Undying Blood - Beta - Chapter 01 (Patreon)

New Story - Just a few edits done - would love feedback. I'll drop 7 chapters that I've 'edited' 1x to clean up major things that popped out (spelling). Feel free to read and give me your thoughts!

The hardest part of being the third son of a noble was the fact everyone knew you were going to receive the dregs of the family wealth.  Education, training, and any potential status would require a commitment to never backing down and working harder than everyone else.  

Any son after the third was happy just to receive food and clothing.  Some were fortunate to prove themselves worthy of a job, slightly better than a commoner.  If a noble somehow was unfortunate and had more than six sons… well those poor boys were happy just to receive food and clothing from their family. Everyone saw them as nothing more than a sheet stain.

For Francis, he was the ninth son of a noble. The biggest sheet stain in the Kingdom of Reevotort.

***

"Seriously? You only have the novice skill? How is that even possible?"

Francis gave a shrug as he came at the instructor again, ignoring the steady streams of taunts that Phillip always sent his way.

The wooden sword moved with enough grace to show that he indeed had increased his sword skill beyond basic.

However, Phillip's skill with the shield and sword were both far above his, easily in advanced rank, deflecting, blocking and parrying each strike like it was a three year old attacking with a twig.

Thrusting and slashing, Francis drove forward, his worn and torn leather boots shifting across the hard, packed dirt training area.

Once more his sword was knocked away, yet he didn't give up, slamming his shield into the older man's side, feeling the impact of his wooden buckler against Phillip's metal one.

His next two attacks were parried and blocked by the salt and pepper haired man tasked with training him and the other sheet stains in combat. Phillip executed a move where Francis's shield and weapon were knocked outward at the same time, leaving his midsection unprotected. Staggering backward did nothing to help prevent a knee coming upward, catching him in the gut.

Dropping to the ground, Francis found himself dry heaving, trying to suck in air as a wooden sword tapped the side of his head, moving his matted, dirty brown hair that provided a little protection against the constant reminder of his predicament.

"Dead again... I swear my ten year old daughter could trounce you."

"Screw... you..." Francis muttered between breaths, wiping the drool that was hanging from his lips, trying to ignore the pool of bile on the ground that had come up. "I'm doing everything I can!"

A hard twack against his temples came and sent the teen rolling to his side. 

Pain radiated inside his head as Francis clutched his stomach and temple.

"Are you?!" shouted the man his father had hired to torture him this last year. "I've seen how hard you train. You spend more time off in the woods and shirking the opportunity before you and duties you have been given! You're a fool boy, a fool!"

Looking between squinted eyes, Francis could see the scar that ran across Phillip's face.  The white, jagged line of flesh that had been poorly sewn, ran from ear to nose and then traveled the rest of the older man's skin to the opposite ear.  A mark of a duel lost, a life forfeited.  No healing was permitted.  His shame was to wear that scar so that all would know what he had been given.  Mercy instead of the death he had deserved.

Yet on his face was a snarl, not from hate, but of anger and why it was directed at him, Francis didn't have any idea.  For two days now this bastard had been kicking his ass, no longer content to watch him spar with his brother Michael or any of the others who were sequestered here.

"You’re supposed to be ready to fight in a war you idiot!" Phillip shouted as he stood up and turned.

No longer did the sound of other practice matches ring out.

Not that he could hear them above the ringing in his head.

Sitting up, Francis saw that everyone, all eighteen of the other teens were staring at them, none saying a word as they watched the ass kicking take place again.

"Do you all realize what is coming?! In two weeks! TWO WEEKS!"

Groaning, Francis rose to his feet, finding the strength to stand, his weapon and shield still on the ground as their instructor and bringer of pain pointed his weapon at each of them as he spun.

"We leave in two weeks for a war that has united all the kingdoms! Not because we like each other but because there is an enemy far worse than any other! You lot are supposed to join the army of our King! He needs warriors to defend the casters and those who actually know how to fight! Yes you most likely will die but perhaps your sorry asses will provide our kingdom with a chance to survive this invasion and rebuild!"

Barely able to flinch backward in time, the wooden sword made a whistling sound as Phillip spun, pointing the dull, dry and bloody tip at Francis.

"You're the ninth son! You know what that means! The only way you'll bring honor is if you actually accomplish something on that battlefield and right now you would have been far better if your father had pulled out and stained the sheets with you!"

Francis felt his face turn red.  Anger at how he was being told off before everyone else, called out when everyone here was like him.  

Worthless in the eyes of a kingdom.

Even his brother Michael suffered the daily reminder of how some servants had been treated better than they had.

Yet now, he was pissed. No. He was furious.

Ignoring the sword and shield on the ground, all Francis could see was an old asshole who had crossed the line.  

Charging forward he grabbed the wooden blade, holding on as tight as he could.

The slightest grin appeared on Phillip's lips, the first smile that wasn’t a smirk that he could ever remember recalling. 

Francis pulled himself toward the aging trainer, ignoring the fifty plus pounds and twelve inches of difference in their height and weight.  

Right now he didn't care about any of that.  All he wanted to do was punch him.

No. Francis wanted to beat the life out of Phillip.

His left fist came forward, as his right hand pulled the sword out of position, aiming for that grin.  

That tan skin was so close he could almost feel the heat from the bastard's face who beat him over and over.

He could do this. He would get his revenge.

In the blink of an eye the world shifted and Francis found himself floating.  

What the hell just happened? I should have–

His thoughts were lost as the world spun and he found himself crashing into the hard ground, and audible snapping coming as his arm bent in the wrong direction, his shoulder taking the full brunt of the impact.

A cry of agony escaped his lips, the first one he had ever let go as pain lanced through his body, traveling his entire left arm and into his neck.

Things began to go dark as a gloved fist connected against his jaw.

"FINALLY! Someone with some balls!"

***

[ Status ]

Francis Mudaburg

Age 17

Strengths: 9

Endurance: 12

Agility: 8

Wisdom: 6

Perception: 5

Magic: 3

Skills

Swordsmanship - 13 Novice

Shield Use  - 9 Basic

Tracking - 8 Basic

Stealth - 6 Basic

Traps - 3 Basic

Rock Throwing - 5 Basic

Ailments

Injured Shoulder - Healing: -10% to Strength and Agility when arm use is required. 194 Minutes remaining

"Done pretending you're asleep?"

"Wouldn't you after what that asshole did to me?" Francis replied.

His brother Michael chuckled for a moment.

Turning his head and opening his eyes, Francis saw his older brother by a year sitting on the bed next to his.  They were lucky, sharing a room with each other because they were siblings. Those who were the only ones from their family ended up with anyone and those matchups didn't always work out well.

"Still, you stood up and after he kicked your ass, Phillip made the healers come and take you away.  That got all of us a break.  Kind of like your shoulder."

Wincing, Francis sat up and studied his older brother.  

He was chewing his lip, the sign he was worried.  Even with only a year's difference in age, Michael had easily another twenty pounds of muscle and three inches on him.  His teeth were straighter and his blond hair matched their mothers.

It's not fair being the runt of the litter... maybe Phillip was right... maybe father should have--

"Stop that line of thinking.  You're frowning and I can tell what you are doing," Michael blurted out. "Don't listen to that asshole.  Use the anger and work like you're supposed to. Stop jacking around in the woods and focus! We only have a few weeks left before we're forced to march off like all the others who have gone before us."

Rubbing his shoulder, Francis nodded and saw the bread and a covered bowl on his night stand.

"Do I want to ask what that is?"

"No... because it's the same old shit every day.  Eat it though. You're skinny because you're picky.  We don't have time to be picky and you know it."

Ripping off a piece of two day old bread, he chewed, trying not to frown as Michael grinned at him.

"You know at least we're lucky, we don't have to go back home before shipping off.  Besides, if what I've learned from the ones I've talked to is true, it won't matter.  We'll be dead almost as soon as we run into battle."

Swallowing the dry piece of bread, Francis took a drink of the tepid water in the wooden cup and sighed.

"Nothing like getting your ass kicked for a few months, just so you can die on the first day of battle.  Tell me this is worth it.  Tell me the gods had some reason for letting father be so fertile."

Laughing so loud it echoed off their tiny stone room, Michael started to smile as he shrugged.

"I have no idea what the gods are thinking.  All I know is that if we survive and if this battle goes our way, we can finally find a place in the kingdom and get out from under the stain of our father's name."

"Oh to be a Mudaburg," Francis replied. "The eighth and ninth son of a noble house known for producing more boys than the ore the King desires."

Both laughed at that truth.

"At least if we die, we did it together. Just like everything else," Michael stated as he stood up and held out a hand. "Now, let's go see what that bastard has in store for us today."

"Again!"

Sweat ran down the face and upper body of all nineteen of the sheet stains at this hell hole.

None of them wore armor today, just a pair of woolen pants while Phillip ran them through sword drills again.

Three hours so far of non stop attacking dummies, combo attack patterns and footwork.

None complained, not wanting to ask for water or a break, all knowing what that would earn.

"You won't get rest on the battlefield! When the fighting starts, it only stops when the other side is dead! So either you die and find rest or kill them all! Then perhaps you can rest and find someone who will love your worthless asses!"

Over and over the group moved as one.  Some were more skilled, their steps and blades flowing with ease, carrying out the attack combos they had been trained in.  

And here I am still missing some of the patterns... At least Mr. Stick up his ass isn't beating on me today...

The shrill of a loud whistle came and everyone stopped immediately, facing their instructor, taking deep breaths as they tried to recover.

"Good news you sorry excuses for a son! Ten minutes to rest, get a drink and piss if you need to! After that it's shield training!"

A few groans came but Francis was glad he had held back from sharing his hatred of the next training excercise.

The hard brown eyes tracked those who had failed to keep their displeasure of the next exercise quiet, guaranteeing they would really not be excited about the next part of the day.

***

[ Shield Use Skill Increased - 10 Basic ]

Even though his chest and arms were covered in bruises, Francis couldn't help but grin.

He saw that Michael had noticed his smile and returned the thumbs up gesture before his brother tossed another cloth covered rock at him.

Francis’s shield moved slightly better, faster and his mind could read the incoming rock’s path even better than just a moment before.

Just one more point and I'll hit Novice in Shield Use!

The skill sometimes felt like it increased so slowly, taking far longer than Swordsmanship had but then again he swung a sword a lot more than  he used the shield.

Still it was easier to block more of the rocks now, receiving less blows to his body.

Two, three, four, five rocks in a row all were deflected as the trio of boys tossed them at him in a random pattern.

Moving within the three foot circle he avoided and blocked every rock he could.

Suddenly a rock came from his right and he was barely able to step sideways, holding the shield out and deflecting the larger stone coming at his head.

Then another smaller rock struck his knee, sending him to the ground as his joint gave out from the shock.

Through it all, he kept his shield up, protecting his chest and head, hearing two more rocks strike the wooden surface.

"Hold!"

Keeping the shield in place for a few seconds longer, Francis peeked around the edge and saw Phillip's head bobbing slightly.

"You got an increase in your skill, didn't you Blanket Stain?

Keeping his calm at the new nickname he had been receiving all day, Francis nodded as he forced himself upward, trying to not wince as his knee cried out in displeasure of being used.

"That is why we are doing this!" Phillip shouted. "Because while you might not like it, some of you have improved! I can see it!  If we can get you to the Novice rank it may mean the difference between surviving the first attack and being around long enough to be worth the nine months your mother carried you!"

"Switch sides!"

Glad to get a break from being used as a training dummy, Francis dropped his shield and ran toward a barrel of rocks a few  yards behind him.  

"You really got a point?"

Nodding, he smiled at Luke who was struggling to drag the barrel towards the spot they would throw from.

"Yeah, I'm one point away from Novice. You?"

The dark haired, brown eye teen who was the only one smaller than him shook his head.

"I'm only at a seven.  Being sixteen has me way behind the rest of you.  Besides, my dad had me farming so I at least could earn something.  He wasn't happy I was taken out of the fields to come here."

Each of them tugged and rocked the barrels into position, keeping their task first and conversation second.

"At least you're the fifth son.  Mine didn't even care about me. I think I've seen him less than a dozen times in my life."

"You two stop making plans to go kissing later and get those barrels in position or I'll start tossing stones at you right now!"

Each of them went silent, working harder and faster, knowing full well what a painful exercise coming personally from Phillip’s hand would entail.

"Asshole," Luke whispered.

“I couldn't agree more.”