Loopbreaker

Now he sat in the Lore and Governance class, feeling way behind, as they were already a third of the way through the book he had yet to start reading.

“So, when the citizens you are responsible for do not obey, one must decide early on the path they are going to take to bring them back in line,” Instructor Fenlow drolled on. “You might think that being heavy-handed is good and fear is a great motivator, but history shows us that approximately six hundred and twenty-seven years ago, what took place because of that leadership style?”

A few hands shot up from those sitting closer to the instructor and a red-headed boy was chosen.

“That was the Flendous Revolt, sir!”

“Correct, now as you all know, the revolt spread throughout a third of the kingdom and caused considerable loss of life to the working class and a few noble families. It is why one must ensure they care for their workers and not push them to a breaking point.”

Many of the boys murmured and nodded, some jotting down notes.

Francis couldn’t help but raise his hand.

“Ahh, Mr. Lancaster. Pray-tell, will you have some knowledge of this revolt none of us knows about?”

“No, sir. I was just wondering how the current conditions of the commoners and workers were being handled with the pressure of the war and the constant drain of their–”

“Ahh, excellent question,” Fenlow said, waving a hand and cutting him off. “As we all know the current mood of the commoner is good. Our King and the council have taken great effort to keep them excited about the success the army is having. We–”

His hand went up again and a glare came from the instructor who stood behind his lectern.

“Yes, Mr. Lancaster?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not right. I’ve been there.”

“Yes, we have heard many times already about you spreading false things about the army. While you think you know, the council has assured us multiple times that things are well in hand and should be wrapped up in the coming year. Now then–”

Ready to growl, Francis waved his hand again, and a few students turned to see it, causing Fenlow to glare.

“Last question, but if you continue with this nonsense, I will be forced to report you to the Master and allow her to deal with your lack of obedience.”

Part of him wanted to push the issue, but Francis refrained. Instead, he asked a question he had no information about. “So who is on the council?”

Laughter came from half the classroom and Fenlow rolled his eyes.

“This is why we do not take the report of someone like you, Mr. Lancaster. You have no knowledge of the Kingdom or how rules are made and kept. If you read the book you’ve been given, you might have discovered some of that information. Instead, you’ve wasted precious time on nonsense. Do not do that again, am I clear?”

The tone carried across the room, and Francis nodded once, not bothering to reply.

One day I’m going to prove you wrong… but today you can be an ass.

Without missing a beat, his instructor returned to the topic before he asked a question, discussing things that seemed trivial, yet Francis made sure to pay attention.

Stenson… you said this is important but I swear I’d rather keep dying over and over.

***

“Hold him!” Some one shouted from his doorway.

Francis felt multiple hands grabbing at him as he tried to sit up, having heard a board in his room creak.

Still he hadn’t reacted fast enough and the group that was assaulting him had yanked him off his bed and were trying to pin him to the floor.

Even with his stats being what they were, the numbers were overwhelming as eight shapes grabbed his arms and legs.

Punches struck, hitting his face and stomach between his attempts to fight back.

Someone had managed to get a piece of leather in his mouth and held his head against the wooden floor, preventing him from calling out.

“You don’t belong here!”

“Leave this place, sheetstain!”

Other curses and phrases were called out as the beating ensued, yet Francis didn’t give up, always thrashing.

His pain resistance was helping and then a different pain blossomed in his stomach.

Something sharp pierced his skin, thrust through into his abdomen.

Another sharp prick came, and then another.

Like a wild animal, Francis fought, angry and pissed at the onslaught.

Pain continued to come as something pierced each leg, flesh tearing as he fought against it.

“Give up you idiot!”

“Hurry before he bleeds out!”

A shape he recognized from a dim light inside his room.

Derrek!

[ Deaths Dance Activated ]

Francis’ body felt alive and the power that came from his skill flowed through every part of him.

This text was taken from NovelFire. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The boys holding his arms found themselves wrenched forward as Francis brought them together, smashing heads and bodies into each other.

“How the hell?”

Freed from the grips that had kept him pinned, Francis threw a punch at the one holding a leather strap in his mouth.

A crunching sound came when Francis’ fist collided with flesh, and the force holding his head down vanished immediately.

Francis was a wild animal, trapped and fighting for his life. He wasn’t sure if they were trying to kill him or simply make him suffer before getting a healer, but he didn’t care.

Each time his fist connected with one of his assailants with a cry rang out.

“Quiet!” Derrek exclaimed.

His brother came at him, a glint of metal in the faint light.

Francis yanked both of his legs toward his chest, driving the trio holding onto them into each other and cutting off his brother’s path to attack him.

Francis bucked and kicked like a wild horse, finally freeing himself from the hands that tried to keep him pinned to the floor.

More power flowed into him, a sign that his health continued to decrease, and not sure if this loop would end here tonight, Francis was ready to die making sure he took as many of these men with him.

Every bit of brawling knowledge came into use as he used the tight space of the room and the multiple bodies trying to get him, to his advantage.

Francis bit, clawed, kicked, kneed and used every other part of his body with no regard for who got hurt or in what way.

He bit a finger off when someone was foolish enough to try and hook his cheek, a loud wail ringing out as Francis spit the chunk of flesh and bone out.

Something solid crashed against his side, but all it did was break, sending shards of wood everywhere.

Roaring like a lion, Francis grabbed two pieces, shoving one into each of the boys nearest to him. They cried out as he jabbed the wooden pieces into their bodies.

More pain came as a blade struck his left shoulder, causing his arm to struggle to respond. It had to have cut something important for Deaths Dance not to allow it to still work.

Francis twisted, his right fist coming as a haymaker toward whoever had just cut him, and a moment before it struck, he saw Derrek’s face.

[ Power Strike ]

His brother spun like a top as the empowered punch impacted the side of his head.

One moment, Derrek was on his feet, the next, he was on the ground, not moving.

The sound of footsteps and his door being thrown open could be heard above the commotion. Francis turn his attention to the door where Dorian stood. Francis could see the old man’s eyes widen as the lantern he held flooded the room with light, revealing the scene within.

“What in the… HEALERS! I NEED HEALERS! EVERYONE TO ME!” Dorian shouted.

Only one of Francis’ eyes worked, and the glance of what his body looked like showed that blood was everywhere. Slick, red patterns streaked his wooden floor. Pained moans and cries came from the teens scattered around him in his room.

Even though his body was torn, bleeding and losing blood, Francis felt alive. The power coursing through him had him panting, and he couldn’t help but want to unleash it.

“Francis! Calm down!” Dorian ordered.

The old man slowly entered the room, bending down and checking one of the teens closest to the door.

“They… attacked me,” Francis growled.

“I know… I know… Gods I should have… Is he alive? Your brother?” Dorian said, his words seeming to change as quickly as his thoughts must have been.

Looking at the body next to him, Francis could see Derrek’s chest rising and falling slightly, a faint breathing or wheezing noise from the shattered jaw and face. An ear was missing, pulverized by his fist.

Glancing at his hand, Francis saw there were bits of flesh and bone impaled in it.

“Yes,” Francis replied. “He’s still breathing.”

A sigh escaped the older man as the clamor of boots echoed through the hallway and more people appeared, gasps coming from those who peered inside.

Every second that ticked by, Francis felt unstoppable and as the sensation grew, a moment came when he realized death was at the door.

Grabbing the sheet from his bed, Francis yanked it so hard the mattress flipped over, landing on one of the boys who wasn’t moving.

Wadding it up, he pressed it against his stomach and the holes where blood, bile ,and more seeped out.

“I’m not going to make it much longer,” Francis said, coughing as blood sprayed out.

“Healers!” Dorian shouted again. The older man moved with intent but hesitated when he stood between Francis and his brother.

“I swear I’m a fool,” Dorian grunted.

He had a small pouch on his hip, and yanking a yellow vial out the man cracked the top and lifted it to Francis’ lips.

“Drink. It’s going to hurt–” the old man started.

Francis didn’t wait; he grabbed the man’s hand, forcing the liquid into his mouth, and swallowed.

“Half! Just half!” Dorian called out.

Still sucking, Francis almost ignored the request but forced himself to stop after two-thirds of the liquid was gone.

A bonfire roared within his core, and even as strong as Francis—even with Deaths Dance activated—the pain almost brought him to his knees.

Every part of his damaged flesh began to regrow, and none of the soothing or kind sensations that had been present when Dawn had healed him were present. Each second instead was like being burned alive—from the inside.

“Damn, stupid arse kids,” Dorian muttered as he bent down to tend to Derrek.

More shouts came, and soon, a trio of men in healer robes appeared. Each of them displayed the same look of shock as they entered before rushing to different teens around the room.

“I need you!” Dorian yelled.

The healer, who was about to help someone who was most likely just unconscious based on how his chest was rising and falling, came over and started working on Derrek.

“Do not let him die.” The older man growled.

No one else spoke as the trio moved quickly, stabilizing and then returning to the others. All of them stared at Francis, none getting close until Dorian spat and cursed. “Someone heal the one who got attacked! He’s still bleeding and you can see the open wounds.”

“Sorry,” one of the healers muttered, his lips pulled back in a grimace.

“No worries,” Francis replied, biting his tongue; the pain of his body healing from the potion was about to overcome his Pain Resistance skill.

Coolness flowed through Francis and the combination of the healer and whatever potion the master of this house had given him seemed to clash, creating a whirlwind of agony inside his chest. Francis roared, unable to hold back the cry of agony as he grabbed for his chest, wanting to try and tear a hole in it so the pain could escape.

“You gave him a potion!” the healer shouted.

“Because he was going to die!” the older man yelled back.

The healer grunted and closed both eyes, almost acting like he was trying to ignore Dorian’s reply.

Francis jerked as he felt the heat being washed away, like someone opening the door to a house where a warm fire raged inside, allowing it to escape.

Soon, all that remained was a tiredness when a notification appeared.

[ Deaths Dance Expired ]

All the energy that had been allowing Francis to stand dried up, and his body felt heavy.

“Whoa, take a seat,” the healer said as he helped Francis sit down on the edge of his bed.

Francis nodded and obeyed, finally able to focus on what his room had become.

Pieces of blood-covered wood lay on the floor and grown men stared at him, eyes wide and trembling.

None spoke, all of them shifting away as they gazed upon Francis. It was apparent that those who had attacked him and had no conscience had not anticipated that Francis would be able to resist their numbers as he did.

Slowly, Derrek stirred, and finally, both eyes opened. A silver glare came from his brother for a moment and then vanished. Every second Francis and Derrek stared at each other, his older brother’s eyes lost some of their light.

“Next time, kill me or I’ll kill you,” Francis growled.

“No, there won’t be a next time,” Dorian said, moving to stand between the two of them. “Francis, to my office. The rest of you, head to the Master’s tower. She will want to talk with you.”

Some of them started to protest, but Dorian’s hands produced a dagger from nowhere, and he pointed it at them.

“It’s not a request. It’s an order. Don’t obey it and I don’t give a flying fuck who your parents are. I’ll cut off…“ He stopped and noticed one of the boys who was holding his hand, the healer re-attaching a finger with magic. “I’ll cut off more than just a finger and not let them heal it. Now go.”

The sound of boots moving and the squelching sound of blood between leather and wood filled the room.

“AND DON’T WALK ON MY FUCKING CARPET!”