Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

Jack awoke calmly. His eyes opened, taking in the foreign room.

“What?” he said before remembering where he was. “Right… The Integration Tournament. House 425.”

He reached for his phone and turned off the alarm. There was still no signal—all satellites had been lost when the System arrived—but it was still useful for simple stuff like that. Then, he got up, realizing he’d fallen asleep with his clothes on. Well, it was a long day. And I got my ass kicked by a smug robot.

He couldn’t help grinning. The memory was fond. He’d pay that bastard back tenfold.

Look at that. I’m in a nice mood today. A good omen.

His bedroom was spacious and decorated in light colors. There was an empty wardrobe, a king-sized bed, and two bed stands flanking it, each with its own lamp. There was also a set of shutters leading to the yard and a glass window on the roof, letting the morning sunlight stream in and fall on the wall opposite the bed.

He looked at his cellphone. 6 o’clock.

Plenty of time.

With a light whistle, Jack got up and started his day. He visited the bathroom, which was disappointingly empty of high-tech Dao stuff. The only surprising thing was his face in the mirror, which he almost puncher on reflex; he’d forgotten he was disguised and got spooked.

He then headed for the kitchen—which was very sunny!—and started opening cupboards at random. They were filled; every necessity was there, from salt to whiskey. He even had plenty of food ingredients, as well as pre-cooked steaks and breaded chicken fillets that only needed to be ovened.

He got sliced bread, honey, and a knife. He swept the honey on the bread, then practically inhaled the entire thing down. Not only was he starving, but between hunting, meditating, and everything he did on a regular basis, good food had been pushed down the list.

Brock went for a block of ham and demolished it ravenously. He then grabbed his stomach and make upset monkey noises.

Jack laughed. "Eat slower, Brock," he said. "Everything good starts from a healthy and balanced diet."

Brock gave him the stink-eye.

"Let's go," Jack said.

He got up to leave, then thought better about it. He had been to conferences abroad and knew what he should do. Opening the fridge, he took a bunch of cheese, salami, and chocolate, as well as a sharp knife and a bunch of napkins. He even put on his spare jacket to have extra pockets.

“Hehehe.” He giggled at his own genius.

Finally, Jack placed his boots by the door and, after rummaging through cupboards for a bit, fished out a pair of green, soft flip-flops that were roughly his size. He nodded to himself; in the warm weather, these would be much comfier than his boots. He fought barefoot, anyway; no shoe could handle his stats.

Finally done with preparations, Jack wiggled his toes, triple-patted his pockets—futuristic credit card, identification token, cellphone—told himself, “I’m ready,” and opened his door.

“Oh, thank God,” Edgar exclaimed from outside the gate. “I was afraid you'd oversleep!”

“Of course not. I'm a highly responsible person.”

Edgar rolled his eyes. Jack smiled, walked to the gate, opened it, and shook Edgar’s hand.

"I have a question," Edgar said, looking down at Jack's feet. "Why the flip-flops?"

Jack wiggled his toes. "Why not?" he asked. "They're comfy."

"You can't fight in those."

"I fight barefoot."

"We're in a large, planet-wide tournament. There will be thousands of people watching you."

"I don't care. Boots are stuffy, and the weather is nice. If they have a problem with my attire, they can let me know."

Edgar tried to retaliate but found himself unable to. Instead, he simply shrugged in acceptance. With his flip-flops, tank top, and muscular physique, Jack looked every bit like a seaside surf instructor.

"Shall we?" Jack asked, and Edgar, helpless, followed him into the participants' district.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hands shoved deep into his pockets and eyes flickering from side to side. “Nervous for the tournament?”

“Not really.” Jack laughed. “I’ll just beat everyone up.”

“Even me!?”

“Especially you.”

That got a chuckle out of Edgar, who seemed to loosen up a bit. There were people around them, too. Like yesterday, Jack noticed that each and every one of them had the aura of a top-tier expert. He even thought he recognized a few faces.

Acclaimed professors, international business people, sport champions, high-ranking military officers. All sorts of people had used their edge to claw through the System’s arrival and come out on top.

Of course, these people were very few. Even if professional athletes had a hundred times higher chances to survive and thrive than a normal person, how many normal people were there to a professional athlete?

The vast majority of these people were everyday dudes and gals, like Jack and Edgar, who’d discovered an edge they never knew they had. Regardless, that edge was present now. The air was suffocating around such people—and, at the same time, Jack couldn’t help but feel proud for himself.

In this gathering of top elites, he was present. No, not just present; he was probably on the higher end of strength. After all, he had the Planetary Frontrunner (10) title, along with only nine other people on the planet.

There was a steady stream of participants heading out of their designated area and towards the arena, but it wasn’t a crowd; more like a trickle. They saw a blond couple, then four burly men walking side by side, then a short woman that looked like a librarian.

Jack and Edgar walked by themselves, not speaking to anyone for now. They exchanged light banter until they reached the edge of the area.

“Hey!” A short blue person waved at them from the side of the participants’ area’s gate: Ar’Karvahul.

“Morning, Karvahul,” Jack said with a smile. “Why did you wait here? The gate is open.”

The djinn raised a brow at the flip-flops but didn't comment. “Good morning, John. Coming inside is forbidden for non-participants.”

“But nobody’s watching.”

“There's always someone watching.” Karvahul gave an enigmatic smile. “Good morning to you too, Edgar. I hope you had a good night’s sleep.”

“It was heavenly,” the wizard agreed, nodding. He reached up to fix his glasses. “I haven’t tried such a good bed in my life.”

“Hah. The Integration City is no joke!”

There were more guides of all species waiting outside. Jack saw wolfmen, spinning-top people, and a bunch of djinns.

“Do your people have a knack for merchant stuff, Karvahul?” he asked.

“More or less. But we have some very strong wizards, too! We aren’t fully merchant-focused like the Kovans.”

“Kovans?”

It finally occurred to Jack that he could scan these weird races to find out their names. He did so at once.

Kovan, Level ?? (E-Grade)

Faction: Merchant Union (C)

Lycan, Level ?? (E-Grade)

Faction: Merchant Union (C)

“How the heck did those guys evolve?” he asked, looking sideways at a Kovan—the spinning-top-shaped people with four arms and a single leg on which they bounced.

“Their planet is odd,” Karvahul responded with a shrug. “I think the air there is so dense they can fly. Only E-Grade and above Kovans can handle the environment of more normal planets, like this one. That's why they're usually merchants; they have disadvantages in combat."

“Huh. Have you ever been there?"

"No. It lacks business opportunities."

"Makes sense."

Jack nodded. Unlike Karvahul, he was very interested in knowing more, but he wasn’t in a hurry. He’d just ask the first Koval he met. “Let’s go,” he said.

The town was lively. There were lanterns and colorful lights hanging from the rooftops despite the bright daylight, and Jack thought the alien merchants all wore better clothes than yesterday—or maybe he just imagined it.

“The starting ceremony is a big occasion,” Karvahul informed them as they walked through the festive town. “After all, it’s not every day you get to see a C-Grade, let alone hear them speak.”

“A C-Grade!?” Jack stopped.

“Didn’t you know? The Planetary Overseer is a C-Grade Sovereign!” Karvahul gestured animatedly. “That’s why everyone is so excited! Normal people like us would never get to see a C-Grade in a million years if not for the Integration Tournaments.”

“Why not?” Edgar asked curiously.

“What do you mean why not? They’re Sovereigns! Don’t you know how rare that is? We have more inhabitable planets than Sovereigns!”

“How many, then?” Jack asked calmly. On the surface, he was uninfected by Karvahul’s enthusiasm. On the inside, however, he was burning. The bald man and the titanic beast had both been at the C-Grade. Now, he would see another person like that?

He couldn’t wait.

“There are ten thousand inhabited, System-touchee planets in our galaxy,” Karvahul replied, falling into Jack’s pace. “Of course, there are billions more that are just floating rocks, and that’s without mentioning that half the galaxy is still outside the System’s reach.”

“Really?” Edgar said.

“Of course. How else would Earth be integrated if the System wasn’t constantly expanding?” Karvahul explained. “Each B-Grade faction can offer the System energy to scan foreign space. In return, any discovered planet becomes a part of that B-Grade faction’s territory. That’s how the System expands.”

“Scalable.” Jack nodded.

“So, we belong to the territory of the Animal Kingdom?” Edgar asked.

“Obviously. The Animal Kingdom paid for the scanning of your astral area, so everything here belongs to them.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Jack frowned. “We don’t belong to anyone.”

“Of course, of course. It’s a figure of speech. Let’s just call them your overseers.”

A small crowd had formed around them by now; other participants drawn in by Karvahul’s words. As they had no guide of their own, they simply followed from close enough to overhear. Jack and Edgar didn’t mind.

Conversation died down as they approached the arena. It loomed in the sky ahead of them like a stone giant.

The building resembled Rome’s colosseum, except twice as large. It was also made of stone, unlike everything else on this island-starship, giving it an air of antique savagery that the pleasant town lacked.

However, knowing how large something is and seeing it for yourself are two entirely different matters. Jack watched a pair of birds fly towards the arena. They kept growing smaller until they became little more than dots that vanished behind the colossal structure.

He gulped.

“Don’t go getting cold feet now,” Karvahul said. “I’ve bet good money on you. I want you to give it your best.”

“There’s betting?”

“Of course. How else do you think people make money around here?”

“By scamming us.”

“You natives are piss-poor.” Karvahul laughed before adding, “No offense meant, of course.”

“None taken. At least we're tall.”

Karvahul stared at Jack, who had a face of innocence.

“In any case,” the merchant continued, "I mean that yes, of course we’re making some money off the natives, like in any market, but the Merchant Union limits our profit margins in accordance with the Star Pact. Nobody will make a fortune selling experience balls here. The real money is in betting. After all, we’re experienced people, and the natives are nouveau-rich and clueless on System battles.”

“I see. So information merchants have an advantage.”

“Precisely.”

They reached the arena. Hundred-foot-tall gates welcomed them, making them feel tiny. Stone arches decorated the outside of the arena, each housing giant stone sculptures of warriors, while columns thicker than rooms supported the entire building. The walls were made of stone, too, as were the stairs leading upward.

Of course, this was only one of the arena’s two gates.

Entrance was free, apparently. However, there was also a little desk next to the stairs, where a djinn official hasted through paperwork while a small line of people awaited. They were all humans.

“This is the registration desk,” Karvahul said. “Walk up, show your tokens, register, and let’s go! We have to find good spots.”

“Sure.” Jack and Edgar shrugged as they approached the line. It wasn’t that long; only a woman with short black hair and an archer stood before them. Jack and Edgar obediently got in line.

“Next!” The djinn official shouted, and the woman walked forth.

“Celin Sakula,” she said in a Japanese accent. “Dao of Cold.”

The djinn quickly wrote down some stuff, then took her token and filled out a form. Meanwhile, Jack panicked. He turned and whispered to Edgar, “We need to say our Dao!”

“I know!” Edgar hissed back. “This is terrible!”

Jack was in disguise. If Gan Salin recognized him, it could spell trouble for both him and his faction back at home. However, this was already pushing it. The disguise potion had only changed his face, not his body shape. If his Dao was public as well, then Gan Salin could easily put two and two together.

“Robin Von Arginhold,” the archer said. He looked like a forest hunter. “Dao of the Bow.” The djinn started filling in the paperwork.

Jack was next in line. He looked around, but there were too many people watching. If he ran away now, they would know something was up, and suspicion would quickly blow his cover. Plus, even if he pretended to go to the toilet, it wouldn’t help.

Could he lie about his Dao?

“Karvahul,” Jack said, waving the merchant over. He then whispered, “Can I lie about my Dao?”

Karvahul’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. If Jack wasn’t paying attention, he would have missed it. “Of course,” he replied, acting nonchalant. "How would they check?"

“Is the Dao of the Fist common?”

“It’s quite rare.”

"I see. So I need to find a different one. What do you think would fit me?"