Time Cursed Mage - Chapter 5: The Soldier

[Initiating Curse]

[Restarting Day]

[Initial Amateur Swordsmanship Learned]

Kaspar awoke with a visceral scream tearing from his throat. The ghostly remnants of pain clung to him, memories of wounds that no longer were there yet burned in his mind.

"Shut up already!" a muffled voice grumbled from a neighboring tent.

"Some of us are trying to sleep, you know!" another groused.

Kaspar was getting used to these morning outbursts, both his own and those of the students around him. The cycle had repeated itself too many times, each awakening a cruel reminder of his cursed existence.

He sat up slowly, the thin blanket slipping from his shoulders. He took a steadying breath and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, fingers catching in tangled strands. Something felt different this time, a subtle shift he couldn't quite name.

Stealing the sword was just as easy as the last loop. He moved through the camp with practiced ease, shadows clinging to him as he navigated familiar paths. Every detail was etched into his memory, including the sentries' patrols, the officers' schedules, and every detail. Reaching the tent near the camp's end, he slipped inside, his movements silent and precise.

A sensation stirred within him as his fingers closed around the sword's hilt. The weapon felt... right, more so than ever before. The grip molded seamlessly to his hand; the weight was more balanced. ‘It feels more comfortable,’ he thought silently. ‘Like it belongs to me.’

Retrieving the blade without incident, Kaspar retreated to his secluded haven. Hidden from prying eyes, he began to practice.

Kaspar drew the sword and held it aloft, testing its heft and shifting through some stances. His movements were still awkward, lacking the finesse of a trained swordsman, but he had a newfound confidence in his strikes.

‘I only trained yesterday,’ Kaspar thought, executing a slash. 'It feels easier. More natural.’

He pivoted, attempting a thrust, the tip of the sword quivering slightly as he extended his arm. ‘Is it this body? Did he have a natural talent for weapons? Or am I quick to learn?’

He recalled overhearing whispers from the previous loop and some remarks about being studious. ‘He... I am a nerd,’ Kaspar acknowledged. ‘Could be that thirst for knowledge goes beyond academics.’

Yet, despite the subtle improvements, the flaws in his form were impossible to ignore. More than ever, he could recognize the gaps and failures in his movements. His attacks lacked precision; his defenses were sluggish. Before, he had only a vague sense of his limits. Now, with a clearer understanding, he recognized how amateurish his efforts were.

‘I'm barely better than a novice.’ The sword felt both like an extension of himself and a foreign object.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temple as he pushed through another sequence of strikes. His breathing grew labored, each inhalation sharper than the last. Muscles strained and protested, a burning ache radiating through his arms and shoulders. After a final, faltering swing, Kaspar lowered the blade, his chest heaving.

‘Five minutes at best,’ he realized, sinking to the ground. "That's the most this body can handle training."

He stared at the sword resting across his knees, the reality settling in. 'Though I might learn, it seems the body doesn't strengthen between loops,' Kaspar thought. 'If I'm going back in time, returning to the same point, any physical progress would reset.'

Once again, after training all afternoon, he returned to the line to enter the enormous gate. As usual, he got complaints from the officers and the students. But, his whole focus was on the Wyverns and on surviving.

Still, nothing changed. As before, he tried to strike the Wyvern's neck, and although his blade managed to bite slightly into the monster's flesh, it got stuck. Soon after, he was chewed up.

Over the course of the next five loops, Kaspar strove to test every conceivable way of surviving. Each reset brought a fresh wave of ideas and frustrations. He employed every tactic he could imagine, hoping that some variation might break the cycle or at least grant him a glimpse of progress.

In one loop, he chose to go full aggression. Drawing his sword and charging headlong at the wyverns the moment they emerged. Yet, despite his courage and the intensity of his attacks, the wyverns remained unaffected. With a swift, brutal motion, one beast snapped its massive jaws around him, and his world went black.

In another attempt, Kaspar opted for a defensive strategy. When the first wyvern screeched into the cavern, he used every ounce of his limited swordsmanship to parry and dodge. Despite his efforts, the wyverns were relentless. They filled the air with torrents of flame, burning everything in their path. The heat was unbearable, and soon, the cavern became a hellscape of roaring fires. Exhausted and cornered, Kaspar succumbed to the suffocating smoke and flames.

Fleeing seemed just as futile. In a different loop, as panic gripped the crowd, he sprinted back toward the entrance, pushing past the terrified mages. The echoes of roaring wyverns and the screams of others urged him to run faster than he had ever thought possible. But as he neared the massive gate, his heart sank. Dark silhouettes loomed in the shadows, wyverns lying in wait. Before he could react, they unleashed a barrage of fire, engulfing him in an inferno and reducing his escape to ashes.

Desperate for an alternative, Kaspar tried pushing ahead into the cavern's depths. Navigating through passages and chambers, he sought any possible exit or refuge.

Eventually, he stumbled upon an immense door, its surface carved with intricate runes and symbols. It was a mirror image of the gate they'd passed through to enter this nightmare. Hope flickered within him as he pounded on the unyielding surface, calling out for anyone who might hear.

Still, the door remained unmoved. The surrounding silence was broken only by the distant sounds of wyverns and their fire. There were no mages performing rituals here, no signs of life, only the cold, oppressive weight of the stone barrier blocking his path.

Each death was a fresh torment, the pain and terror seeping deeper into his soul. Waking once more in his tent, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath, he felt the burden of his failures. 

Back at his secluded hiding place, Kaspar sat on the floor. His sword lay discarded at his side. He buried his face in his hands, fingers digging into his hair as he fought back a surge of hopelessness.

"What am I missing?" he whispered to the emptiness around him.

With nothing coming to his mind, Kaspar focused on resting. Staring at the ground, he waited a few minutes to let his body recover.

'I haven’t improved my swordsmanship at all since that first loop with it,' he observed.

Once the rest was enough, Kaspar resumed his training.

This time, he cast aside any concern for restraint, channeling all his strength into his training. He swung his sword with unbridled intensity, each stroke more forceful than the last.

"What-"

"Am-” 

“I-"

"Missing?"

With each fragmented thought, he drove the blade through the air, muscles screaming in protest. A fiery burn coursed through every fiber of his being, but he pressed on. Sweat slicked his forehead, and his breaths came heavy and labored. Consumed by his relentless pursuit, Kaspar failed to notice how close he was to the massive boulder in front of him.

In a blur, his sword descended in a powerful arc. The sharp clang of metal striking stone rang out, echoing throughout the dungeon. The vibration jolted up his arms, causing him to stagger back.

Kaspar's eyes widened in alarm. ‘Please,’ he silently asked, ‘let no one have heard that.’

He stood frozen, straining to catch any hint of approaching footsteps.

"Is someone there?" a voice called out, slicing through the silence.

Panic surged within him. He could hear the unmistakable sound of boots crunching against loose stones. Someone was approaching.

"Damn it. Damn it," Kaspar muttered under his breath, dread coiling in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to be discovered and risk losing yet another cycle.

Gripping his sword tightly, he weighed his options. Should he make a preemptive strike or attempt to flee? Indecision paralyzed him, and at that moment, a figure emerged, coming face to face with him.

The newcomer was a soldier, fully encased in plate armor. He stood a bit taller than Kaspar, his presence imposing. In one gauntleted hand, he held a staff crowned with a green crystal. The soldier leveled the staff at Kaspar.

"What is a noble doing here?" the soldier asked, his tone laced with confusion.

Kaspar blinked, taken aback. "Noble?"