Jackal Among Snakes

Things weren’t like the movies. Rocky had people helping with his training, but the best Argrave could muster was a psychopath who wanted to do unspeakable things to him.

Argrave learned within ten seconds that someone trying to kill him was not inclined to help teach him, and Argrave certainly wasn’t a natural combat genius. King Norman rushed, Argrave defended feebly with a ward, and then he got hit when King Norman used two hands instead of one. With that, panic erupted and Argrave teleported away. After all that bluster, confidence, all he amounted to was a slight distraction on the king’s day.

He didn’t give up on the loop, though—he ambushed the king time and time again, and yet at best he scored a hit on the head that made the king bleed a little. After that, Argrave scurried away like a rat the moment that the king made any attempt to subdue him. Argrave reminded himself that he was doing to this to learn, but that was small comfort. What the hell was he actually learning? It was what he’d always done—land a hit, get scared if they ran at him, and then run away when he was actually in danger. Sometimes he’d rely on his Brumesingers, but now they, too, were absent.

After the first loop, the result was clear. Good King Norman had a slight cut on his brow, and Argrave had exhausted all of his resources. He desperately scrambled to get the next part of the message to Anneliese and his people, then entered the next loop.

Norman 1, Argrave 0.

Despite the overwhelming evidence, Argrave tried again on the next loop, and… a few… after it. Surely it couldn’t be this bad, he thought. The reality?

Norman 12, Argrave 0.

The best that Argrave ever managed was cutting King Norman’s throat. But that hadn’t killed the king—it’d only excited him more. He staunched the wound, hunting after Argrave all the while. Somehow, the king’s wound closed before he bled out. Confronting things objectively… Argrave hadn’t done anything different. He’d just gotten lucky. He was learning nothing.

This thirteenth go, Argrave confronted some facts. Fact one: he really had nothing prepared for true combat. [Bloodfeud Bow], [Electric Eel], [Nine-Tailed Bloodbriar]—they were good, hard-hitting spells, and the derivatives he’d made like the [Bloodarc Bow] were all the same. But Norman was faster than he was, stronger than he was. Argrave had no way to dodge besides teleporting with shamanic magic—brutally effective, but it would be a huge mistake to rely on that beyond what was necessary. Spirits were a valuable resource, not to be spent lightly.

Argrave thought about the skilled spellcasters he knew. Three stood out—Rowe, Castro, and the Alchemist. He excluded the third, because the Alchemist used his unique constitution to be a juggernaut every bit as strong as Orion. Argrave, fortunately, never had to face Rowe on the field of battle, but the aged elf had formal sword training and a divine weapon hidden in his cane that was more powerful than most. Castro, however, had beaten Argrave soundly in their spar. And how? Quick-thinking, an adaptable set of spells, and centuries of experience. Two others deserved mention—Onychinusa and Traugott. Their strength came from their A-rank ascension, but even still, they could endure people several magnitudes stronger than them because of their ability to avoid damage.

Each had ways to mitigate their lack of mobility. Castro masterfully used wind magic to dance with the grace of a peregrine falcon. Traugott fell through the Shadowlands to dodge even the strongest people like Orion with ease. Rowe had a dragon, naturally, but he also knew how to fight hand-to-hand as well as any soldier. Onychinusa could dissipate into magic to become immaterial. He didn’t need to throw himself against the wall that was Good King Norman until he succeeded. That was heading nowhere, fast. Argrave needed mobility.

companions piecemeal as he practiced shortening the time it took him to cast spells. He followed Castro’s lessons to the

at hand-to-hand, like Rowe. But perhaps there was another option—the Traugott option, where he took full advantage of

he projected them in. They were intangible, they gave him various options… he felt it was the perfect solution. But

chain attached to his person with a spell. It did pull him away

movement, changing the spell to equally distribute the pull, Argrave realized that it might be feasible… but damned if it wouldn’t be hard to master. And even

the gut, simply because of how energy transferred through objects. No matter how many variations it went through, he couldn’t create an absolute defense. Wards, too, were insufficient. If magic armor was possible, Argrave was

in his desperate search, he very nearly asked his companions on the other side for help. He managed to reject that foolish notion, and finally managed to deliver

as Argrave dismissed one foolish notion, another rose up to take its place. Why couldn’t

was consumption of spirits and magic. [Worldstrider] was an A-rank shamanic spell, abundant both in its use of magic and spirits. Argrave delved into its composition deeply, examining all of the tool’s he’d collected in his arsenal. At first, it felt hopeless. For many loops, Argrave considered it nothing

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they detected the presence of divinity, they returned to her—from there, she could teleport to confirm the location, then bring that information back. Argrave had learned that spell while trapped with the Alchemist—the spell was called simply [Spirit Lattice]. And in that spell, Argrave

he had that, he carefully dissected [Spirit Lattice] and [Worldstrider] both. Argrave already knew where the bulk of the spirit cost for [Worldstrider] came from—translating Argrave’s will into actionable teleportation. With that, he used the location-memory aspect of [Spirit Lattice], tying it to the spirit he’d imbued into his blood echo. He

familiar sensation of teleportation, and he felt the echo fade away. For a

own king’s rook that he could

the position he stood to the direction he faced. Above, below, behind, around… anywhere he sent them, he could be. And most importantly of all, he had shaved away the teleportation cost by a staggering eighty percent, lowering the spell to C-rank and the spirit consumption to something negligible. It was more than amazing—it was combat viable, and the achievement brought with it a sense of pride that was the greatest Argrave had felt since… well, since perhaps ever. He thought of several names—[Echo Location], et cetera, but the one that he liked

sufficiently skilled, Argrave returned to training. He didn’t jump into the fire immediately. Instead, he preyed upon the Flayer Knights. He went into that cruel torture cellar, pissed them off royally, and then fought as he dodged all of their attacks. And more than live up to his expectations, it wildly exceeded them. The speed, the adaptability, the surprise factor… Argrave could be a ghost, vanishing at will, appearing

need to face his fears. Good

the king at the training hall. He didn’t spare words, didn’t taunt—he merely began the fight,

newfound advantage. Good King Norman’s speed overwhelmed him at first, and Argrave could find no opportunities to attack. He dodged, teleporting about the hall rapidly. The king charged like a bull toward red. Argrave appeared in the corner of the training hall, on