Loopbreaker

The sound of the morning bell barely woke Francis.

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

Having said nothing, Francis felt a boot land against his chest a few seconds later.

“You awake?” his brother asked. “Either be dead or get up. I don’t want to get in trouble because you’re slacking.”

“Don’t worry,” Francis said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” Tossing his brother's boot back at him, he sat and looked at the information he wanted to see.

[ Status ]

Francis Lancaster

Age 17

Strength: 20

Endurance: 23

Agility: 22

Wisdom: 15

Perception: 18

Magic: 10

Skills

Swordsmanship (Common) - 41 Advanced

Shield Use (Common) - 34 Proficient

Tracking (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Stealth (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Traps (Uncommon) - 3 Basic

Rock Throwing (Common) - 5 Basic

Mental Resist ( Uncommon ) - 24 Proficient

Blood of the Undying ( Unknown )- 100+ Sage

Fast Learner (Epic) - 1 Basic (Locked)

Mace (Common)- 6 Novice

Horseback Riding (Common)- 8 Basic

Horseback Handling (Uncommon) - 6 Basic

Pain Resistance (Uncommon) - 11 Novice

Poison Resistance (Rare) - 7 Basic

Power Strike (Rare) - 1 Basic

He couldn’t stop grinning, slowly sitting on the edge of his bed.

[ Power Strike ( Rare ) - This skill is an activatable ability. It can be used in any form of melee or thrown ranged attack. The damage and power behind the attack is increased by up to 2x the normal output. Utilizing the ability drains a portion of the user's stamina and the cooldown is based upon the skill rank as well as the user's physical ability. As the rank increases, the damage bonus also increases. Skill does not protect the item used or the physical body from injury when attacking. ]

Unlike the last thirty-plus deaths, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do now. Part of him wanted to see if he could fight past the next wall of troops that had crushed him.

One of those rhino-kins had shown up just as the advanced troops had arrived. Francis found out he was once again just a weak warrior, crushed by a single strike from the beast. The hulking beastkin’s appearance surprised him-- he couldn’t recall any of them showing up that early.

Did it come because of me? Can I really change the battle that much by what I did? And I got an advanced skill! On my own! If I continue this pace, how far can I progress? Could I become an Elite fighter? I mean… what’s to stop me from becoming a Master classed fighter?

Unsure how it all worked, Francis wanted to see if he could find a better path to save the camp, doing something other than just fighting.

Most of the time, Michael had died. This last time, his brother had gotten to witness him killing that tiger-kin. Of course, less than a minute later, both of them were dead.

So, the struggle came again to ensure his brother’s safety while also somehow saving the army.

“Seriously! Get dressed! Phillip is going to beat your ass for being late.”

Michael’s words tickled his fancy, and Francis nodded in agreement. He grabbed his boots and slowly started to put them on.

Each move was deliberately slow. He knew exactly how long they were given before bad things happened. So, ensuring he took more time than needed and then some, Francis went out to where the other teens lined up, seeing a red-faced Phillip waiting to unleash upon him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?! Are you seriously strutting out here like you are some rooster in a hen house?!”

Francis couldn’t help but chuckle, which made Phillip's eyes almost bulge from anger.

“Sword and shield! NOW!” his trainer shouted.

Every teen moved quickly out of the way as Francis strolled over to where the practice equipment was and grabbed the equipment he knew was of terrible quality.

The weight was off on both weapon and shield. It surprised him that the trainees had even been able to learn to fight with such horrible things to practice with.

Moving at the same slow pace, he noticed that Phillip wasn’t using a practice sword—the man’s personal one was in his hands.

“Planning on injuring me before we head out to join the battle?” Francis asked.

“How… how can you…” Phillip started to stutter, a little bit of the anger vanishing. It only lasted a moment before the rage returned. “I can end your life if I want and no one will say a word! You’re nothing but a piece of crap waiting to be shoveled into a ditch!”

“Maybe,” Francis replied, shrugging. “Or perhaps I’ll surprise you and land a few strikes. Don’t worry, though, I’ll try not to hurt you in the process.”

This tale has been pilfered from NovelFire. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Phillip roared with laughter, waving his weapon a few times while motioning with his hand at him. “Get over here, Francis. I’m going to make you bleed.”

Part of him wanted to keep egging on the man who had made his life hell over the last several months. Another part was torn, knowing this training had provided at least a foundation that had led to this moment. He wouldn’t be the warrior he was without all the beatings Phillip had given him.

“Tell ya what,” Francis said. “If I land three strikes before you kill me, we call it even?”

His question made the teens behind him chuckle--the only one that didn’t was Michael.

“I’m not sure what balls you grew while sleeping last night, but if you manage to land a single strike against me, I’ll let you live and give you five silver. How does–”

Francis didn’t wait. He had been slowly getting closer as the man had spoken, so the ten yards between them was gone in a heartbeat.

Phillip moved at a speed Francis had never witnessed before, yet he had anticipated that the man had that physical ability. There was no doubt that Phillip had to be close to advanced sword rank and have higher-than-average physical stats.

Francis’ wooden sword slid against the edge of the metal blade, as his shield moved toward his trainer’s face.

A hand stopped the piece of wood, barely diverting the strike, yet Francis didn’t slow down his attack.

He felt like he had a chance for the first time in his life to pay back the man who had given him so much crap.

Phillip took several steps back, deflecting the strikes with his sword and using his hand to stop any shield attacks.

The sound of metal and wood striking against each other echoed off the two walls that formed a section of the training grounds.

Time wasn’t on Francis’s side — his wooden sword started to lose chunks as the metal blade parried his attacks.

Phillip was actually smiling, and the trainer stopped retreating, now holding his ground. “Your skill! When did–”

Francis pressed the moment, tossing his shield as he had before many times when training with Kels, knowing that Phillip would see it and react accordingly. Throwing one’s shield at an untrained enemy might work, but he knew his trainer was skilled. Swinging low at his opponent’s knees, Francis prayed his gambit worked.

The instructor’s sword parried his wooden blade while Phillip caught the shield almost too easily.

[ Power Strike ]

Francis wasn’t left-handed, but his punch was swift and powerful, far beyond what Phillip or anyone else present would expect.

It moved past the older man’s guard and struck his shoulder, sending Phillip flying backwards to roll on the ground twice.

His hand ached, and Francis was pretty sure he had broken something in it.

Still, he moved toward the down man and slapped his trainer’s leg with the shortened piece of wood.

Coughs and groans came from Phillip--no one else nearby made a sound.

“How? You… that–”

“It doesn’t matter,” Francis said, tossing his sword away. “We made a deal, and you now know you can’t back out. When we get to the army camp, you’ll have to report what I’ve done.”

He could see anger in Phillip’s eyes, but there was also what he guessed might be fear.

“I swear to you, Francis Lancaster, I’m going to –”

“Do nothing,” Francis replied. “I’m done. I’m not running away, I’ll just meet you and the rest of them in town.”

Without waiting, he started jogging toward town, finding himself in the mood to whistle a little bit.

***

Tearing a piece of bread from the small loaf he had, Francis weathered the constant questions from his brother since they had closed the door to their room in town.

“What in the gods was that?!” Michael exclaimed. “How? You… you thrashed Phillip. He was so mad, I thought he was going to kill us or order your death. But… he didn’t. I–”

Francis held up his hand, cutting off his brother, who was sitting on the bed across from him.

“Listen, you won’t believe me, but I must tell you something. Know I never… well, I only seldom lie to you, and this is one of those times I swear on my love for you that I’m telling you the truth.”

Michael sat there, chewing on his lip for a moment, eyes scrunched up as he said nothing for a few seconds. “You’ve only used that term when it’s truly necessary, and if you’re using it now… What is it you need to tell me?”

Taking a deep breath, Francis let it out slowly. “It’s going to take a bit. So you might as well get comfortable.”

***

It had been a full minute since he had shared everything with his brother. Twice through the story, Michael had interrupted him, but had finally stopped. Francis saw his brother trying to work through everything he had just told him.

“So… forty plus deaths?” Michael asked.

“Yeah. I mean, I really don’t like keeping count. But it’s around there.”

“And each time it's the same thing in our room? But you get to keep whatever gains you have? Why? How? Why you?”

“Fate wanted to take pity?” Francis replied. “I think it’s the blood or parasite or whatever that mixed with me that first time. If it’s not fate, then obviously it’s because I’m the better-looking brother.”

Michael shot Francis the middle finger and scowled.

“I’m serious!”

“As am I,” Francis replied. “I don’t have any idea why it happened, but I do know that the only thing I care about is keeping you alive. Somehow, that will only happen if we can win this fight. Even if we ran off, it wouldn’t matter. Eventually, someone would find us, kill you, and then I’d have to die and redo all this again.”

“So… what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” Francis admitted. “I mean, I could keep trying to fight and see how strong I can grow, but right now I can’t stand up to the rhino-kins, even one at a time.”

“Rhino-kins,” Michael whispered. “I can’t believe we’re going to face animal-like people.”

“Oh, just the way they look is bad. Fighting them is way worse. Fighting them isn’t like practicing with Phillip or the other trainees. There are details I haven’t mentioned, but just know we’re way beyond anything we’ve ever considered.”

“And people like our sister don’t even help?”

“Have they ever helped us in our lives?”

A grunt was Michael’s first reply. “Well, if they don’t kill you upon entering camp, I’m going to guess you’ll try and repeat one of the previous attempts?”

“We both know power has privilege, and I have that in multiple ways. Even if they did kill me, it wouldn’t matter. I’d just restart and have to figure out what to do next.”

Michael sat there a moment and stared up at the ceiling. “So… these two women. Bella and Lucy, was it?”

Laughing, Francis nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they take care of you.”

“Two women… at the same time… maybe that’s why the gods gave you this gift.”

Rolling his eyes, Francis stood up. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

“You sure?” Michael asked.

“Trust me, I need to do this.”

***

The glare that Phillip gave Francis left no doubt about how the older man felt about him.

Four empty cups on the table were another warning sign that the trainer might not be in the best state to discuss with either.

What’s the worst that happens? I mean… besides being tortured to death… but even then, maybe I’d gain a few more points in Pain Resistance.

“You really expect me to invite you to sit down with me after what you did?” Phillip asked, glowering at him.

“If you were in my boots,” Francis replied, “are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same to the man who made your life a living hell?”

Phillip snarled and then spat on the ground. “You’re nothing, just a piece of trash, destined to die for our kingdom.”

“And yet the gods gave me the ability to do what I did,” Francis stated. “You can ignore the questions of why or how, but I’m here to make a deal with you. Trust me, you’re going to want to hear me out.”

Francis pulled out one of the silver coins Phillip had given to Michael to deliver.

He whistled, flashed the coin at the man behind the bar, and held up four fingers, getting a nod in return.

Blowing a raspberry, Phillip shook his head and wiped his lips with his arm.

“You must have had some sense knocked into you. At least you know to buy a man a few drinks if you’re going to rub in what you did.”

“I’m not here to talk about what I did,” Francis replied. “I’m here to tell you someone is trying to either get you in trouble or kill you.”

The man across the table from him froze, eyebrows becoming one as they locked eyes.

“When we get to camp, someone is going to withhold hazardous information from you. They are going to forget to mention that none of your troops should touch the bodies of what we’re going to face in the tent, they show them off to all the recruits.”

Phillip's jaw fell, and Francis held up a hand.

“Someone there is trying to make you look worse, or maybe even have you killed. I’m going to guess it has something to do with the scar you carry, and the inability to just kill you off a different way.”

He watched as his trainer reached up and absently touched the scar for a second, scowling.

“How? How can you know that?” Phillip asked.

“How did I do what I did today?” Francis replied. He leaned over the table and a little quieter, said, ”The gods have given me this ability and knowledge. When I get to camp, I will seek out the captain, and she will see me. Let that and my brother’s removal from your men be a sign that I’m right. If you want my help after that, send a note to me, and I’ll tell them I want to meet with you.”

“This… that’s nonsense! You’re a–”

Piece of crap? Ninth son? Yes, I am all of those. And yet today I proved to you that none of that matters. Now tell me, Phillip. Do you want me to try and help you, and perhaps get revenge for the mark you now carry?”

When four drinks appeared a few seconds later, both of them looked up at the young woman; she smiled, seemingly able to sense the mood at the table. “I’m just going to leave those here,” she stated before walking away.

Laughing, Francis nodded and picked up one; he motioned the cup at Phillip and smiled.

“I look forward to the next few days,” Francis said before draining the cup completely.