Loopbreaker

Francis smiled as his brother stared at the pile of coins he’d spilled onto the bed.

“A gold coin…” Michael’s voice was so low that Francis had barely heard it. “We… we could run.”

“But we wouldn’t make it far without trouble. Besides, I told you that it doesn’t matter. This war has to be won—if it’s not, I’m certain all the kingdoms will fall and you’ll die. None of this matters if you’re not alive.”

His brother sat there, head shaking slightly, unable to take his eyes off the gold and silver coins. The amount of money was more than either of them had ever imagined possessing in their lifetime.

“Now sit,” Francis said. “I need to tell you everything.”

***

Michael had sat there quietly, his eyes glancing between the coins and Francis. During the sharing of the last set of deaths and having to fight to earn this money, his brother’s face had changed. The shock seemed to be wearing off as Michael blinked a little more often than usual.

“And that brings us to here,” Francis said. “I’ll see about buying some better armor, maybe even a sword if I can.”

“So… what, you’re going to spend all this on equipment?” Michael asked. “If you’re going to die, why bother? Surely we could have some fun with this!”

“I thought about it,” Francis said. “The problem is at some point you’ll die and I’ll have to–”

“Who the hell cares if I die?” Michael interrupted. “Just keep going without me!”

Francis found himself speechless, gazing intently at his brother.

“What?”

“If I die, who cares!” his brother exclaimed. “I mean, I know you do, but if you die again, I’ll be back. You already said it; you need to find out what works and keep getting stronger. How does throwing yourself into battle against the beasts prove anything beyond your own strength? Even if you manage to reach those rhinos things then what? Do you really expect to survive against them? Eventually, you’d die on the battlefield, and then you’d be back to the same day.”

“Starting over doesn’t matter,” Francis sighed. “What matters is getting stronger… did you miss that? The last ten deaths gave me another rare skill. A rare skill, Michael! You don’t understand how powerful that is. Then there are my stats.”

“Two of which are proficient…” his brother said. “I know. How many people do we know who have just one?”

“Maybe Phillip. But more importantly, no matter what happens, I need to somehow achieve the power of what I saw from that General, Stenson.”

“Seriously? ” Michael asked. “How do you hope to achieve that? He’s had a lifetime to get that strong. Some say he’s almost a hundred and fifty years old.”

“Because unlike Stenson, I don’t have to hold back,” Francis replied. “Every death is just another chance to learn. Like the general said, he wished he had information about his opponents. Unlike Stenson, I don’t have to worry about losing my arm or my life.”

Michael started rubbing his eyes, groaning slightly before nodding. “You’re right. So now what? We go shopping, arrive at the battlefield, and you tear through the enemy lines till you die?”

“Basically. Ultimately, I’m limited in what I can control. If I tell the army about the creature in the forest, I’ll never be allowed on the battlefield. If I’m not on the battlefield, I’ll eventually be unable to improve my skills just training against Kels. That also poses the problem of ending up before a high priest and being killed that way.”

“So you’re choosing how to die?” Michael asked.

Francis nodded, smiling slightly. “Isn’t that more than either of us ever believed we’d be able to do when they picked us up for this? One day, I’m going to find a way to end this. I’m not sure how, but I will.”

“Can… can you endure that kind of… torture?” Michael asked, frowning. “I… I can’t imagine what you’re dealing with. Dying all those times. Facing a tiger-kin that sticks you with daggers, letting someone beat you to death, or any of those other moments.”

“It’s tough sometimes,” Francis admitted. “But then whenever I’m brought back, you’re there. Each time, I come back next to you. That’s what drives me forward and keeps me going. Well, that and the knowledge that someday I’m going to return home and have a different kind of conversation with our father.”

“Your father,” his brother corrected.

Sighing, Francis nodded. “Each loop, I also look forward to this moment. I get to share everything with you, and it feels like… Like I can remember a little more of myself that was stolen from me by that thing killed when I died the first time. I mean, I do have to waste a lot of time doing this, so you don’t act like an idiot when I show up with new equipment.”

“Ehh, just lie and say you stole it. I won’t care.”

Francis chuckled. “That’s a lie and we both know it.”

For a moment, each of them laughed, ignoring the weight of what they had just discussed.

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“So… I guess I want to know when you think you’ll stop dying to those beasts?” Michael asked.

Seeing his brother smirking, Francis rolled his eyes, knowing what Michael was most likely thinking of. “Why? So I can take a turn in the camp and let you enjoy some time with Bella and Lucy?”

“I mean, if you need a break and they’re not being taken care of, it’s the brotherly thing to do. Right?”

Laughing, Francis started to pick up the coins and put them into the pouches.

“Maybe if you behave. Now, we have four hours before we need to get up. Get some rest. Tomorrow… er, today is going to be long.”

***

Tom raised an eyebrow, glancing at Phillip and then back at Francis.

“You’re asking for a full set of armor. And those coins…”

“Are his,” Phillip replied. “You and everyone else in this town heard about what happened last night. He earned every one of them.”

The armorsmith nodded and spat on the floor.

“Dexter… he was a slimy fellow. Not sure who's going to move into his spot and manage the trade routes he did, but that doesn’t impact me. Still… I can’t say I’ve got much to offer that will be a perfect fit. Everything I normally make gets sent straight to the battlefield. Still…”

The large man turned and began digging through different crates and barrels, pulling out pieces and holding them up. Some he kept out, others he returned to where he’d gotten them. Eventually, he had a full set of chain armor and some extra pieces on the wooden counter.

“We’ll have to see what fits him the best. Should I ask if you have any idea about fighting in stuff like this?”

“You could, but it wouldn’t matter. Odds are I’ll be dead soon enough. Right?”

“Spoken like a wise fool,” Tom muttered. “I haven’t seen a single man return who's passed through here. Well, besides Phillip, everyone comes back, and he’s a grouch every time.”

His trainer laughed and shrugged. “You try dealing with twenty teen boys and turning them into men in a short period of time. It would make you grouchy, also.”

“No, thank you,“ Tom replied. “I have two boys of my own. Right now, there are more than enough problems. Still, let’s get this boy fitted.”

Francis found himself soon dressed in full chain from head to toe. The cloth undergarments he’d been given were a little tight, as Tom's other option was too baggy. None of it was as pleasant a fit as what he’d received before the fight he rode into battle with Stenson. But he also knew beggars couldn’t be choosy.

“He looks like a real warrior,” Phillip said. “Almost makes me feel like I did a good job for once.”

“Now he just needs a sword,” Tom said. “Go and talk to Zachary and tell him I sent you. He’ll give you a good deal.”

Francis tried not to complain. He had spent nearly two gold coins on these outfits and was already running low on coins.

“Don’t worry,” the armorsmith said, apparently noticing the look he had given his nearly empty coin purse. “The weapon he sells will be better than what you boys normally get. Just mention my name, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, Francis gave a slight bow. “I’m grateful for your help. Maybe one day if I live, I’ll return this stuff to you.”

Tom laughed and waved a hand. “Boy, if you survive, sell that crap. Someone will think it’s blessed by the gods since it somehow kept you alive.”

Francis slung the large pack over his shoulder with all his new armor as he and Phillip started making their way toward the weaponsmith.

“You do realize this is going to cause a commotion when we get to camp,” Phillip said. “I’m not certain this plan of yours will work.”

“None of it will matter, because I won’t put it on until the battle starts. Once it does, I’ll be deep in the ranks and they aren’t going to try and figure out why one soldier in the early lines looks a little different.”

“That is true. Still, I hate to think about what you will face there. I’ve seen it. Are you certain you know what you’ll be getting into?”

Francis nodded and frowned. “You’ve seen the tiger and wolf-kins. At least with this armor, I’ll stand a better chance than the stuff everyone else gets.”

His trainer chuckled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Lancaster, I’m certain you’re going to send a large number of them to their deaths. Watching how you moved against me, and against that Cutter fellow, and then saving my life from that bolt—” Phillip choked up and Francis was surprised to see a tear come from the man he had hated for so long.

His trainer stayed silent for almost two blocks before speaking again. “I… hated this job sometimes. It weighs on me if I let it, knowing how many boys… teens… others like I’ve trained. I gave them just enough to provide a buffer for the real warriors. I had to force myself to become hard… to become… nasty. This--” Phillip paused, touching his scar, “--isn’t why I’m an asshole. It’s the number of teens I’ve sent off to their deaths. But you… damn you, Lancaster, you’ve given me hope.”

“You know you can call me Francis.”

The trainer shook his head, wiping another tear from his eye before clearing his throat. “Live. Find me when this is over, and I’ll call you by your first name. Until then… I can’t. Until that moment, you’ll be Lancaster or sheet stain, you pick.”

Laughing, Francis took a moment and pretended to decide, tapping his chin a few times. “I’m not sure… Both leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

***

Sweat quickly formed on his skin as they approached the burly man in his forge area.

Two teens were working a set of bellows, and another was pounding metal on another anvil.

Zachary's arms reminded him of Cutter, except these had veins that looked like rivers. It didn’t matter how many scars lined the man’s dark skin; there was no doubt in Francis’s mind that this man had probably reached the proficient rank in strength.

“A sword… and Tom sent you?” the weaponsmith said between strikes. “Why would… that bastard… send you… here?”

“Because I bought this,” Francis said, dropping his sack and opening it up.

The large man’s swing swung wide, missing the metal blade he was working on--his eyes remained fixed on the open canvas sack.

“MOTHER GOAT-HUMPING–”

“Dad!”

Zachary growled as the boy working on the blade glared at him. “Tell your mother, and I’ll beat you far worse than she’ll beat me.”

Francis wanted to laugh as the stocky boy—who was perhaps thirteen–frowned and returned to work.

The weaponsmith looked at the blade he held between tongs and sighed. “I’m going to need to fix this later… Still… Tom sent you… and Phillip.. This isn’t like you at all. I’m guessing something's different about this one?”

“He is,” Phillip replied.

Grunting, Zachary put the blade on the edge of the coals near him and snapped his fingers.

“Keep the temp just warm enough to let me fix it, but don’t you dare overheat it or let it cool down, otherwise I’ll thrash you both!”

The pair nodded and didn’t say a word, one focused on the color of the coals as the other stood by the bellow.

“Come with me. How much coin are we talking?” Zachary asked.

“I got twenty-seven silver left,” Francis replied.

Zachary coughed and pounded his chest. “Twenty-seven silver? Phillip, what are you paying these… wait… you’re him! The one who killed Cutter and Dexter?”

“I killed Dexter for trying to kill me,” Phillip said. “He did kill Cutter, however, all on his own.”

A loud whistle came as the man smiled. “Boys! We got ourselves a fighter here! This one took down Cutter!”

The two workers briefly stood still, eyes wide as they looked Francis up and down.

“You two daft? Don’t stop those bellows!” Zachary roared.

Sighing, the blacksmith motioned to Francis and Phillip.

“Come with me. Don’t worry, boy, I’ll take care of you. Now I know why Tom sent you.”