Loopbreaker

“What seems to be the problem?” Phillip asked.

“This boy has obviously stolen some money!” Dexter said. “He wants to bet ten silver on himself! Where could a piece of trash like him get ten silver?”

Francis shook his head and sighed. “Michael and a few of the other boys owed me, plus I got five silver for coming in first. None of it’s stolen. You can send for the others if you want.”

“He’s betting ten silver?” Phillip muttered. “Damn, the balls on him. Well, I’m betting ten silver he gets his ass beat. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is…” Dexter stopped talking, looking around at the people watching.

“You don’t expect him to win, do you?” Phillip asked.

“Of course not!” Dexter exclaimed.

“But if I did win, you would pay me… right?” Francis asked.

The fat man’s lips danced like lovers, smacking into each other yet unable to speak for a moment. “Pay? Why would… I mean, yes, yes, I could cover it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Phillip asked. “Take his money and give it to me, and keep the rest when he loses.”

The bald man let out a low growl as he motioned for the two of them to come closer. “You two think you can fleece me? Do you realize that this boy is going to die?”

“Are you accusing me of doing something wrong?” Phillip asked, his hand gripping Dexter’s shoulder. “Trust me. I’ve just bet ten silver up on watching him get his arse handed to him by Cutter. As far as that first fight, that’s on you. Francis won the race here out of all my trainees. I knew he could beat your first man. He’s stubborn and bull-headed, and he doesn’t quit. That L wasn’t strong enough to put him down.

“Now that Cutter fellow over there,” Phillip continued, “he’s got hands bigger than any I’ve ever seen. If you’re telling me I’m pulling something, why would I bet that much coin and willingly let him enter this fight?”

Francis stood there, watching both men as they glared at each other.

“Fine, it’s his funeral!” Dexter grunted. “I’ll take both your bets, but don’t call the guards when you have to cart him out of here.”

“Oh, I won’t even write his parents a note,” Phillip said. “Trust me.”

Without another word, Dexter moved off, shouting at those around him to place their bets.

“You sure about this?” Phillip whispered. “That man–”

“Is going to die,” Francis growled.

His tone made the older man step back and look at him. “You know what, I’m still way ahead either way. Whatever happens, Lancaster, it appears you’re more than I ever thought you could be.”

***

“The boss is paying me a little more to make you suffer,” Cutter said as they drew near. “What would you like me to break first?”

Unable to help himself, Francis started laughing. After a sigh and composing himself, he shook his head. “I’m going to kill you, cutter,” he replied. “I owe you… Trust me.”

A confused look came from the brawler, who then charged. The only difference was that this time the punches Cutter threw weren’t nearly as fast--Francis could see the movements coming.

He ducked and dodged, weaving from the strikes, using his arms and hands to block and deflect the punches.

Like a charging bull, Cutter kept coming, though he started to look frustrated as a single punch hadn’t yet landed where he wanted it to.

“I thought they said you were good,” Francis taunted.

Roaring, the man spat and then clenched his teeth.

A salvo of punches came, and then Francis knew Cutter had just used his ability when three quick punches came faster than all the rest.

Francis could only block the first, unable to dodge the second, and then he darted backward to help absorb the impact of the third.

The single strike to his body did nothing, and Cutter’s eyes blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what had just transpired.

“It’s my turn,” Francis said, going on the offensive.

Every fight before this one had been roughly the same. Anytime Cutter had used his ability, there would be at least two minutes before the large man could use it again. With the speed Francis now possessed and how slow his opponent was, there was only a chance of getting hit during that man’s offensive ability. With his improved rank in endurance, his body barely registered any pain. Combined with Pain Resistance and Strong Bones, it was like getting hit by someone much smaller and weaker than him.

Cutter grunted as Francis started to unleash punching combinations. He jabbed, then crossed, and sent a hook. Each punch made Cutter retreat. As soon as that combo ended, Francis mixed it up again, never attacking in the same pattern. His fists began to connect where he wanted and for the first time in so many deaths, Francis held the upper hand.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

No matter how the large man moved or tried to block, Francis was able to stay close and punish the brawler's core, ignoring the man’s face and head.

Juking to the left and then dancing right, he threw off Cutter’s attempt to react, put himself next to the left side, and swung with his right hand.

[ Power Strike ]

A howl of pain came from those lips that had smiled at him for all these loops.

Even better was how Cutter fell to a knee, grabbing at the spot on his lower back where Francis had just struck.

Multiple times, the brawler had kidney punched him over and over, laughing as Francis endured the pain of it all.

Yet his opponent didn’t have the defensive skills Francis had and struggled to recover. The attack had the whole crowd silent.

With a smile, Francis finally began to unload punches on Cutter’s face, a barrage of attacks against the defenseless man. In moments, his opponent began to sway.

Francis sensed it. The fight was his — he wouldn’t give Dexter a chance to save this man from the punishment he deserved.

The change in his body and the reserves he now had provided a new opportunity. When Francis first acquired the Power Strike skill, he could use it only about once an hour. He had tested the ability in the woods, breaking old logs, laughing, and scaring off any animal in range. Francis had learned he could now do two in rapid succession.

Setting his feet, he swung, fist coming upward, homing in on Cutter’s chin as if pulled by a thread.

[ Power Strike ]

The impact sent the man upward, taking him off the ground; he flew up and crashed onto his back in the sawdust.

Silence was the only response from the crowd as Francis moved to stand over the behemoth of a man, who was struggling to breathe, jaw shattered, teeth missing.

“No more,” Francis whispered as he swung downward, fist connecting to the brawler’s throat.

There came a crunch with the crushed windpipe.

Staggering backward, he gazed upon the crowd, waiting for what he hoped would come.

Like a dam had been broken, shouts and cheers burst forth, washing over him.

“FRANCIS! FRANCIS!”

Smiling, he waved his fist in the air and then turned, spotting a fat man who had gone as white as snow.

***

“I… I can’t! I can’t pay that much!” Dexter protested.

Phillip started to pull his sword out, and Francis cracked his knuckles.

“You took my money,” Phillip said. “You took his. He won; I lost. Pay the boy, or I’ll let him go a few rounds on you before I turn you into the guard. I’m sure they’d enjoy having some fun too.”

Dexter’s hand touched his cheek, and a bruise was forming, courtesy of Francis.

“We’ll… need to go to my office! I can get some coins and jewelry there! You can sell those and probably get more than I owe!”

Phillip growled and motioned with his head.

“Go. Don’t try anything stupid or you’ll wish you had never been born.”

The office was a collection of clutter. Dirty dishes and the stench of cheap ale and sweat permeated the entire place. A single desk sat near a wall, and Dexter pointed at it.

“In there, I have a safe,” Dexter said, pointing across the room.

“Do it,” Phillip grunted as he kicked some trash.

“This place is filthy,” Francis muttered. “How can someone live like this? I mean… I’ve seen worse, lived worse, but he has–”

Francis didn’t think, reacting to something instinctively. He shoved Phillip, arm outstretched, and felt a bolt striking the bone in his arm, sliding off the side and partially exiting his forearm.

He stumbled, falling into a cabinet with an open drawer, knocking off the collection of trash and papers on top.

Spinning, he saw Dexter’s hands fumbling with a second bolt, trying to load the tiny crossbow he had used a moment prior.

“You little piece…!” Phillip roared, charging across the tiny room and driving his sword through the fat man’s chest.

A horrible cry of pain came as Dexter dropped the weapon he held, grabbing the blade that now pinned him against the wooden wall.

“I… didn’t have… a choice… They’ll kill me… for paying,” The fat man gasped.

Francis moved to where Phillip stood.

“And you’re dead for not,” his trainer said. Phillip pulled the sword free and drove it downward into the fat man’s heart, ending his life immediately.

With Dexter gone, the rush of everything started to wear off, and Francis felt a burning sensation flood his arm. Glancing at the bolt, Francis saw that it had some sort of yellow liquid coating part of the shaft.

“Crap! You’re poisoned!” Phillip shouted.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, grimacing as he pulled the bolt all the way through.

“What are you–” Phillip started.

“We need to search the office,” Francis said between clenched teeth, “We have to see if there’s anything in here at all.”

[ Poison Resistance Increased – 9 Basic ]

“Are… are you sure? You look like you’ll need a healer soon, especially since that was poisoned.

Tearing a piece of his shirt off, Francis wrapped the wound and shook his head.

“No, I’ll be fine. Trust me. Surely, there must be something of value in this room. You start here, I’ll check over there.”

Moving back to the cabinet he had crashed into, Francis started pulling things out, yanking out paper and even the wooden drawers, trying to see if there was something Dexter thought was worth killing them for.

***

“Three gold, seventy-two silver, and at least two hundred copper,” Phillip said quietly as they stared at the coins stacked up on the wooden desk. “The fat bastard could have easily paid.”

“How do you want to handle this?” Francis asked. “I mean, splitting the money.”

His trainer turned and chuckled. “You won a hundred silver. That, and I’m certain you saved my life when you shoved me. I don’t think I’d have survived the bolt to the chest.”

“But at the same time, I wouldn’t have gotten paid without you,” Francis replied. “Seventy-thirty?”

Smiling, Phillip nodded. “I’d be good with that.”

***

“What in the hell happened to you?!” Michael shouted.

Francis held his arm up, pushing his brother back into their room.

“Give him a moment,” Phillip said. “He’ll be fine.”

“You sorry son of a –"

“He didn’t do anything,” Francis said. “Now stop being an arse and move out of the way. I’ll tell you in a minute.”

The older man smiled and chuckled. “He always did try to mother you like a hen. You’re a lucky one, Lancaster. Find me tomorrow, we need to finish that talk.”

Francis shook the hand extended to him and then shut the door after Phillip left.

“What the hell was that?!” his brother asked.

Sighing, Francis moved to his bed and flopped down. The wound had healed, and he had also acquired two points of poison resistance from whatever had been on the bolt.

Even better, Francis now had a pouch full of money and a shopping list prepared for the next day.

“You need to sit,” he told Michael. “Trust me. What I’m going to say is going to sound impossible and you’ll–”

“Impossible is watching Phillip shake your hand and look like he actually enjoyed talking with you. What could you say beyond you two being lovers that might surprise me?”

Laughing, he pointed at his brother’s bed.

“Just sit. All I need you to remember is that no matter how crazy what I tell you sounds, everything I’ve done is for you.”

“Uh… well, that sounds even worse. Did you promise me to Phillip? Is that why he seems happy for once?”

Throwing the tiny pillow from his bed at his brother, Francis couldn’t help but wonder how many more times he might have to endure moments like this—all because he wanted to keep the moron across from him alive.