Loopbreaker

[ Pain Resistance Increased - 33 ]

[ Strength Increased - 28 ]

It was hard to frown as Frown waited for Dorian to appear. Staring at those notifications and knowing he had gained them from surviving some crazy attempt on his life or a message Derrek wanted to send, had Francis wanting to laugh.

Maybe Stenson knew this would happen… if so, that man is a monster. Sending me here… knowing this would happen… I guess I’ll have to ask him about it at one point.

Francis’ eyes studied the room, looking at the books scattered around, and he saw that one was his Law & Governance textbook. With time on his hands, he grabbed it, making sure not to get blood on it as he read and turned the pages.

***

“You… have me in an awful position,” Dorian said. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?! Pray tell how so?” Kaelith protested, the pair ignoring Francis.

“You ordered this. I obeyed,” the older man replied.

“I didn’t tell you to allow such actions and any attempts to say otherwise will result in–”

“Fuck you and your threats, Loxmere!” Dorian shouted. “You know I’ll take you down with me, so don’t try that crap with me. Now deal with him! I’ve got seven other families to talk to, and I swear if you lay this at my feet, I’ll come for you, consequences be damned.”

With those words spoken, Dorian left the room, slamming the door as he went.

The assistant to the Master of the Spires cleared his throat and frowned, leaning against the desk and glaring at Francis.

“Oh, don’t try and tell me this is my fault,” Francis said. “My brother’s an ass and you know it. Having me put across the room from means you knew this was going to happen.”

The mage’s mouth opened for a second and closed before he sighed. “Sometimes, mistakes happen. You being here… has upset the normal way of this place. For a fourth or even a fifth born son to come is very unlikely, but it has happened; yet none of your predecessors have ever done so. Your father is an… important noble as his ore continues to support the King and his activities.”

“You mean the war?” Francis asked.

Fingers drummed along the side of the desk and a pair of brown eyes glared at him. “The things you speak of are not your place. You cannot begin to fathom all that is involved in such an action. Why, I…” Kaelith paused and shook his head. “No, we’re not here to discuss politics. You will refrain from fighting. Do you understand?”

Francis laughed and wanted to throw the book he held at the man. “Refrain from fighting? I just got attacked by eight men. Eight! I’ll defend myself, but I won’t start it.”

“That is a lie,” Kaelith growled. “You start it with every word you speak about the war and every time you disgrace your family's blood. Each time you act, you cause others to hate and dislike you, wanting to remove what they already detest even more. Simply by being here, you are baiting them to fight. And then you go and show off in the areas of battle, proving to them that you belong, infuriating them even more.”

Kaelith held up his hand, stopping Francis from speaking.

“Listen, I can see why General Stenson has paid and vouched for you to be here. Know that what each of these boys has fought for every day for years of their lives, you have displayed more power in a few days upon your arrival. The upheaval is… incredible. I have to deal with instructors who want to move you into higher rank classes or simply out of their class. We’re not even a full week after your arrival and my life has been a living hell because of your presence.”

“And this is my fault, why?” Francis asked, crossing his arms.

“Because you’re a ninth son! This would be much easier had you gone with that other one, Michael. That section of the capital is designed to take one like you and not care about blood, desiring rapid growth so that they may rejoin the army. Yet you would be cast back to the front line the moment you showed your potential there. Which is why Stenson sent you to me.”

The mage sighed and rubbed both of his eyes for a moment.

“Even after all the power that I have displayed, you and most of those here can’t see past the fact that I’m the ninth son of a noble. What does that say about you and the others?”

Kaelith stared at him and nodded. “It shakes the very core of everything we believe and profess. The only saving thing is that many believe you are chosen. In our history, there was one mention of a sixth son who was chosen and did amazing things, but a ninth…”

“Okay, well, I understand that part, having lived it my whole life. So now what?” Francis asked. “What happens now?”

Smacking his lips, the mage shrugged. “I have no doubt Avelis will choose to ignore you. Summoning you only feeds into the problem you present. So you’ll go back to your classes, and I’ll honor the request of those who have asked to transfer you into a more advanced one. I will also be forced to move you into a different set of dorms.”

Kaelith stood up and moved till he was towering over him. “You will be where men like your other brother, Aiden, are. Do not encourage them to act out as unlike Derrek, if they come at you, it will be for more than just a little blood.”

This story originates from NovelFire. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“And that’s not what happened tonight?”

With a shake of his head, Kaelith scoffed.

“No. They were sending a message, a painful one, but a simple one. At no point would I have expected them to kill you. The boys who were present do not have the same position of power that your brother enjoys. They wouldn’t have gone along with murder.”

Francis sighed and made to stand up. “Then I guess we should go.”

“Not just yet, Mr. Lancaster. I have one last bit of advice before we leave.”

Staying in his seat, Francis waited.

“Stop talking about the war. Some will not care that General Stenson supports you. I am not talking about students either. They will kill you and most likely leave no trace.”

“Wh… why?” Francis asked. “What is it that makes that topic so dangerous? You and I both know what is taking place on the front lines!”

“Politics is a dangerous game, Mr. Lancaster. You don’t know the rules, the players or any of the other pieces on the board. Just know this. Stenson used you as a piece. Right now, you’re a weak one, no matter how strong you think you are. If I wanted, you could die right here and now and I could make up a story of how you attacked me in rage when I told you about needing to pay compensation for attempting to kill two of your attackers.”

“What?!” Francis exclaimed.

Kaelith held out a hand, a white glow appearing the moment he lifted it.

“And just like that, this would be done. You were angry and upset,” the mage said, bluntly. “Control that temper, Mr. Lancaster, or someone else will use that story and you won’t be there to argue against it.”

Nodding slowly, Francis didn’t press the issue anymore. The message was clear.

Stenson… you bastard… you did play me and odds are you knew I’d eventually find out or figure it out… but for what game? If you know I’ll remember this and repeat all this, what is the end goal?

“Thank you for the advice,” Francis said, wrestling with his thoughts. “I’ll try to do as you have instructed.”

Lowering his hand, the mage nodded and motioned to the door with his head. “Let’s go. I can get you into the dorms while it's still dark. Have no fear, they’re awake, but no one will mess with you. For now.

***

Francis’ new living place made the old dorms look like a cheap tavern. There were only six rooms on each floor for the students to live in. The carpet, woodwork and stones used were far nicer than the other building. Gold and silver trim were everywhere and dozens of paintings hung like ordinary things one might find in every home.

Francis had to work hard not to let his jaw go slack as he followed Kaelith up the stairs. Leading the way to the second floor was Junar Chatsk, the master of this place.

“This is highly inappropriate,” Junar whispered. “The repercussions–”

“It's on me,” Kaelith said. “Now, ensure everyone here knows that I will not tolerate any foolishness like what just took place. Doing so will carry consequences they do not want to imagine. Bloodline be damned.”

A grunt came from the middle-aged man, whom Francis was certain could probably trounce him without breaking a sweat. Junar moved with a grace that spoke of agility and balance. Yet even when relaxed, the man looked ready to react.

I guess if you live in a place with spoiled firstborns, you'd best be able to hold your own against them.

Francis soon found himself alone in the last room down the hall. He was standing in the entryway to his new place.

“Holy crap, this is insane,” Francis blurted out, his voice echoing off the walls. He was glad the two men had dropped him off and let him explore on his own.

There was a tiny kitchen area, a couch and sitting area, a room with empty shelves, and a bedroom that was larger than the sum of the other two rooms combined.

In the middle was a bed that looked like it might rival what Francis felt the King might sleep upon back at the battlefield.

Glancing at his clothes and the blood that had stained them, Francis found the bathroom and fell in love immediately.

“A tub… and soap.”

Stripping off as fast as he could, Francis moved to the tub and found two faucets.

Frowning, he turned one, finding the water cold, almost too cold. Testing the other resulted in warm water.

“Seriously? Hot water? Where has this been my whole life?”

Playing with the two faucets, he found the perfect temperature, climbed in, and sighed as he could lie back with ease, stretching his body. He still had a few inches before his feet would touch the other end.

“Now I really hate the firstborns,” Francis muttered to himself.

Laughing, he started washing the blood off himself with a bar of soap resting in a small inset section on the marble.

Not caring if he was wasting water, Francis took the greatest bath of his life.

***

“Coming!” Francis shouted.

When he reached the door, he raced to put on his pants, not caring that they were still blood-stained.

Opening it, a young boy stood there with a giant bag in his hand. “Francis Lancaster?” the boy squeaked.

“Yes.”

“Crap, sir, you’re jacked! I mean… These are for you. They’re clothes, sir. I mean obviously that’s what they’d send you. Especially since your pants look like you actually fought twenty students last night.”

“Twenty?” Francis asked, chuckling. He could only imagine the stories that were probably running wild. Deciding to have fun, he embellished a little. “It was actually thirty-two.”

Blue eyes widened, and the boy leaned closer as Francis took the package from outstretched arms.

“Really? Thirty-two? I mean… how? The stories–”

“It was only eight,” Francis said, shaking his head. ”And the room was kind of tight. That helped me to fight them a couple at a time.”

The look of joy and adoration vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Only eight? Seriously… I… I guess that’s still good, but I hoped the twenty was right,” the young boy said, his face not hiding his displeasure of learning the truth.

Shaking his head, Francis stood there, holding the package.

The boy stood there, smiling.

An awkward silence hung in the air for ten seconds.

“Anything else?” Francis asked.

Clearing his throat, the boy frowned and glanced down the hallway. “Well, it’s kind of rude for me to ask for a tip, but also kind of rude not to get one.”

“Really?” Francis asked. “People tip you? For doing your job?”

“Yeah! What kind of job would this be if I didn’t get tips for delivering this to you?”

“Uh… a job?”

‘Please… I have to deal with… I mean–” the young boy started, glancing back down the hallway.

“It’s alright,” Francis admitted. “I’d give you a tip, but I don’t have anything on me. Last night I came here with nothing but the torn and bloody clothes I wore. What’s your name?”

“Samuel, sir.”

“Tell you what, I’ll get my coins as quickly as possible and then find a way to get one to you? How does that sound?”

“Like a load of manure… I mean… that sounds fine, Sir,” Samuel sighed.

Francis laughed and couldn’t help but admire the balls on the kid.

“You must be next in line to become a fighter with the guts you have, talking like that,” Francis said. “I mean, you’re giving the guy who just fought off twenty men by himself some lip.”

“You just said it was eight and that the room was tight,” Samuel stated. “You obviously aren’t nearly as special as they say… Sir.”

Tossing the package into the room, Francis bent down and held out his hand.

“I promise to get you a tip. On my honor.”

Samuel frowned for a moment and then sighed. “I’m warning you, break it, and no one will bring you anything on time for months.”

As they shook, Francis smiled and nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. Now, go and tell everyone I said it was thirty-two. That way you’ll make me sound better than I am.”

Laughing, Samuel stared off for a moment at the wall. “Tell you what, give me an extra coin and I’ll do what I can to have them singing songs about you.”

“Well, how big were the men I was fighting?” Francis asked.

“Depends on how big a tip I get. Sir.”