From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 259

Chapter 259: The Pain Of Loss

With one arm out of commission, Max was clearly at a disadvantage. There was no denying it, his movements were limited, his options fewer.

But all of that changed the moment he picked up a weapon.

In the right hands, a deadly weapon could turn the tide of any fight. Even the most powerful opponents could fall if struck at the right time, in the right place. And if the wielder actually knew what they were doing?

Then it wasn’t even a contest.

Despite his personal dislike for weapons, Max was no stranger to them. In fact, he was more than capable, borderline a master when it came to handling blades, improvised or not. He had studied them, trained against them, disarmed them, and used them when necessary.

And right now, there was something else up his sleeve, something even Dud couldn’t see coming.

"You think pointing a broken bottle at me actually means something?" Dud scoffed, marching forward without hesitation. "Have you ever used anything like that in your life?"

Without waiting for an answer, Dud lunged forward and swung hard.

Before, Max had relied purely on dodging and brute instinct. But now? Now things were different.

He moved with purpose.

As Dud’s fist flew toward him, Max twisted his body with a sharp spin, evading the strike by inches. The glass bottle in his hand glinted under the light, and then it struck.

He slashed clean across Dud’s face with the jagged edge.

A thin line of blood appeared almost instantly.

What the, ? Dud froze mid-step. I didn’t even see it. I didn’t see the path of the weapon!

He had dealt with his fair share of fighters who carried knives or blunt tools. In most cases, he’d overwhelm them, knock the weapon away with force or surprise. That was how things usually went in his line of work, quick, dirty, and dominant.

But with Max... he hadn’t even tried to disarm him. He thought the bottle was a bluff. Just a scrap of desperation.

And now, blood was dripping down the side of his face.

When Dud spun around, fury bubbling up inside him, he charged again, this time leading with a high kick.

But Max saw it coming.

He slipped under the arc of the kick, stepping in close, and once again slashed downward with the broken bottle. Another thin cut opened up along Dud’s side.

It wasn’t deep, more of a surface wound than a real injury. After all, it wasn’t a proper knife. The glass edge was fragile, prone to shattering if too much force was applied. It was good for slashing in a pinch, not stabbing through bone.

Still, each strike chipped away at Dud’s composure.

"What the hell is going on?!" Dud shouted, voice cracking with rage. He launched forward with all his weight, wild and unhinged.

This time, he didn’t go for a punch or a kick.

He went straight for Max’s wrist, aiming to disarm him the old-fashioned way, by grabbing hold of the weapon hand and wrenching it free.

But Max had already read his move.

Timing it perfectly, he let Dud’s arm come in, then redirected his momentum and drove the jagged edge of the bottle straight into Dud’s forearm.

Crunch.

The glass didn’t break, but it buried in far enough for Dud to scream.

Pain shot through his arm, and blood spilled down his wrist like a stream.

The jagged glass had sunk in deep.

Max let go of the bottle the moment he felt it pierce through flesh, allowing it to stay embedded in Dud’s arm. Without missing a beat, he sprinted toward the nearest table, grabbed another empty bottle, and smashed it clean across the edge, once again arming himself with a sharp, makeshift blade.

"If I were you," Max said, glancing at Dud’s bleeding arm, "I wouldn’t pull the glass out. You know it’ll only make you bleed faster."

His tone was calm, colder than before.

"And if I stab you just a few more times," Max added, tightening his grip on the new shard of glass, "you might just bleed to death right here."

Dud froze, gritting his teeth.

"And about that question you asked earlier," Max continued. "I think you’ve already figured it out by now. I’ve definitely used one of these before. You don’t know everything about me..."

He took a step forward, glass glinting in the light.

"In fact, you don’t know anything about me."

That was all Dud could take.

With a roar of frustration, he charged in once more, unleashing a savage flurry of kicks and punches, just like he had earlier. But Max, now fully in rhythm, slipped through the attacks like water, weaving between strikes, staying just out of reach.

And with every dodge... came a counter.

The sharp edge of the bottle carved across Dud’s skin, producing shallow cuts on his arms, chest, and shoulders. They weren’t deep, but they were precise. Clean.

Dud pressed on, ignoring the sting and the blood now trickling from a dozen places. But the more he swung, the more Max sliced. The more he attacked, the more wounds he gained.

Though Max was undeniably skilled with weapons, thanks to his past life, there was another reason his movements felt so refined, so unpredictable.

He wasn’t just fighting on instinct.

He was imitating someone.

Aron.

An S-rank when it came to weapon combat.

Max had observed him countless times, his posture, his rhythm, the way he moved with a blade. Dud had used batons and knives in the past in front of Max, and even though a bottle wasn’t quite the same, the core principles still applied.

Using a knife, or anything similar, meant fighting differently. You didn’t rush in like a brute. You danced just outside of reach, striking when the moment was perfect.

Max remembered how Aron had done it.

Hit without getting hit.

Use the slight reach advantage to control the tempo. Stay light on your feet. Don’t overcommit.

And, most importantly, use fear.

Finally, finally, he could see it.

Stab!

Now, gritting his teeth, Dud ripped the shard out of his own arm, and without hesitation, he swung it down.

Slash!

Not again... Max thought, staggering slightly. Crap. Not this feeling again.

I hardly ever got stabbed in my old life... and now? After dying from getting stabbed, I’m reliving it over and over again...

"You think you’re the only one who knows how to use a weapon?" Dud shouted, his voice manic. "Max, you’re one crazy kid... but I promise, you’ve never met anyone crazier than me!"

Crack!

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