Time Cursed Mage - Chapter 4: Sword

[Initiating Curse]

[Restarting Day]

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Kaspar cursed under his breath, furiously beating the dust and grime from one of his clothes. The rough fabric did little to absorb the frustration and anger.

Being imprisoned for falling off a chair was a new low in a series of disheartening loops.

After a few moments of venting, he forced himself to take a breath. 

‘At least now I know where it is,’ he thought, trying to see a good side in his last loop. Kaspar prepared to retrace his steps. ‘Avoiding the guards was easy enough last time,' he thought.

Kaspar slipped out of his tent, lowering himself into a crouch as he moved. Shadows pooled between the tents, providing ample cover as he traversed the terrain.

Staying close to the shadows, Kaspar made his way from the middle tier of the camp toward the upper area. The ground sloped gently upward, and he saw the lanterns' glow marking the guards' patrol paths.

‘It was near the end,’ he reminded himself, eyeing the orderly row of tents. He moved cautiously, pausing whenever a guard passed nearby.

Avoiding their lines of sight, Kaspar edged closer to the tent he had infiltrated before. It looked much the same as it had in the previous loop.

With practiced stealth, he approached the tent's backside. Looking around to ensure he was hidden, Kaspar lifted the heavy canvas enough to slip inside.

The interior was dimly lit by a single lamp atop a wooden chest. The air was thick with the scent of leather, wax, and a hint of wine. In the center stood the massive bed, and upon it lay the snoozing officer.

Kaspar spotted the ornate coat of arms mounted high on a wooden post.

This time, he approached with more caution. He gently dragged a chair from a nearby desk, positioning it beneath the emblem. Before climbing, he pressed down on each seat corner, testing its stability. 

‘I need to make sure it's properly balanced,’ he thought, recalling the humiliating tumble from his previous attempt.

Satisfied, he climbed onto the chair and reached up. The swords were just within grasp. He carefully wrapped his fingers around the hilt of one. With deliberate slowness, he lifted it from its mount. The blade slid free with a soft sching as metal brushed against metal, echoing faintly in the quiet space.

‘Finally!’ Kaspar exhaled, a triumphant smile tugging at his lips. Wasting no time, he sheathed the sword beneath his tunic, securing it at his waist and hiding it from view.

Descending from the chair, he took one last glance at the officer, who remained unaware, lost in his dreams. 

Kaspar retraced his steps toward the tent's back and slipped back into the cave. The camp was beginning to wake up ever so slightly, the earliest risers shuffling about.

Kaspar navigated away from the officers' quarters, weaving between tents and keeping to the darkest paths. The weight of the sword was a reassuring presence against his side, but it also prompted a new question in his mind. ‘What do I do with this?’ Holding a weapon was one thing; knowing how to use it was completely different.

He made his way toward the secluded area he found in his last loop. The area was filled with rocks, making setting up tents impossible. That’s why neither the students nor the guards went there.

Kaspar settled between the stones and drew the sword. He turned it over in his hands, feeling its balance and weight. It was lighter than he had expected, but looking at the sword's hilt, the creator's intention was clear.

‘It's a decoration and not a weapon,' Kaspar thought, seeing many places without edges and an excess of golden decorations on the grip.

He raised the blade above his head and brought it down in a swift arc. The movement was unrefined, the tip wobbling as he struggled to control the descent.

Unsure of the proper technique, Kaspar began to mimic what he recalled from action movies. The parries and thrusts, the sweeping slashes. He sidestepped and pivoted, the sword weaving uncertain patterns through the air. Each motion was hesitant, his muscles resisting the unfamiliar exercise. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold, trickling down to sting his eyes.

"How am I supposed to use this when the time comes?" he pondered, frustration gnawing at him. He swung the sword again, attempting a diagonal strike, but the blade caught on an overhanging rock, jarring his arms.

"Damn it," he muttered, lowering the weapon. His arms trembled from the effort, a burning ache settling into his biceps and shoulders. "This body isn't trained for this. Any physical activity is too much for him." He flexed his fingers, trying to shake out the stiffness.

Kaspar took a moment to steady his breathing, the air filling his lungs with a damp chill. Determination hardened his gaze. He began again, this time focusing on controlled, deliberate movements. 

--

As the ritual sounds reached his ears, Kaspar concealed the sword beneath his tunic. He emerged from the hideout, blending into the crowd and walking toward the colossal gate.

"Kaspar! You son of a—" a familiar voice cut through the murmur of the crowd.

He turned to see Blut von Omstr, his face flushed with anger, pushing his way toward him. The portly officer's cape billowed behind him. "Where have you been?" Blut barked, saliva sprinkling his mustache. "You neglected your duties! As soon as we're done here, I'll have you assigned so much labor you'll beg to return to this freaking dungeon!"

Kaspar met his glare with a steady gaze, unphased by the tirade. The admonishments had lost their sting after the last loops. "Yes, sir," he replied flatly, knowing any retort would be futile. 

'In this loop, the chances of altering his fate or anyone else's are slim at best,' Kaspar thought, knowing that punishment would never happen.

Blut scowled at the lack of reaction. "Worthless," he muttered before storming off to berate another unfortunate soul.

Behind him, Kaspar heard the whispered grumblings of other students.

"That idiot disappeared all morning," one sneered.

"Just because he can't use magic, he thinks he can skip out and study on his own," another scoffed.

"I hate people like that," a third chimed in. "Leaving all his work to the rest of us."

Kaspar continued moving alongside the others. He blended into the anxious crowd as they approached the colossal gates. The enormous doors groaned open, and darkness spilled out like a living entity, swallowing them whole.

Before the first wyvern emerged, Kaspar reached beneath his tunic and clumsily drew the sword. His grip was unsteady, palms slick with sweat, but he held the blade before him, determined to face whatever came.

The flames erupted violently, lighting the cavern as pandemonium began. Screams and shouts were heard everywhere. This time, Kaspar noticed three ethereal green phantoms near him.

‘They seem to do everything I’ve done in the last loops,' Kaspar noticed. While looking at it, one of them was as clueless as he had been in the first run.

‘They'll spray the liquid first. Three... two... one... now.’ He counted silently, recalling the deadly sequence from his previous attempts. At that precise moment, he leaped to the side, narrowly avoiding the liquid that sizzled upon contact with the ground. He landed beside another boy who was frantically maintaining a protective barrier.

'Next comes the attack from the other direction.' Kaspar braced himself, eyes darting toward the opposite end of the room. As expected, a wyvern surged forward as it prepared to unleash a torrent of fire.

Kaspar ducked behind one of the stone pillars as the creature's wings beat down.

‘Now, a wyvern will appear behind me.’ He waited, muscles coiled, counting the seconds. Two of his spectral doubles had already vanished. The weight of impending death pressed upon him, but he forced himself to remain focused.

He struggled to steady his breathing; the sounds of battle kept breaking his concentration.

"I'm out of mana!"

"Does anyone have a potion?"

"Gods, help us!"

"Where are the high-circle mages?!"

Kaspar clenched his jaw, pushing aside the urge to succumb to fear. 'Stay calm. Remember the pattern.'

'Now!'

A shadow loomed beneath his feet. Glancing up, he saw the wyvern descending upon him, jaws wide open, ready to crush him.

With a swift, instinctual movement, Kaspar spun around, evading the snapping maw. The beast's hot breath grazed his cheek, the stench of decay nearly overwhelming him. Summoning every ounce of strength, he swung his sword downward, aiming for the creature's neck. A fierce grin spread across his face, a blend of adrenaline and the intoxicating thrill of potential victory. For the first time, he might finally wound one of the monsters that had haunted his endless nights.

"Die, you bastard!" he roared, his voice echoing amidst the tumult as he brought the blade down with all his might.

The sword struck true, hitting the wyvern's neck. But instead of slicing through flesh and bone, the blade lodged between the creature's thick scales, halting abruptly.

Panic surged through Kaspar. "No, no!" he muttered, eyes wide as he yanked desperately at the hilt. The sword refused to budge, trapped by the armor of the wyvern's hide.

"Shit. Shit." His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

The wyvern's eyes blazed with fury, a guttural growl rumbling deep within its chest. In one swift motion, it lunged forward. Kaspar barely had time to gasp before the beast's jaws clamped down, tearing into his abdomen. Agonizing pain ripped through him as he felt the creature's fangs shred muscle and bone.

The world around him faded into darkness.

Once more.

[Initiating Curse]

[Restarting Day]

[Initial Amateur Swordsmanship Learned]