Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

Brock crossed the night again. He flew over rooftops, hung from ropes like vines, and leaned on lighting poles to take a breather—their blue bodies were the perfect girth to grab, though the shiny yellow things on their tops were annoying.

Thankfully, he didn’t need much rest. The Big Thought in his heart made him strong, and he could now reach the meeting spot easily, even with the big sack he carried. Besides, even that was a form of working out, and Brock wanted to be strong, so he had decided to work out even while Big Bro slept.

Leaning against a lighting pole, Brock looked around. The surrounding streets looked familiar. Moreover, he could see the big-bro-with-big-stick statue of the arena right before him. He was getting close.

Some time later, he fell into a dark alley. The town’s few sounds disappeared, cut off by the stone walls. The alley was strewn with empty boxes left over by the nearby shops, and it stank a bit of fish.

Brock waited.

Suddenly, the darkness moved. Rustling reached his ears as boxes were lifted and pushed aside. From under and behind them, five dogs appeared, looking at Brock with wide, expectant eyes.

Brock snorted. Dropping his big sack, he raised both arms and flexed them, turning his body to flex his legs as well, to the point where his red pants almost ripped. His new Big Thought was strong, and it made him stronger, too. His muscles shone like beacons of beauty.

He had been looking forward to showing off, actually. Surely, his little dog bros would be impressed.

They were.

They stared at Brock for a moment, taking in his impeccable pecs. Then, one by one, they tried to flex too.

One jumped to its hind legs only to fall back down soon after. Two others clenched their front legs, exhibiting the muscles under their chin. The big black one turned to the side and arced as it tensed its entire body, while the final dog barked—Brock assumed it was flexing its throat muscles.

Five dogs were trying to flex, each in their own way. Brock took them all in with a measured gaze. When they stopped and looked at him with hope, he simply gave a small nod, and five tails wagged at the same time.

Brock had honored his ancestors. Now, he had to honor his Big Bro, too. He approached each dog and grabbed their front right leg in a firm handshake, maintaining eye contact all the while. Soon, this ritual had been completed too, and Brock took a step back.

Satisfied, he grabbed the sack and started handing out presents to all the good bros.

These presents came in the form of food. Some were packs of cheese that the dogs ripped open. Others were ham or salami. A few more were fruit, as well as various peaces of meat that smelled odd but delicious.

Brock wasn’t stingy. After all, Big Bro’s nest was full with these things!

The dog bros ate while Brock watched over them. He nodded; there was skin on their bones now, and after working out according to his instructions, they were finally developing some proper muscle. Soon, they would be bros worthy of attending a proper gym—even if Brock suspected that the dumbbells here were fake.

But it wouldn’t do for a big bro to stay idle.

“Uu-aa-aa!” he cried out, signifying that dinner was over. Though some food remained, they’d had enough.

All dogs obeyed instantly, keeping their jaws shut despite the mouth-watering smells. It would help them try harder. Brock walked to an empty crate, grabbed it, and raised it over his head three times, officially initiating their work-out.

The dogs rushed to follow. Each found their own crate and, lacking arms with which to lift it, pushed it into the wall with their backs until it lifted off the ground. They then rubbed themselves against the wall with the crates on their backs, completing Brock’s assigned exercise.

He nodded. This wasn’t exactly what Father taught, but he lacked proper tools—he could have brought some gym instruments from Big Bro’s nest, but those were Big Bro’s, not Brock’s.

Then, he fell to the ground and completed ten push-ups. His muscles glistened with sweat, roaring and growing as he pumped power from the Big Thought in his heart. The dogs followed suit, lowering and rising their bodies until Brock was satisfied. He nodded and petted them for good measure; all of them were very obedient.

Then, the next exercise…

***

Jack sat in the spectator stands, tossing his glowing token in the air and catching it. Today was the last day of fights, and the arena was packed again.

“Who do you think I’ll fight?” Edgar asked from the side. His leg was jumping nervously, and he clenched his crystal-topped staff to his chest. It was his shiny new Dao weapon.

“No idea,” Jack replied, “but it’s fine. You have no defeats. Even if you lose now, you’ll still pass.”

Edgar nodded. However, his leg kept jumping. His token glowed, too. “The anxiety is killing me,” he said.

“Yeah. If my snacks weren’t running out, I would have brought some.”

“They wouldn’t run out if you stopped devouring them.”

“I’m not—”

The head judge’s voice interrupted them, announcing the next pairings. Last among them was Edger. “Edgar Allano and the Dao of Magic versus Li Xiang and the Dao of Martial Arts.”

“Hmm?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. Beside him, Edgar jumped.

“Aah!” he cried out. “I’m fighting! Crap!”

“Dude, you’re literally qualified already. Just go have fun.”

“You’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going now.”

The crystal atop his staff shone as Edgar levitated into the field. He’d also gotten a blue cape somewhere, so he seemed every part the wizard he dreamed of being as a child. Edgar enjoyed the audience’s cheers, feeling the familiar rush of blood to his head.

His shoes touched the sand.

Li Xiang already stood across him. He was an Asian-looking old man of short and thin stature, yet his slightly narrowed, deep eyes spoke of a certain mastery that even brother Tao, the monk that Jack had fought before, couldn’t match. As he stood there, he seemed completely and utterly still.

“Magic,” Li Xiang said pointedly, then nodded in approval. “You are not the first wizard I face, but you are the strongest. Come. Let us see if human ingenuity can trump the System’s tricks.”

“It is not tricks,” Edgar replied, used to the weight of the arena by now. “It is magic.”

His cloak fluttered. The sand flew. He waved his staff, and nature came to his aid.

The air swirled and formed birds of the gale. The sand gathered into waist-high hurricanes. Pure mana radiated out of Edgar’s staff, coalescing into a formless cloud he used to fuel his magic.

Across from him, Li Xiang chuckled. He charged. Each of his steps was exactly three feet wide, and he moved with a grace that belied his age. His calloused hands seemed lax, but they were ready to strike in any of a hundred different ways.

Edgar waved his staff again. It was four feet long and made of polished wood. Its entire body was carved with intricate red lines, and its head was a prism with twelve surfaces—a perfect dodecahedron that shone with all colors of the rainbow.

This wasn’t a simple Dao weapon. Edgar had chosen not to save up for the auction and instead spend all his money on a high-grade magic staff. It was an investment that had already paid dividends, and a gift that kept on giving. It enhanced his visualization abilities, channeled his Dao nearly perfectly, and stored a large amount of mana to use in a pinch.

The gale birds whistled as they rushed forth. They were twelve, and they formed a swirling torrent as they crossed each other’s path to reach the old man. Some of the sand devils flanked them, while others followed close behind.

Li Xiang dove into the birds, moving his limbs and body at speeds that should have been impossible. His palms met the gales and pushed them away; his knees dove into sand devils and tore them apart. He dodged all attacks by the narrowest of margins, and every time he seemed cornered, he exploited the tiniest imperfections in Edgar’s attack patterns to rush clean through.

Though the birds seemed unpredictable and chaotic to the untrained eye, they weren’t.

The audience was shocked. They had seen the power of Edgar’s attacks in previous matches; each bird could slice through a tree, and each sand devil could grind a rock into dust. Yet, Li Xiang faced them with his body alone like it was nothing.

Edgar wasn’t discouraged. He still had plenty of spells to use.

Embers shone on his fingers. The air screamed as a rain of fireballs sliced through it, depriving it of all oxygen. The sand shifted under Li Xiang’s feet, seeking to imbalance him. A blue glow surrounded his body as a transparent mana mantle formed out of thin air, closing around him and trying to compress his limbs.

Li Xiang laughed and took it all in stride. “Good!” he shouted.

His muscles strained as he tore the mantle apart. His palms met the fireballs, redirecting them into each other. His feet remained planted into the sand, merging perfectly with the ground’s undulations to perform even stronger techniques. He had adapted perfectly.

But Edgar still wasn’t done.

His eyes shone blue, and his hair rose. The old man was closer now, letting Edgar use his strongest weapon with impunity: pure, raw magic. The core of his Dao Root.

A blue aura rose around Edgar, surrounding and enveloping him. The sand floated by itself. His shoulder-length hair turned directly upward, and only his brown eyes shone through the blue. He waved his staff a third time, and a stream of mana reached Li Xiang.

Even the greatest martial artist could do nothing against pure magic. He was blinded for a moment, but shook his head so hard he recovered.

Five Edgars surrounded him now, each wielding an intricate staff. Li Xiang’s eyes flashed from side to side, taking in everything. The Edgars performed the same motion, each sending three balls of highly condensed mana at Li Xiang.

He jumped. Three explosions came below him, but a swarm of gale birds was already falling on him from above. He rotated in mid-air, doing his best to defend. One tore through his robe and smashed into his shoulder, drawing a thin line of blood.

The audience gasped. It was the first time Li Xiang got injured.

He fell back down, where fifteen more balls awaited. He observed their movements for a single moment before diving into a group of them. When everything exploded, Li Xiang was unharmed—only three of the balls had been real.

He had used echolocation to figure out who the real Edgar was from the explosions before, since he’d memorized the positions and trajectories of all balls before jumping, and he’d inferred the launcher of each of the second wave of balls during the single moment when he watched their trajectories.

Li Xiang instantly threw a punch at the real Edgar, but a blue shield appeared to block. It didn’t matter. Li Xiang unleashed a chop and a kick, then an elbow and a knee. A river of martial blows flowed out of his body, several martials arts used interchangeably to maximum advantage.

Edgar had fallen into close combat with a martial artist, and that was never a good idea.

His shield held, but he couldn’t tell where the next strike would come from, so he met them suboptimally. His mana dropped fast. He had to do something. Li Xiang had turned into a maelstrom of violence, and the only things Edgar could make out through his swirling gray hair and body were his deeply smiling eyes.

The shield suddenly pounced, bending towards Li Xiang as if to wrap around him. This was nothing like the blue mantle from before; it was very much corporeal, but also very mana-consuming. If Li Xiang got caught, he would be a sitting duck for a couple of seconds. If not, Edgar would be out of steam; this strike was summoned from all the mana he stored in his staff.

The shield wrapped around Li Xiang, then burst apart under his overwhelming strength. He’d overpowered it with stats alone. A palm split the air and stopped an inch before Edgar’s long nose; and he, shocked, took a step back, then froze.

The palm retreated, revealing Li Xiang’s smiling face.

Edgar sighed. “I lost,” he declared, and the crowd burst into an uproar again.

“You fought well,” Li Xiang said in his sharp Asian accent. “Work on your fundamentals. Practice hard. And it will come.”

“Thank you,” Edgar replied, bowing lightly. Li Xiang nodded back and jumped away, retreating to his secluded spot in the arena stands, where he relaxed on his seat to watch the rest of the battles.

Edgar retreated, too, though he had to take the stairs—he was completely dry of mana. However, inwardly, he was feeling very happy. Compared to when he arrived, he had made tremendous strides. He used to be average at best; now, he could put up a fight against one of the strongest contestants.

However, before he could each reach his seat, the announcer’s voice rang again: “John Brown and the Dao of Spanking versus Shard Presht and the Dao of Momentum!”

Edgar almost missed the next step. He paled. Shard Presht was a scion.