Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

“Come on, Brock, tell me. What Dao Root did you get?”

Brock looked at Jack with a smug smile, extending the wait.

“Come on, bro!” Jack insisted. With a laugh, Brock flexed his biceps—which were notably larger than last time. “Ohh, is it strength?”

Brock shook his head.

“Power? Bromance?”

Brock laughed.

“Hmm… Wait. Is it muscles?”

He nodded.

“That’s great! You are now a strong brorilla, Brock! I mean, even stronger than before.”

Brock looked back with pride. It was clear he was flooded by joy. His little fangs wouldn’t stop showing from all the smiles, he was full of energy, and his tail wagged like a dog’s.

Amidst excited cries, Brock rushed over to the 50kg dumbbell that had become his mortal enemy ever since arriving to this place. He grabbed it, tightened his grip…and lifted it!

He did it so easily, in fact, that the dumbbell flew up a bit, and then he barely had time to draw his foot back before it was crushed. He made monkey sounds of fear as he jumped around on one leg before realizing he was fine.

“Woah, that’s a serious upgrade,” Jack said. “I’m sure your father will be proud.”

Brock’s smile widened so much Jack feared it would rip his cheeks. But what could be done? For all his mischievousness and tendency to throw poop around, Brock remained a child, and the approval of his elders was extremely important.

Watching his little bro’s joy, Jack smiled warmly.

“What do you say, buddy? Wanna celebrate?”

Brock pumped a fist.

“Meat skewers? No, wait— What about Dao-infused meat skewers?”

Brock salivated and looked with wide eyes. So did Jack; the thought excited him as much as the little monkey. Then again, we are monkeys too, he thought, smiling, and the two left to go get food.

***

The days passed. Slowly, the Integration City found its rhythm, and everyone entered the semblance of a routine.

Jack and Edgar would go to the arena every morning, just in case they were picked first; if not, they left and returned when their tokens shone. Karvahul joined them, but he usually stayed longer. He was now the manager of Jack’s betting fund, for a generous commission of 10%—take it or leave it, Jack had said—and he was already making a fortune.

He stayed in the arena every day, watching the fights and keeping notes on many people. He then went to the betting desk and deposited a set amount for each promising participant. Of course, a large bet went to Jack every single day—since not many took his Dao seriously, and he had another Dao to rely on in a pinch, he was the ideal black horse.

Jack didn’t know how exactly the calculations were made, and neither did he care. The important thing was that Karvahul was raking in money. A lot of money. Enough that, if they kept at it, they might even reach the two million goal through betting alone.

Of course, they had other moneymaking avenues.

More humans were arriving at the Integration City from all around the planet. They rode private jets, commercial ones, even fast ships. The Ice Peak was the only of the three factions to send representatives. As for the rest of the people, they were mostly from Asia, Australia, or the Americas, since the Integration City was situated in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

There was the occasional celebrity, but most people seemed like average joes that had just gotten stronger quickly, though not quickly enough to join the tournament.

And, as people arrived, so were Karvahul’s other schemes set in motion. Jack now ate out on a daily basis. His tabs were paid, of course, including Dao-infused food, and people streamed to the restaurants he endorsed just to hear him preach about the importance of spanking. He even gave interviews!

Though his income from those streams wasn’t large, it was funneled into betting, where it had the opportunity to multiply—and it did. Karvahul was clearly gifted.

Of course, Jack wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the situation. Many other minor celebrities had cropped up, and greatest among them was Kane Vanderdecken, the long-haired practitioner of the Dao of Metal. He organized small concerts in the wide plaza behind the arena, where aliens and humans alike streamed in to enjoy his Dao-infused music.

Alien performers weren’t allowed, apparently—only merchants could enter an Integrated planet on its first year—so his competition was minimal. He even cooperated with other bards. He also kept up a winning streak; apparently, his performance on stage had led him to comprehending a second Dao Root, shooting him to the top echelon of participants.

Some merchants were already selling shirts saying “Dao of the Devil” over a hand wearing a black, spiky armband and extending its pinky and index fingers. If the System had Gods, they obviously didn’t take it as heresy, or they didn’t care.

“Does the System have Gods?” Jack asked one morning as he, Brock, Edgar, and Karvahul paced to the arena.

“Not really, no,” Karvahul responded. “Though the B-Grades are quite god-like. I’ve heard they can destroy planets.”

Jack and Edgar gaped.

Planets were much larger than most people thought. For reference, if Earth was shrunk to the size of a pool ball, it would be smoother than an actual pool ball, despite mount Everest being five miles tall and the Mariana trench seven miles deep.

The planet’s diameter was eight thousand miles. To destroy something that big was unthinkable.

“There are rumors of other galaxies and A-Grade cultivators of unfathomable power, as well as legends about godlike beings outside the System, but…” Karvahul shook his head. “Even if they exist, they’re so far away from us little folk that they might as well not be there. The System is the only God we know.”

“I see.” Jack nodded, while Edgar fell in thought.

While the Integration City was flourishing, the tournament continued in full force. Three days after it began, the participant count had been halved. Jack could see people streaming out of the participant district every night, all bearing bitter, disappointed faces.

The resources offered by the Integration City, especially the sparring robot and the meditation mat, were very precious. Unfortunately, these were the rules; nothing could be done.

One day, Jack saw a man trying to sneak the meditation mat out in his backpack. The dog guards fell on him the moment he stepped past the gate, and they were not in the mood for jokes. The man did not survive.

As time went on, Jack’s fights got more difficult, but still within the sphere of easy. True to Karvahul’s words, the randomizer always set him up against mediocre opponents at best. He understood the reason, but it still made him feel dirty, like an executioner. Every time someone faced him, he could see the horror in their eyes.

He just did his best to end the fights quickly, though nobody resigned easily. When his opponents were disrespectful, he would say a couple lines about the benefits of a good spanking, just to rile up the crowd. On the other hand, when they respected him, he would face them without the slightest hint of ridicule.

As more days passed, Jack had met plenty of colorful opponents. He’d spanked fierce young men and elegant young ladies; a fisherman from Greenland and a fakir from India; even a famous British politician was spanked to oblivion by the infamous John Brown!

Edgar’s fights had been much more exciting. Each and every one of them had been a struggle. However, since he’d gotten lucky and won in the first two days, he had been seeded by the organizers, meaning he only got placed against weak or average opponents. Additionally, he’d bought enough experience balls to raise him to Level 39, negating his largest disadvantage. Most people had done the same and were now around that Level.

However, any more and he would risk destabilizing himself. Skills and stats were supposed to be gained gradually, after all.

Edgar was also progressing rapidly. He often exchanged theories on magic and its implementations with Vivi and other members of the Flame River, leading to a steady increase in all their powers. Edgar improved the fastest of them all—though, to be fair, he was originally the weakest.

Now, Edgar could stand his own even against strong opponents. He hoped to make it to the finals.

As for the scions, Gan Salin was the only one struggling. As he had a loss in his record, he was paired against strong opponents every day, though he was lucky—or favored—enough to dodge anyone too strong. When he actually used his Dao weapon—a pair of gloves that could extend sharp claws—he was a force to be reckoned.

Jack saw the other scions fight as well, though they never had to go all-out.

Rufus Emberheart was simply unfathomable. The sharken was impressive, too; he used the Dao Root of Momentum, giving him extreme physical abilities, and he fought using long gloves with two triangular blades sticking outside his forearms.

The other two scions were a massive bipedal elephant, at least nine feet tall, who possessed the Dao of Healing but could still cause major harm to her opponents, and an aloof humanoid eagle who darted around even faster than Dorman and absolutely destroyed anyone he met.

As it turned out, the scions weren’t too united a group. The eagle and the elephant were one team, while Rufus, the sharken, and Gan Salin were another—and clearly the stronger one.

On the ninth day, not many people were left. The tournament would end in a few rounds. Now, all battles took place between dawn and noon, which made the people congregate back into the arena.

It was on this day that Vivi decided to take the people of her alliance out for a treat. It was both a show of force and a final outing before things got serious.

The large square on the back of the arena boasted the greatest luxury. On one hand, it was framed by the arena itself and the base of the white Overseer Tower. On the other was a building that resembled a furnace, made of red bricks and with a sparkling antenna at its top. It was a teleporter; and, according to the merchants, it could teleport people several astral areas away.

Jack and Edgar stepped into the restaurant with wonder in their eyes. Though they’d made plenty of money themselves, they still saved up for the auction, so luxuries like this were unfamiliar.

The walls were inlaid with gold, while red silk hang in ribbons. There were swirling columns supporting the ceiling, as well as a serene garden for tables. There were also isolated rooms for those who wanted privacy or extra luxury, and it was in one of those that the Kovan waiter led them.

“What do you think, Sage?” Jack asked, nudging the other man. “How much will the total be?”

“To think I went from the streets to such a place…” The Sage shook his head, pretending not to hear the question. “Life has truly come full circle, hasn’t it?”

Jack laughed. “Sure has, big guy.”

“Were you really homeless before?” Dorman asked, walking beside them. Though he remained cold towards those whose strength he didn’t acknowledge, he was oddly close to the Sage.

“Of course. Death wasn’t too far away when the System came, but I got lucky. Or, in a way, you could say that the world gave me the just reward for everything it had forced me to endure.”

Jack nodded, asking no more. The Sage had been tight-lipped on the details of his first adventures, as he’d been tight-lipped on prophecies. After their initial meeting, Jack hadn’t heard a single one.

However, nobody doubted the Sage. Everyone who made it to this stage were extremely special people. Of course, the Sage didn’t win fights by prophesizing that he would—that would be an oxymoron. He simply pointed at his opponents, whose eyes went hazy and quickly resigned, then got super pissed that they lost so indignantly.

He had been paired against Dorman one time, but he just resigned. “I can’t win. This is simply fate,” he’d said with a shrug.

Come to think of it, that’s when the two of them got close… Jack realized, but his attention was quickly grabbed by the opulent room that appeared behind a set of closed doors.

A wide glass window overlooked the Integration City and the ocean behind it—they were on the third floor. A heavy wooden table stood in the middle of the room, covered in a red tablecloth, and placed on it were sets of plates and cutlery.

This was high-society stuff. Jack counted three sets of cutlery, along with an equal number of napkins. A steaming soup bowl was placed before each chair, gray with golden lines, and the smell alone made all thoughts of conversation fly out the closed window.

Jack wasn’t a stranger to luxury, but he had never experienced it to this extent before—especially when even the soup was Dao-infused. Vivi was going all-out by inviting them here.

“Don’t look like that,” she said, laughing. “It’s just food.”

She sat at one end of the table and picked up the glass of wine before her—everyone had one.

“To a bright future,” she said, raising her glass. Everyone followed suit, then they drank.

Sitting at the other end of the table, Jack almost choked. It was heavenly. Not only was the wine itself amazing, but the alcohol seemed to be augmented by the Dao, too, making his body crave it like a parched lake would crave the rain.

And it was strong; maybe strong enough to make him tipsy for the first time since he got, like, a million Constitution.

“Guys, don’t try the soup!” Edgar said, sipping it off his spoon. His eyes got red. “It’s too hot to eat, but so delicious I can’t stop now…”

Everyone shared a hearty laugh. Edgar choked a bit.

These were the core members of their alliance after all the recruiting: the Flame River—represented by just Vivi here—Jack, Edgar, Dorman Whistles, and the Sage. They weren’t many, but on the bright side, the Ice Peak had fewer; basically only the scions.

Besides them, the only strong people that hadn’t yet picked a side were Li Xiang, the martials arts master, and Vanderdecken, the rock star. They both remained on the fence for now.

Light conversation flew around the table. The Sage, Jack, and Vivi were the most talkative ones, while Edgar and Dorman mostly listened. However, everyone went quiet when the next course arrived.

This would be a three-course dinner: soup, main course, dessert. Earth restaurants usually served appetizers instead of soup, but aliens had their own preferences. And when in alien-land…

Five lycan waiters arrived and surrounded the table, each holding a sealed disc. They revealed it theatrically at the same time, releasing the restrained fragrance all at once and threatening to short-circuit Jack’s brain.

There, on his plate, now rested a large red steak surrounded by tufts of salad. Jack’s eyes saw red. He tore into the steak, barely remembering to use cutlery. Next thing he knew, his plate was empty. So was everyone’s.

“What the hell happened?” he asked.

“Antesaurus rib,” Vivi replied weakly. “It’s supposed to come from peak E-Grade beasts…and wow. Wow. I’m so glad I didn’t splurge on the D-Grade main courses. I think I would die.”

“Yeah. It’s not even funny,” Jack agreed. If he’d almost lost his mind for a peak E-Grade meal, what would a D-Grade meal do to him? Turn him insane?

Could this be weaponized? he wondered.

“Mmm, yes, it’s very tasty,” the Sage said, and everyone noticed he was nibbling on his steak, bite by small bite. Everybody else had devoured it. “What?” he asked innocently, receiving everyone’s stares. “Can’t a man eat at his own pace?”

The scent still wafted off the Sage’s plate, but Jack held himself back. He promised himself to order one of those steaks in a package and give it to Brock; he’d been forced to leave the little monkey at home, as he didn’t want to take advantage of Vivi’s hospitality.

Not that Brock minded. He was probably having the time of his life working out and sparring against the first level of Sparman.

“How can you resist that?!” Dorman asked, staring at the Sage like he was a ghost.

“Because I’m civilized,” the Sage replied calmly. Jack realized that the only person on their table who ate properly was the one that looked like a beggar. He laughed out loud.

“Nice going, Sage!”

“Thank you.”

The dessert came soon after. It consisted of a small yellow thing that resembled jelly and shook like jelly but wasn’t jelly. Jack didn’t know what it was; he only knew that he practically inhaled it. It was the most delicious thing he’d had in his life.

“Damn,” he said, leaning back on his chair and crossing his fingers over his full belly. “I hate to admit it, but Karvahul was right. System food really is something else.”

“Karvahul’s your money maker, right?” Dorman asked.

“Yeah.”

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“Pretty—”

“Maybe we shouldn’t reveal our budget,” Vivi cut in. “The auction will come soon, and we might end up competing with each other—though, of course, it’s best to avoid it.”

“Naturally,” the Sage agreed, and everyone nodded.

Jack’s smile, however, couldn’t be hidden. They’d already made close to the two million that the Sage had warned him about. He was a rich man! And, in the auction…who knew what might appear for sale.

“I bet the scions are richer than all of us put together, anyway,” Edgar said gloomily, but the Sage only smiled.

“We’ll see,” he replied, and refused to elaborate further.

More wine came after the dessert, and the rest of the night passed by in a fuzz. It was, indeed, strong enough to make Jack tipsy—which meant it was strong enough to make everyone else dead drunk if they didn’t drink moderately.

Edgar didn’t, and he ended up magicking an army of tiny Sages to fight against a single, palm-sized Edgar. The Edgar won, of course, partly due to using a fork as a weapon, and everyone had a laugh at the display.

They did have fights the next day, but it wasn’t a problem; in all their infinite wisdom, the aliens had invented anti-hangover medicine. It would make a killing in the Earth market.

It was a peaceful night. One filled with friendship and laughter. They needed it before everything went to shit, as it unavoidably would, soon.

The night gave way to morning, and when everyone woke up, it was a new day. Jack walked to the arena at dawn, as usual, and it was a good thing, because he was in the very first round of fights for that day.

His opponent was a bald Tibetan monk with serene eyes, orange robes, and a thick metal pole. His entire body screamed hardness and discipline. And he had an unbroken win streak.