Restart Again: Volume 1 by Adam Scott (motivational books for women TXT) 📗

in my hand. Non-lethal. The wooden door burst open, revealing Sherman charging into the room with a crossbow leveled at my chest. He hollered a battle cry and loosed a bolt downrange. I easily sidestepped the shot, returning fire with the dagger. It flipped end over end in a graceful, deadly arc, impacting blade-first into his dominant shoulder. Roaring in pain he dropped the crossbow, grasping at the dagger with his non-dominant hand.

Before he had a chance to react, I charged across the room, swinging my sword flat side first at the side of Sherman’s head. It connected with a satisfying thunk and he stopped yelling, knocked to the floor unconscious. I kicked the crossbow into the corner of the room, well out of usable range, and closed the door. Kneeling down I retrieved the dagger, withdrawing it with a soft squish, and then checked his back pocket. I was satisfied to find the golden coin he had shown me earlier still there.

From behind me, I heard Melrose was crying now. Turning, I found her crawling towards me, her face awash with fear and pain behind the blood. “P-please, please don’t kill meee!” She wailed, most likely beginning to feel lightheaded from loss of blood. I stepped past her, crossing to the chest of drawers. Rummaging through my belongings I withdrew a tonic orb and the hollow needle, quickly activating the mana process. I placed the needle back into the bandolier and returned to Melrose, kneeling in front of her. Placing my sword behind me, well out of reach of her remaining hand, I reached forward and grabbed her damaged arm. “Please, no more! It huuuuurts…” She cried out in pain.

Insistently, I pulled up the stump in front of me and crushed the tonic in my fist directly above the wound. Initially, Melrose screamed, most likely a gut reaction, but I could see the relief flood over her bloody face. The healing liquid almost immediately staunched the wound, knitting together flesh to leave the stump closed flat. She let out a labored breath in relief and slumped backwards. “Now, you have some explaining to do,” I growled down to her.

She looked up at me, broken and helpless. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Try starting with why you broke into my room and pulled a knife on me.”

“That’s never the plan!” Melrose insisted. “Usually, nobody has to get hurt, and they never even know I was here.” She sat quietly on the floor for a moment before motioning to the pile that was Sherman. “We have a deal. I pick a mark, butter them up, and send them his way. He gives them this room, and then I come in with a key at night. He gets a cut of whatever I can find.” Another pause. “It’s never gone this wrong before.”

I sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Out of all the people in this damn world, I picked you. That sounds about right.” Sherman began to stir behind me, a low groan coming from his crumpled form. I stood up and addressed Melrose coldly, levering my sword towards her broken face. “You’re going to take your little man, and you’re going to leave this room, and we’re never going to see each other again. Then, you’re going to…” I trailed off, alerted to loud footsteps on the floor below. Four sets of heavy boots thundered towards the stairs. Guards. The other patrons must have found someone to investigate the commotion.

As they approached, Melrose picked up on the sound as well. Suddenly, with an energy I thought was long gone from her, she sprang across the room back towards the bed. She rolled through the blood that had pooled from her severed hand and began to scream, a convincing replication of her legitimate cries from moments before. No...she wouldn’t.

The wooden door was smashed open and four men in matching iron armor charged in. Melrose was sobbing now, holding her removed hand in a pitiful display. You know how this ends. Don’t fight now. Wordlessly, I dropped my sword and fell to my knees. The guards were shouting, one commanding me to surrender, another trying to assess Melrose’s condition, and a third calling for backup down the hall. The cacophony of noise and the rage of being played like a fool was too much to bear. I let my battle evocations fade, and my world shrunk back to its normal, dull semi-clarity.

A guard was in my face now, I realized foggily, and he was yelling loudly and pointing at something. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I had the undeniable urge to break his nose with my forehead. Two guards ran past me, and soon after returned carrying Melrose between them. Our eyes met momentarily, and I saw an immense smugness in her face. I will not forget this. I will not forget you.

My arms were yanked roughly behind my back, and irons locked around my wrists. A second guard was clearing the room, collecting my belongings into a small pile; sword, scabbard, coin purse, cloak, bandolier, clothes, armor, and Melrose’s dagger. Everything I have left, my entire history...reduced to a single pile. My head was starting to clear from the post battle withdrawal, and the guards’ voices finally came into focus. “...down to the dungeons for now. Sick bastard wasn’t satisfied with her services and wanted to ‘teach her a lesson’, she says. Damn scum.”

A shove knocked me forward, and I was led out of the room and through the inn. I followed the guard in front of me silently, knowing that anything I said would only make the situation worse. As I walked through the street, shirtless and shoeless, passers-by eyed me with disgust. I’m just another criminal now, I thought bitterly. A lone stranger with no connections to anyone in the world, thrown in the dungeon to be forgotten. Though, I suppose I earned it. I trusted a stranger with a pretty