When he woke up there was no pain. No cut marks from the sword, no bruises from the squabble, no messed-up fists—hell, there wasn't even any soreness from dragging a body for three miles. He removed his bandages and there wasn't even a scab from where he'd been cut on the ribs.
He had an inkling of what was going on, and a few seconds later the system confirmed it.
[System Alert] Passive Effect: Restorative Sleep – Moderate wounds healed after full rest
Patch was pleasantly surprised. He wasn't expecting to get a full heal after a night of sleep, but he wasn't going to complain. Healing while sleeping was a very big perk—and he was going to take full advantage of it.
After going through his morning routine, he started thinking about the fight. He wasn't a fan of using a gun—sure, it was useful for range, but if people really did have powers like the book said, he was going to need something more reliable. Something up close.
Patch walked back to the weapons shop and browsed the inventory. For his price range, there was an old cutlass, a pair of reinforced leather gloves with metal studs on the knuckles, or an iron baton.
He was stuck. The baton would be easy to carry. The cutlass had the most reach. But thinking back on his first fight—how he'd won it—there was only one real choice.
The gloves.
The fight had been a brawl. Punches, kicks, elbows, headbutts. It was down-and-dirty, not some duel with clean slashes and footwork. Those gloves felt right.
They cost more than he'd like—600 beli, over half of what he had left. But he bought them without hesitation.
Once they were strapped on, he looked at his fists.
Gear alone isn't gonna cut it.
He asked around town about combat instructors. Most people told him no—Lunelith wasn't the kind of place that raised fighters. But one rough-looking dockworker pointed him toward the edge of town.
There, he found him.
Braga "The Brick." A retired bounty hunter in his late forties. Heavy-set, built like a slab of stone. Balding head, thick gray beard, and a scar that ran from his chin down to his collarbone. He wore a beat-up brown vest with the sleeves torn off and fingerless gloves. A wide leather belt with empty iron rings suggested he used to carry a lot more steel.
Patch offered him everything he had left in exchange for training.
Braga looked him over once—just once—and saw it in his eyes. The edge. The blood. The kill.
"Fine," Braga said. "One week. You show up, you bleed, you listen."
Patch nodded, already grinning inwardly.
And the training arc begins.
One Week Later
Braga POV
Braga squinted at the kid from his usual spot on the tree stump, arms crossed, mug of cold coffee balanced on one knee.
He'd trained plenty of wannabe fighters before—most of them broke before the week was out. Couldn't take the pain, the pressure, or the silence between lessons. But this one? Patch was strange.
Lean frame, not much muscle, but he moved like someone who'd learned to stay light on his feet just to survive. Pale skin, the kind that didn't tan so much as burn. Messy dark hair, always sticking up like he'd rolled out of bed into a fistfight. And those eyes—gray-green, sharp, quiet. Always watching. Always calculating.
Didn't talk much. Didn't brag. Braga liked that.
He'd shown up with those studded leather gauntlets already strapped to his arms. Looked too big for him at first, like he was trying to wear a reputation he hadn't earned. Braga didn't let him use them until Day Two—kid needed to learn how to punch before he started swinging with metal.
Now, five days in, Patch wore them like they belonged.
His movements weren't smooth yet, but they were deliberate. He'd stopped flinching when he missed. Stopped freezing when he got shoved off balance. And more than anything—he came back every day. No matter how hard Braga pushed him. No matter how many times he hit the dirt.
The scar above his left eyebrow—probably from his first bounty—stood out more today. No scabs. No bruises. No limp. Braga didn't know how the kid healed so fast, but he didn't ask. Some things didn't need explaining.
He watched Patch circle the training dummy again—gauntlets up, feet steady, eyes locked in. He didn't have a style, not really. Just instincts and repetition. But there was weight behind his hits now. Timing. Precision. He wasn't trying to flail his way through a fight anymore.
Braga let out a quiet grunt.
"He's still green," he muttered. "But he's startin' to feel like someone who might live long enough to matter."
After a week of training, Patch had learned a few things.
First—Braga always had a mug of coffee. Always. And it always had some left, even when it shouldn't.
Second—he was sarcastic, all the time. In a way that made it hard to tell if he was joking or not.
But third—and most important—Braga was a good teacher. Brutal. Relentless. But good. He didn't teach how to fight pretty. He taught how to win.
Keep your stance wide. Use your elbows. Lead with your shoulder. Hit first.
He taught dirty too—kicks to the knee, headbutts, stomps, groin shots. Anything to finish the fight.
Patch liked that. It fit him.
Braga's style was close-range, high-impact. Leverage. Brutality. End it before it begins.
He said a lot of things over the week, but one line stuck with Patch more than anything:
"You wait for the perfect punch, you die with a perfect excuse. Hit fast, hit twice, and don't stop till they forget their own damn name."
Patch couldn't agree more.
Without the system healing him overnight, he wouldn't have survived the week. Every morning he woke up good as new. No soreness. No lingering pain. Just muscle memory and another day of getting beat down.
He never beat Braga in a spar. Not once. Only landed one clean counter.
But he was better now. Sharper. Faster.
Still raw—but at least now he knew how to use what he had.
The day after his final session, Patch woke up ready.
He made his way back to the library. Back to the bounty board.
This time, it was bigger than before:
> [Bounty Board – Current Listings]
>
> - Remo "Red" Tavish – 1,000 Beli [Claimed]
>
> - Slick Vinny – 2,000 Beli | Smuggling illegal herbs | Escaped from Brimshore
>
> - Cara the Fang – 3,500 Beli | Assault, extortion | Seen outside Dawnstead
>
> - Big Loro – 5,000 Beli | Armed robbery | Last spotted near river bridge
>
> - Niko Dren – 7,000 Beli | Marine impersonator | Scamming townsfolk
>
> - "The Weaver" – 9,000 Beli | Kidnapping | Identity unknown
>
> - Drix Hollow – 12,000 Beli | Wanted for multiple murders | Extremely dangerous
He scanned the names.
His eyes paused on Drix Hollow. Tempting. But no—he wasn't ready.
Cara the Fang. 3,500 beli. Assault and extortion. Last seen near Dawnstead.
That one felt right.
Not too big. Not too easy.
And besides—he couldn't let his favorite farmer get assaulted now, could he?
Patch reached forward and tapped her poster.
[System Ping: Target Selected – New Bounty Hunt Initiated]