The sound of the morning bell rang.

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

  Francis stared at the ceiling, processing. The Pantherkin's curved blade had found his throat in the last loop, slicing through his neck while he was still depleted from Blood-Forged Aegis. He'd killed the Jaguarkin, actually killed it, but burned through all of his Warrior's Resolve in the process. When the Pantherkin came for him, he'd had nothing left.

  Can't use it all on one Elite. I’ll have to manage it better.

  The real problem wasn't the Pantherkin's skill, it was that Francis kept fighting them together. He'd watched them coordinate across dozens of deaths now, understood their patterns intimately. The Jaguarkin drew attention and absorbed punishment while the Pantherkin circled for killing strikes. As a pair, they were devastating.

  But separately?

  Kill the Jaguarkin faster. Have enough Resolve left when the Pantherkin commits.

  "Francis?" Michael was looking at him with concern. "You alright?"

  "Fine," Francis said, swinging his legs out of bed. "Just thinking."

  He dressed quickly, his mind already on the journey ahead. Southern Kingdom. War council. Equipment. Then the battlefield. The same sequence he'd run through so many times now that it felt like a well-worn path.

  "Where are you going?" Michael asked.

  "I have something to take care of," Francis replied. "Stay out of trouble."

  Michael opened his mouth to argue, but Francis was already out the door.

  ***

  The journey to the Southern Kingdom's command area took most of the day. Francis moved with purpose, cutting through familiar terrain with the efficiency of someone who'd made this trek more times than he could count. By late afternoon, he was approaching the outer perimeter of the military encampment.

  Guards moved to intercept him immediately. Their hands went to their weapons as they assessed the young man approaching their position—too young to be an officer, too confident to be a messenger, and far too calm for someone walking alone toward an active war zone.

  "State your business," the lead guard demanded.

  Francis had learned that demonstrations worked better than explanations. He drew his knife before the guards could react and drove it into his own forearm. The blade went deep, scraping bone, and blood immediately began flowing down his wrist.

  The guards recoiled, hands tightening on their weapons. One of them started forward, probably thinking Francis had lost his mind.

  "Watch," Francis said calmly.

  Golden threads of energy became visible around the wound. His Life Core Channeling manifested as visible light, and the guards' eyes went wide as they watched flesh begin to knit back together. The bleeding slowed, then stopped. Within thirty seconds, only blood-stained skin remained where a crippling injury had been.

  "I need to speak with General Stenson," Francis said, wiping the blood from his arm. "Tell him someone with information about Elite beastkin is here. He'll want to see me."

  The guards exchanged glances. One of them nodded and disappeared into the camp while the other kept watching Francis with a mixture of wariness and fascination.

  Francis waited. He'd done this enough times to know exactly how long it would take for word to reach Stenson, for the general to decide whether to grant an audience, for the summons to come back. The waiting was always the hardest part—not because he was anxious, but because every moment spent proving himself was a moment not spent fighting.

  The messenger returned within fifteen minutes. "General Stenson will see you."

  ***

  The command tent felt smaller with five people in it. King Baxter sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding despite the exhaustion visible in his eyes. Queen Auri stood beside him, her sharp intelligence already assessing Francis. Priscilla observed from near the entrance, her mage-trained senses examining him for deception. General Stenson stood with arms crossed, waiting.

  Francis had given this speech before. He knew exactly which words to use, which demonstrations to perform, which details would convince them and which would only confuse. He explained his ability to reset upon death. The thousands of loops he'd lived through. His purpose here—to test whether Elite opponents in the South had been adapted to counter him the way they had in the North.

  "He speaks truth," Queen Auri said quietly. "Every word."

  Stenson's expression remained guarded. "Even if what you say is true, why come to us? What do you need?"

  "Equipment," Francis replied. "Plate armor, quality steel. An enchanted shield that can redirect force, and with a sharpened edge. And permission to engage Elite opponents on your battlefield."

  "You want to fight Elite beastkin," King Baxter said slowly. "Alone."

  "I've done it before. Multiple times." Francis met the king's gaze steadily. "There's a pair of them in your enemy's ranks—a Jaguarkin and a Pantherkin. They work together, coordinate their attacks. I've died to them more times than I can count, but I've learned their patterns. I know how to beat them."

  "And if you fail?" Priscilla asked.

  "Then I wake up tomorrow morning and try again."

  Silence held the tent for a long moment. Finally, King Baxter nodded. "Give him what he needs. Armor, shield, whatever weapons he requires." He looked at Francis with something that might have been respect. "If you can kill those Elite beasts, you'll have done us a greater service than most soldiers manage in a lifetime."

  "One other thing," Francis said. "General Stenson—you mentioned once that there's a connection between Quick Attack and Flurry. That if you push them both high enough, something happens."

  Stenson's eyes narrowed. "I haven't mentioned anything to you. We've never spoken before today."

  Right. Different loop.

  "You're right," Francis said smoothly. "Let me rephrase. I've heard rumors that masters of speed who develop both Quick Attack and Flurry past certain thresholds can unlock something greater. Is there truth to that?"

  Stenson studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "There is. Push Quick Attack to Elite rank and Flurry to Advanced, and they can merge into something called Blade Tempest. It's rare—most warriors don't have the patience or the pain tolerance to develop both skills that high. But if you're really dying over and over again..." He trailed off. "Use them both. Constantly. Every fight. You'll see."

  Francis filed that information away. Quick Attack was already at 54, close to Elite rank at 61. Flurry was only at 32, still far from Advanced at 41. But he had time. He had all the time in the world.

  "The smiths will have your equipment ready by tomorrow morning," Stenson said. "Try not to waste it."

  ***

  The armor was good—not quite as fine as what he'd worn in previous loops, but solid enough to matter. He wasn’t sure what had changed, as the conversation had been different than the last dozen or so loops. Still, he now had plate over chain, properly fitted, with joints that allowed a full range of motion. The shield was the real prize: enchanted steel with a matrix woven into it that could redirect incoming force. Francis had felt that enchantment save his life more than once.

  He strapped on the equipment with practiced efficiency, testing the weight distribution and adjusting straps until everything felt right. His sword went at his hip, the same one Stenson let him borrow every loop.

  Time to hunt.

  ***

  The regular beastkin fell before him like wheat before a scythe. Francis pushed deep into enemy territory, cutting through wolfkin and tigerkin with brutal efficiency. His stats had grown so much since he'd first fought here that creatures who had once challenged him now died in seconds.

  Then the roars came.

  The Jaguarkin and Pantherkin emerged from the enemy formations, taking their flanking positions with practiced precision. Francis had seen this so many times that he could predict their movements before they made them, the Jaguarkin advancing to draw his attention, the Pantherkin circling to get behind him.

  Not this time.

  Francis charged the Jaguarkin before it could fully set itself. His sword came in fast, empowered by Quick Attack, and the Jaguarkin barely got its massive blade up in time to deflect. The impact rang through the battlefield, and Francis was already moving, pressing the advantage.

  The Jaguarkin size might have mattered against most, but Francis had learned its patterns through hundreds of deaths. He knew which attacks it favored, which openings it left, which feints it fell for. His blade found gaps in its guard again and again, drawing blood, making the creature roar with fury.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But the Pantherkin was already there.

  Francis's Battle Sense screamed a warning, and he spun to catch curved blades on his shield. The force-redirecting enchantment flared, sending the Pantherkin's momentum back into its own arms, but the creature was too fast to be truly caught off guard. It flowed around his counter, its blades seeking gaps in his armor.

  Francis blocked, parried, and retreated. The Jaguarkin recovered and came at him from the other side, and suddenly he was fighting both of them again, just like every other loop. His sword moved in desperate arcs, Quick Attack and Flurry activating over and over as he tried to create space.

  [ Quick Attack Increased - 55 ]

  The notification barely registered. Francis was too focused on staying alive, on managing two Elite opponents who had been killing him for what felt like an eternity. His regeneration worked constantly, golden threads closing wounds almost as fast as they opened, but he was taking damage faster than he could heal.

  The Jaguarkin's massive sword came down in an overhead strike that would have split him in half. Francis raised his shield, bracing with Iron Wall, and the enchantment redirected most of the force—but not all of it. The impact drove him to one knee, and in that moment of vulnerability, the Pantherkin struck.

  Curved blades found the gap between his helmet and gorget. Francis felt steel slide into his neck, felt blood begin pouring down his chest. His vision went gray at the edges.

  Too slow. Still too slow.

  ***

  The sound of the morning bell rang.

  "It's earlier than usual," Michael grunted.

  Francis was already moving, his mind cycling through what had gone wrong. He'd fought them together again, let them coordinate, let them use their numbers against him. The Jaguarkin wasn't the problem—he could beat the Jaguarkin. But he couldn't beat both of them at once.

  Kill the Jaguarkin faster. Don't let the Pantherkin get involved.

  Same journey. Same guards. Same demonstration. Same war council, same explanations, same equipment. Francis went through the motions with mechanical efficiency, his focus entirely on the fight ahead.

  This time, when he reached the battlefield, he didn't charge directly at the Jaguarkin. Instead, he angled his approach to put the larger creature between himself and the Pantherkin, using its bulk as a shield.

  The Jaguarkin came at him with its massive sword, exactly as expected. Francis didn't try to block—he sidestepped, letting the blade pass within inches of his face, and drove his own sword into the creature's exposed side. The Jaguarkin roared and swung again, but Francis was already moving, circling, keeping the creature's body between himself and its partner.

  Quick Attack. Flurry. Power Strike. Francis threw everything he had at the Jaguarkin, hammering it with combinations that would have killed any regular beastkin three times over. Blood sprayed from a dozen wounds, and the creature's movements grew slower, more desperate.

  [ Flurry Increased - 32 ]

  The Pantherkin tried to circle around, tried to get a clear line to Francis, but he kept repositioning, kept the Jaguarkin in the way. It was like a deadly dance, three partners moving around each other with lethal intent.

  Finally, Francis saw his opening. The Jaguarkin overextended on a thrust, leaving its throat exposed for just a moment. Francis's sword came up in a vicious arc, Quick Attack driving it faster than the eye could follow, and the steel pierced deep into the creature's neck.

  The Jaguarkin fell.

  But Francis had burned through most of his stamina to do it, had pushed his skills to their limits. When the Pantherkin came for him—and it came fast, furious at its partner's death—he didn't have enough left to match its speed.

  Curved blades carved through his guard. Francis blocked what he could, his regeneration working overtime to close wounds that kept opening. Golden threads flooded his body, but the Pantherkin was relentless, a whirlwind of steel that gave him no chance to recover.

  A blade eventually found his heart and took off his head.

  ***

  The sound of the morning bell rang.

  Francis didn't even hear Michael's greeting. He was already replaying the fight, analyzing his mistakes. He'd killed the Jaguarkin, but it had cost him too much. He needed to be more efficient and save something for the Pantherkin.

  And I need to use Blood-Forged Aegis better.

  The skill was new, barely at level 1, but it had saved his life against the Jaguarkin in the loop before last. When activated, it converted his Warrior's Resolve into a temporary shield that could absorb massive amounts of damage. The problem was that it drained his Resolve completely, leaving him helpless when the Pantherkin attacked.

  Don't use it on the Jaguarkin. Save it for the Pantherkin.

  Same journey. Same demonstrations. Same equipment. Francis moved through the familiar sequence with the patience of someone who had done it hundreds of times before.

  On the battlefield, he approached the Elite pair with a new strategy. He fought the Jaguarkin defensively this time, focusing on efficiency rather than speed. His sword found opportunities without overcommitting, picking the creature apart with precise strikes rather than overwhelming combinations.

  It took longer, but he killed the Jaguarkin with most of his stamina intact.

  The Pantherkin came for him with murder in its eyes.

  Francis met its charge with Quick Attack, his blade seeking the creature's throat. The Pantherkin twisted away, curved swords coming around in a counter that would have opened his belly. Francis caught the blow on his shield and riposted, driving the creature back.

  They fought in a deadly dance, each testing the other's defenses. The Pantherkin was faster than Francis, but he had reach and strength on his side. His regeneration kept minor wounds closing, golden threads of Life Core energy knitting torn flesh almost as fast as it opened.

  [ Regeneration Increased - 11 ]

  [ Regeneration has reached Novice Rank ]

  Francis felt the change immediately. His healing accelerated, wounds closing faster than before, the golden threads flowing more efficiently. The Pantherkin's next strike opened a gash across his arm, but it sealed within seconds.

  That helps.

  But the Pantherkin was still faster, still more skilled. Its curved blades found gaps in Francis's defense, striking again and again, wearing him down despite his improved regeneration. Blood loss began to affect his movements, slowing his reactions.

  The Pantherkin saw its opening. Both curved swords came in from opposite angles, a killing combination that Francis couldn't fully block. His shield caught one blade, but the other was heading straight for his neck.

  Blood-Forged Aegis activated as the blade met skin.

  Francis felt his Warrior's Resolve drain completely as a barrier of crimson energy materialized around him. The Pantherkin's blade struck the barrier and stopped dead, the force of the blow absorbed completely. The creature's eyes went wide with shock.

  Francis didn't waste the moment. His sword came up in a Power Strike that took the Pantherkin through the chest, the blade punching out through its back. The creature staggered, curved swords falling from nerveless fingers.

  He twisted the blade and pulled it free. The Pantherkin fell.

  [ Power Strike Increased - 63 ]

  [ Dual Wield Increased - 54 ]

  [ Riposte Increased - 47 ]

  [ Battle Sense Increased - 22 ]

  Francis stood over the bodies of both Elite beastkin, breathing hard, covered in blood, both his and theirs. His regeneration worked to close the worst of his wounds while he processed what had just happened.

  Both of them. In a single loop.

  He'd done it. Not cleanly, not easily, but he'd killed both Elite opponents without dying. The window in the South was still open, the observer's influence still absent. He could use these two as training partners—deadly enough to push his skills, predictable enough to learn.

  Francis knelt beside the Pantherkin's body and drew his knife. He needed proof for the war council, something to show them what he'd accomplished. The work was grim but necessary.

  When he finished, he had two trophies wrapped in cloth.

  ***

  General Stenson stared at the two heads with an expression Francis couldn't quite read. King Baxter had risen from his chair. Queen Auri was watching Francis with open fascination. Priscilla just looked thoughtful.

  "Both of them," Stenson said quietly. "You killed both Elite beastkin."

  "In a single engagement," Francis confirmed. "It took me three attempts to figure out the right approach, but I managed it."

  "Three attempts," King Baxter repeated. "Three deaths."

  "Yes."

  Silence held the tent. Francis knew what they were thinking. Three deaths was nothing to him, just another set of loops, but to them it represented something almost incomprehensible. The ability to fail, to die, and to come back knowing exactly what went wrong.

  "What now?" Stenson asked. "You've proven this ‘observer's’ reach doesn't extend here. You've killed a few of our Elite threats. What's your next move?"

  Francis had been thinking about that during the journey back. "I want to stay. Keep fighting in the South."

  "Why?" Priscilla asked. "If the Elites are dead—"

  "They're not dead," Francis cut in. "Not permanently. And don’t forget there are still at least four more out there. When I reset, they come back too. Everything resets." He gestured at the heads on the table. "Tomorrow morning, those two will be alive again, and I can fight them again. They're perfect training—deadly enough to push me, but predictable enough that I can learn from each fight."

  Understanding dawned on Stenson's face. "You want to use them to get stronger."

  "Exactly. Every loop, I'll push a little harder. Get a little faster. My Quick Attack is close to Elite rank, and my Flurry is climbing. You said there's something that happens when they both get high enough."

  "Blade Tempest," Stenson said. "I… guess I mentioned it before." He paused, realizing. "And I’ll keep mentioning it most loops."

  "Right." Francis almost smiled. "I want to unlock it. And I want to explore more of your enemy's territory, find other Elite opponents, and learn their patterns too. The more I know, the stronger I become."

  King Baxter leaned forward. "You're telling us that you'll fight and die on our behalf, over and over, gaining strength each time. And in exchange?"

  "Equipment. Support. Information." Francis met the king's gaze. "And when I'm strong enough—when I've pushed my skills as high as they can go—I'll take that strength back to the North and use it against whatever's been countering me there."

  "An alliance," Queen Auri said. "You help us, we help you."

  "Something like that."

  King Baxter was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. You'll have whatever equipment you need, access to our battlefield, and any intelligence we gather about Elite threats. In return, you keep killing our enemies." His expression was grim but satisfied. "We don't lose anything when you die, but neither do our enemies. It's a good arrangement."

  Francis inclined his head. "Then we have a deal."

  ***

  Francis stood outside the command tent, looking at the distant battlefield where smoke still rose from the day's fighting. His armor was battered, his body still healing from the worst of his wounds, but his mind was clear.

  The Jaguarkin and Pantherkin were dead in this loop, but they'd be back tomorrow. Perfect training partners, deadly and predictable. He could grind against them for as long as he needed, pushing his skills higher and higher until something clicked.

  Quick Attack to Elite. Flurry to Advanced. Then Blade Tempest.

  And beyond that, the other Elite beastkin in the Southern Kingdom's enemy forces. Stenson had mentioned them in passing—a massive bearkin that fought with twin hammers, a serpentkin whose venom could kill in seconds, and others that Francis hadn't yet encountered. Each one would be a new challenge, a new opportunity to grow.

  The window is still open. The observer can't see what I do here.

  Eventually, he'd have to go back to the North. He had to face whatever was watching him there, adapting to his tactics, placing Elite bosses specifically designed to kill him. But not yet. Not until he was ready.

  For now, he had work to do.

  Francis turned and walked back toward the encampment, already planning his next loop. Same journey, same demonstrations, same equipment. Kill the Jaguarkin, kill the Pantherkin. Push Quick Attack and Flurry. Find the bearkin, learn its patterns.

  One death at a time. One skill level at a time.