Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

Jack lay against the cool roof tiles, hands crossed behind his head. Brock rested by his side, his little chest rising and falling as he took gentle breaths. He was copying Jack’s posture.

Jack’s gaze was lost above.

The sky had been different since the System arrived. The pollution had been cleared, revealing an expanse full of stars. Twinkling dots of all sizes filled the dark dome, a masterpiece of unprecedented beauty. Some stars were condensed in a long, snaking river that reached from one end of the sky to another; the galaxy.

Is this what the people of old saw? he wondered, letting himself be lost in the breathtaking beauty. Wow…

He imagined going to sleep every night under this sight. How had modern humans managed to lose such beauty?

In a way, the System had turned back time for Earth. The sky was clear again. People were walking around with swords and primal hearts. All satellites had been disabled, according to the professor, returning the planet to an age where communication and transportation were difficult. Monsters roamed the countryside, bringing back the risk in venturing outside town walls—Valville’s were already in construction. The world was full of mysteries, and an entire new frontier—space—was open for exploration.

Despite the danger and death this new world provided, Jack loved it. It was like a dystopian illusion had been pulled off his eyes, revealing a world as it was meant to be, and it was beautiful.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the clean air.

“God,” he whispered with stars reflected in his eyes, “thank you...” He wasn’t religious, but seeing the sky like this, he could understand why people were.

His thoughts wandered, and they were only interrupted when a beer can floated shakily over the rooftop. Jack looked at it, then did a double-take. It was just floating there, before his hand, as if begging him to reach out.

He did; the can was cool to the touch. Jack smiled. Magic.

“Edgar,” he said, “is that you?”

“No,” came Edgar’s voice.

“Okay.”

He waited a few moments, enjoying the silence.

“Can you help me up?” the wizard called out from below. “I can’t fly yet.”

Jack chuckled at the last word. Letting his beer can rest at the side—Brock grabbed and shook it curiously, then tossed it two streets away and laughed in monkey—he fell off the rooftop, grabbed Edgar in a princess-carry, and jumped back up. “There,” he said, dropping him on the roof tiles. “Also, Brock, don’t do that. You could hurt someone.”

“Woah! Thanks.”

Edgar’s laughter contained excitement. He wore loose cyan clothes—wizard robes, Jack noted—but, instead of a wand, he held another beer can.

Jack motioned at it, saying, “Can you at least open that yourself or should I do it for you?”

“Of course. I’m a wizard, not a baby.”

“Don’t say that. If you eat your nails, opening cans can be a struggle.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the beer, man.”

“No problem.”

Brock stood and inspected Edgar closely, then huddled closer to Jack and stared at the wizard suspiciously. Both men laughed.

Jack lay back down on the roof tiles, and Edgar lay down beside him, fishing another beer from inside his robe and giving it to Jack. Both men opened their beers at the same time, then cheered as they took the first cool sip.

“That’s Brock, right? He’s cute,” Edgar said.

Brock protested fiercely. He was a warrior, not cute!

“He is a cute warrior.” Jack smiled, then asked, “How did you find me?”

“It’s a rooftop, Jack. People can see you from the surrounding streets. It’s just that nobody else dares approach you.”

“Am I that scary?”

“Yeah. There are also members of the brotherhood keeping everyone at bay.”

Jack chuckled. “I’ll be more discreet next time. Didn’t want to burden you guys.”

“Nah. Just do whatever you want.”

They took another sip, then rested in silence. It was odd. Jack had known this guy for, what, a few hours? He knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet, drinking beside him felt nice, like they were old friends.

It prompted Jack to think about what his friends were doing. Though he’d grown up in Valville, he’d met all his current friends at the university, so none of them lived here. They used to meet at least twice a week in Tahlequah.

They were probably fine. Those guys were smart; they could handle themselves—especially Maria.

He refocused on the present.

“What’s your Dao Root, Edgar?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t have one yet. But check this out.”

Edgar reached inside his robes and retrieved a Dao Fruit, but it wasn’t the one they’d found in Henry White’s room. This fruit was cyan, sparkling, and almost transparent, giving off a translucent, ethereal feel. As Edgar held it in his palm, Jack found it as mesmerizing as the starry night sky.

“Magic,” he whispered.

“Exactly.” Edgar smiled. “The Dao Fruit of Magic. Interesting, isn’t it? That there’s a Dao Fruit for that. I thought I’d have to get one for imagination, or maybe willpower.”

“I thought Ar’Tazul wouldn’t let you exchange for free.”

“Heh. He changed his tune after you left. He let me borrow the missing thousand credits if I promised to pay him back before the Tournament.”

“Oh no,” Jack paled. “At what interest rate?”

“10%.”

“Oh. That’s decent.”

“It shoots up to 100% if I can’t deliver it in time.” Edgar laughed. “Merchants are not fun folk, Jack.”

“Ar’Tazul is into that business too, huh?” he responded, eyes darkening a bit. “I’ll have a chat with him tomorrow.”

“They all are. Just don’t pay back my debt. I can handle it.”

“I know.”

“I think Ar’Tazul is okay, though. Slightly more cutthroat than I would like, but a decent person overall.”

Jack shrugged, not taking a stance yet.

Edgar returned to the previous subject. “So yeah, I hope to get the Dao Root of Magic.” His eyes lowered to the fruit, lost in its etherealness. “It’s amazing, man. That magic is real. It was never fake. The owl just came for our entire planet at once.”

“Owl?”

“You know; the owl. The one that brings kids letters saying they’ve been accepted into a magic school and can leave their shitty lives behind.”

“Oh, that owl.” Jack cupped his chin. “I noticed your skills were named weirdly. Yeetus Fierus, Shieldus, Fierus Whippus…”

“Those aren’t skill names. I made them up. Just sounds like magic, you know?”

Jack laughed. “Not to me, but what can I say? I’m no wizard.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Do you know I’ve always wanted to learn magic, too?” said Jack, and Edgar’s eyes opened wide.

“I see,” he responded. “That’s why you became a boxer.”

“That was necessity. I didn’t have much choice when a goblin spawned in my face. Then, things just sort of rolled to their current state.”

“The first kill bonus?”

“Yeah. But I like my path. It’s…completely unlike anything I imagined. The violence is so releasing, so cathartic. I spent half my life mocking the people who weren’t intellectuals, but guess what: they had a point.”

“Everyone does.”

“What about you? Did you always dream of becoming a wizard?”

“Every single day of my life.” Edgar drew a deep gulp, then looked at the sky as he struggled to swallow. “You know those books? The ones with the owl letter magic school?”

“Duh.”

“Of course. Everyone does. Do you know why? Do you know what part of that book sells? It’s exactly that: the owl.”

Jack frowned. “I’m not following.”

“It’s a dream.” Edgar sighed. “Deep in their hearts, every child and teenager wishes that an owl would come and magically change their lives without any effort. That they could get rid of bad parents, boring school, shitty friends, insecurities, a scary future, everything, and go become wizards with nice friends at a cool school.”

Jack considered it. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “I’ve fantasized about that before.”

“Everyone has. All children more or less identified. Me too…more than most.”

Jack remained silent. Edgar continued, “My parents were bad people. My school sucked. I only had half a friend. I was bullied a bit—childish things, thinking back, but they were a big deal then. And I couldn’t escape. I was trapped in hell. Can you imagine how hard I hoped for my magic owl to come? That my letter had been lost on the way, and they’d eventually discover it?”

Jack thought back to his own life. It hadn’t been lain with roses but not bad, either.

“No,” he replied honestly.

“Maybe that’s for the best. I dreamt about it every night.” Edgar shrugged. “Anyway, I escaped hell, eventually. I cut ties with my parents the moment I got my first job and never saw them again until Henry’s Fang paraded their heads in Valville square.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t like them, but it was still rough.” He shrugged again. Jack noticed that his beak-like nose didn’t fit a reminiscing man. “Anyway,” he repeated, “I don’t remember where I was going with all this. The point is, I had a sharp imagination and hard discipline. When a goblin appeared in my basement apartment, I used deodorant and a lighter to set it on fire, getting my first kill bonus in the form of the fireball skill. I finally had the chance to live out my fantasies, but how funny, the owl came ten years too late. I’d already put in the effort to escape, goddamnit. What a waste.”

“Wow. No wonder people use e-mail nowadays.”

Edgar looked over in surprise, then chuckled. “I suppose so,” he said. “Anyway, that’s the story of how I became a wizard. Then I figured that, oh well; since I’m here, might as well go all the way and become a strong wizard. The strongest. Then, I’ll create a magic academy for children with bad families. Maybe I’ll name myself Dumblewindow, too.”

“That’s a nice dream.” Jack nodded.

“Yeah. Childhood me is finally happy inside.”

“Is he really?”

“I think so.”

“Then, that’s good.”

“What about you, Jack? What are you going to do with all this power?”

“Punch stuff, I guess.” Jack laughed. “To be precise, I will punch progressively stronger stuff progressively harder. Sounds like a fun occupation.”

“Ah, yes. Very noble.”

“They’ll be bad stuff, too; I’m a good guy.”

“Then, that’s something I can get behind.” Edgar smiled. “You could make a boxing academy.”

“I’m a pugilist, not a boxer.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yeah. Fewer rules.”

“Neat.”

Jack drew a large gulp from his can, tilting it higher up and realizing it was empty in the process. “Shit,” he said. Edgar laughed. Drinking the last of his beer, too, he raised a hand, and two more beer cans floated up from the streets below.

Jack was puzzled. “What?” He stood up and looked over the edge, finding a crate of beer below. He turned to Edgar. “That wasn’t there before.”

The wizard shrugged. “Magic.”

Both men laughed, then grabbed their cans and kept drinking.

“By the way,” asked Edgar, “did you climb this house on purpose, or was it random?”

“Completely random. Why?”

“There was a very confused old lady looking at me through the window before. I waved at her, then someone dropped from the roof, picked me up, and flew away.”

“Of course. That’s regular stuff now. Maybe we should invite her for a beer, too.”

“I don’t think old ladies like rooftops, Jack.”

“How do you know?”

As if on cue, the sound of a broomstick hitting the roof from below reached their ears. “Go sit on another house!” the old lady shouted. Both men laughed. She probably wouldn’t join, but oh well; her loss.