before the Pantherkin could get behind him.
The Jaguarkin met his charge with a powerful strike. Francis caught it on his shield, feeling the force redirect back into the creature's arms, and immediately thrust at its chest.
The blade scored a line across the Jaguarkin's ribs—shallow, but enough to draw blood. The creature snarled and stepped back, reaching for its swords.
Francis pressed the advantage. He couldn't let it draw those weapons, couldn't let the fight escalate to where they'd killed him five times already. His sword came in fast, a Quick Attack aimed at the Jaguarkin's sword arm.
The blade bit into muscle, and the Jaguarkin roared in pain. One of its massive swords clattered to the ground, the arm too damaged to grip properly.
One sword down.
But the Pantherkin was already there. Francis felt his Battle Sense scream a warning, and he spun just in time to catch curved blades on his shield. The Pantherkin had drawn its weapons the moment Francis committed to the Jaguarkin—covering its partner, just like always.
Francis kicked out, trying to create space, but the Pantherkin was too fast. It flowed around his attack like water, curved blades seeking the gaps in his armor.
The Jaguarkin, fighting through its injury with iron determination, came at Francis with its remaining sword. One-handed, the creature was still devastating—the blade came in with enough force to split Francis in half if it connected.
[ Iron Wall ]
Francis caught the strike on his shield. The impact drove him back several feet, boots tearing furrows in the grass. His arm screamed in protest, the muscle tearing from the repeated abuse.
The Pantherkin struck from behind. Curved blades found the gap at Francis's lower back, cutting deep into muscle. Pain bloomed, and Francis felt his regeneration activate—but the golden threads were already working overtime from earlier wounds.
He was losing. Even with one of the Jaguarkin's swords removed from the fight, their coordination was too good. Every time Francis gained an advantage, the other covered it.
Francis gave ground, defending desperately, looking for any opening. The Jaguarkin pressed forward with relentless aggression while the Pantherkin circled and struck from angles Francis couldn't fully track.
Two minutes passed. Then three. Francis was bleeding from a dozen wounds, his regeneration struggling to keep up with the damage. His shield arm was failing, the muscle too torn to maintain proper form, unable to regenerate fast enough from the continued abuse.
The Jaguarkin feinted low and struck high. Francis raised his shield to block—
And the Pantherkin's curved blade punched through the gap in his armor at the armpit, sliding between ribs and into his lung.
Francis coughed up blood. His sword fell from his grip as his body started to fail. The Jaguarkin's blade came around in a finishing strike.
Still not good enough.
---
Same council. Same armor. Same battlefield.
Francis tried a different approach. Instead of charging the Jaguarkin, he went for the Pantherkin first—trying to eliminate the faster, more annoying opponent before dealing with the powerhouse.
It didn't work. The Pantherkin was too quick, too slippery. Every time Francis thought he had it cornered, it flowed away, and the Jaguarkin was there to punish his overextension.
He died in two minutes.
---
Francis tried using terrain. He positioned himself near a cluster of fallen rhinokin corpses, limiting the angles the Pantherkin could attack from.
The Jaguarkin simply charged through the corpses, scattering them like leaves. The Pantherkin came over the top, using the bodies as launching points for aerial strikes.
He died in ninety seconds.
---
Francis tried pure aggression, attacking both Elites simultaneously with everything he had. Power Strike after Power Strike, burning through his stamina in a desperate attempt to overwhelm them before they could coordinate.
He managed to wound both of them. The Jaguarkin was bleeding from cuts on its arms and legs. The Pantherkin had a deep gash across its shoulder.
But Francis's stamina ran out before their health did. He slowed, and they didn't. The killing blow came from behind, as it always did.
---
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Ten loops now. Ten deaths against the same two opponents. He was learning, improving, but not fast enough. Every approach he tried, they countered. Every advantage he gained, they covered.
He needed something to change. Something fundamental.
Francis rose and dressed, a new determination settling into his bones. If he couldn't beat them with skill alone, he'd have to push his abilities to the point where something evolved.
That's how he'd gained most of his best skills. Through desperation. Through being pushed past his limits until something inside him broke through to the next level.
Time to see how far he could push.
---
Same council meeting—faster now, Francis cutting straight to the demonstration and letting Queen Auri's confirmation do the rest. Same armor request, same force-redirecting shield.
But this time, Francis asked Priscilla for one more thing.
"I need you to reinforce the shield's edge. Make it sharp enough to cut."
The royal mage raised an eyebrow. "A shield isn't a weapon."
"It is if you make it one," Francis replied.
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Priscilla studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Give me an hour."
---
The battlefield waited. Francis moved through the regular beastkin with brutal efficiency, conserving nothing. He needed to be at full power when the Elites arrived.
The roars came. The Jaguarkin and Pantherkin emerged and took their positions.
Francis set his feet and waited.
The Jaguarkin charged first, as it always did. Francis raised his shield and braced.
[ Guarded Stance ]
[ Iron Wall ]
The impact was tremendous. Force redirected back into the Jaguarkin's arms, staggering it slightly. Francis immediately swung the shield in a horizontal arc, the sharpened edge catching the creature across its forearm.
Blood sprayed. The Jaguarkin roared in pain, stumbling back.
The Pantherkin struck from behind. Francis spun, bringing his shield around to block. The curved blades met the reinforced metal with a ring of steel, and Francis used the contact to push forward, driving the sharpened edge toward the Pantherkin's face.
The creature twisted away, but not fast enough. The shield's edge opened a cut across its cheek, narrowly missing its eye.
Both Elites, bloodied in the first exchange.
But they adapted quickly. The Jaguarkin drew its swords despite the injury, and the Pantherkin's curved blades came out in full. The real fight was beginning.
Francis defended with everything he had. Shield and sword working in concert, blocking and cutting, deflecting and riposting. His Battle Sense warned him of incoming strikes, and his defensive skills absorbed impacts that would have broken lesser warriors.
The Jaguarkin's swords came in devastating combinations. Francis caught them on his shield, feeling the force redirect, and countered with cuts that opened wounds on the creature's arms and legs.
The Pantherkin circled and struck from angles, curved blades seeking joints and tendons. Francis tracked its movements, anticipated its attacks, and used his sharpened shield to punish every committed strike.
Three minutes passed. Four. Five.
Francis was still standing.
His armor was ruined, dented, and torn from countless impacts. His body was a mass of wounds that his regeneration was struggling to close. His shield arm burned with pain, the muscle tearing and reknitting with every block.
But he was still standing.
The Jaguarkin roared in frustration. It had never faced an opponent who could last this long against their coordinated assault. It charged with everything it had, both swords coming in simultaneously—one high, one low.
Francis made his choice. Shield high to catch the overhead strike. Sword low to deflect the thrust.
The overhead strike rang against his shield with tremendous force. His arm buckled, muscle failing, and the shield dropped several inches—exposing his shoulder.
The Jaguarkin's blade found the gap and cut deep into the joint. Francis's shield arm went limp, the shield hanging from a hand that wouldn’t let go.
The Pantherkin struck from behind, curved blades punching through the gap in his lower back. Francis felt the blades grate against his spine, felt his legs start to go numb.
He was dying. Again.
But something was different this time. The damage was mounting, his regeneration failing, his body shutting down—and yet Francis didn't fall. His legs were numb, but he stayed on his feet. His shield arm was useless, but he raised his sword.
Warrior's Resolve converted his pain into power as it always did, but it was more than that. Every wound, every injury, every near-death moment across these ten loops—all of it was building toward something.
Francis felt his Shield Use skill straining, pushing against some invisible boundary. He'd used it more intensively in these loops than ever before, had blocked more devastating strikes, and had pushed the skill to its absolute limits.
The Jaguarkin raised its sword for the killing blow. Francis couldn't dodge it. His body was failing, his skills depleted, and his health was at the dregs of life.
But he could still choose how he died.
Francis threw himself forward, not away from the strike but into it. His shield came up, regeneration having healed the injury enough, he could do something with it in a desperate thrust aimed at the Jaguarkin's heart.
The Jaguarkin's blade came down at the exact moment, aimed at Francis's skull.
[ Shield Use Increased - 61 Elite ]
[ Skill Conditions Met ]
[ Blood-Forged Aegis Acquired (Rare) - 1 ]
The notification came as the blade descended. And with it, something changed.
Francis's ruined armor seemed to drink in his own blood, the metal darkening to a deep crimson. The damage he was taking—the killing blow coming down at his head—didn't translate into health loss. Instead, it became something else. A pressure. A weight. A drain on something other than his life force.
The Jaguarkin's blade struck his skull.
And Francis didn't die.
The impact was devastating. Francis felt it like exhaustion, like running a marathon at full sprint. His vision swam, his legs buckled, his body screamed. But he stayed conscious. Stayed alive.
The tip of his shield, still committed to its thrust, punched into the Jaguarkin's chest.
The creature's eyes went wide with shock. It staggered back, Francis's shield buried in its heart. Blood poured from the wound, and the Jaguarkin collapsed, dead before it hit the ground.
Francis fell to his knees, his body completely spent. The new skill had saved his life, but at a heavy cost. He could barely move, barely think. His Resolve—whatever that was—was utterly drained.
The Pantherkin stood over him, curved blades raised.
Francis looked up at the creature, knowing he had nothing left. No strength to fight, no skills to activate, no tricks to pull. He'd killed the Jaguarkin, but the effort had destroyed him.
The Pantherkin's blades came down.
---
The sound of the morning bell rang, and Francis shot upright in bed, his heart pounding.
He'd killed the Jaguarkin. Actually killed it. And the Pantherkin had finished him only because he'd been completely depleted from the effort.
More importantly, he'd gained a new skill. Blood-Forged Aegis. He could still feel it, sitting in his skill list like a warm ember waiting to be stoked.
[ Blood-Forged Aegis (Rare) - 1 ]
[ When HP drops below 20%, convert the subsequent 35% damage into Resolve drain instead of health loss. Resolve recovers only after combat ends. ]
Francis understood immediately what this meant. It was a buffer—a last-chance defense that could keep him alive through damage that should kill him. The Jaguarkin's killing blow had been converted into Resolve drain, giving Francis the extra moment he needed to land his own killing strike.
But the skill had limits. Once his Resolve was drained, he was helpless. And it only activated when he was already near death. It wasn't a replacement for defense—it was a supplement to it. A final line of protection when everything else failed.
Which meant he'd still been right to focus on shield work. The skill had evolved from his defensive fighting, from being pushed to his absolute limits while trying to survive overwhelming opponents.
Now he needed to learn how to use it properly. How to manage his Resolve alongside his health, how to time his attacks to take advantage of the buffer, how to fight knowing he could survive one killing blow but not two.
Francis rose and dressed, a grim smile on his face.
One Elite down. One to go.
Death six hundred and eighty-one taught Francis that sometimes you had to die to evolve. That skills didn't improve through careful practice alone—they improved through desperation, through being pushed past every limit, through fighting until something inside you broke through to the next level.
The Blood-Forged Aegis was proof of that. Born from ten loops of punishment, from countless wounds and near-death moments, from refusing to fall even when his body was failing.
Now Francis had a new tool in his arsenal. A way to survive killing blows, to push past the moment of death and strike back.
The Pantherkin was still out there. Still fast, still precise, still deadly.
But Francis had killed its partner. And with his new skill, he intended to kill it too.
The window in the South was still open. And Francis was just getting started.
