Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse
Chapter 96: Facing the Fist

The moment Jack sat down, everyone knew they were in for a wait. Some people complained, but most simply settled down. Before the most exciting battle on the planet, one hour was nothing.

The C-Grade lioness was furious. She sent wave after wave of mental pressure at Jack, whose only reaction was a set of furrowed brows. Even she couldn’t hurt him like that, at least not covertly; the soul was inviolable.

His eyes were closed, but he remained acutely aware of his situation. Every eye on earth was directed at him, including several immortals, a representative of the Hand of God, and even the C-Grade planetary overseer. Of course, the professor was also watching, as were Jack’s friends and every single person he had ever met—except for the ones who died. And he was still shirtless.

Overnight, he had become Earth’s greatest superstar. That kind of attention was hard to bear. Moreover, his decisions now, made in the spur of the moment, impacted the fates of thousands.

He focused on his senses, preparing to enter meditation. He could sense the slow breeze on his face, the fluctuations of his crowd’s noise as it reached his ears, the sand shuffling under his bottom. The C-Grade Dao loomed over him, breathing in his face. His Dao Roots remained suppressed, forcing him to rely only on himself. For the first time in a while, he was struggling to concentrate. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ɴ0velFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

Jack was in a crucible, squeezed from every side. It should have been torture. And yet, something inside him whispered that this was exactly what he needed. His mind and will felt energetic, like muscles during a work-out. Against himself, he realized he was smiling.

The mental pressure of the lioness, combined with the social pressure of the crowd and the looming threat of death, forced Jack into a corner. They were pressing down on his mind, but he refused to bend.

The forces formed a kind of tense equilibrium, where Jack endure significant but not back-breaking amounts of pressure for a long time. As he was forced to sit there and withstand it, he realized it was sharpening his resolve, and by extension, his Dao.

For a person of the fist, this was the perfect training to forge their mind!

Jack had been struggling to concentrate, but he slid into a trance without even realizing it. This meditation was even deeper than when he used the meditation mat. He was hanging in an empty, endless void. Darkness surrounded him from every direction except the front, which was occupied by a massive fist pointed at him.

He couldn’t tell how big it was. Maybe it was the size of a boulder and right in his face, or maybe it was as big as the sun and infinitely far away. It was surrounded by wild purple light, dancing and flickering, highlighting every line and corner of the fist, every tense muscle.

That was a fist about to punch, but it simply hovered in the void, unmoving. It wouldn’t punch anyone. It was simply clenched because that was its nature; to possess strength even when there was no need, to radiate its intention without fear. To be proud and unyielding.

This resembled a Dao Vision, but not exactly. It also resembled the giant fist that Jack had briefly glanced at when comprehending the Dao Root of the Fist, only infinitely lesser.

It was his Dao Root. And as it was isolated from the rest of his body, as he was pressed into himself by terrible weights, they met midway. For the first time, he could really see it for what it was, and it filled him with such awe that he lost himself in worship.

Jack was captivated. It tugged at the strings of his soul. It inspired him, and as he observed it intently, filled with a desire to understand and embrace it, he lost track of time. The edges of his mind remained tense from the pressure, allowing him to maintain this state.

As he sank ever deeper, he forgot where he was. Only the fist remained.

***

Thirty minutes after the start of the fight, Rufus had yet to show up, and the crowd had gotten more noisy. They were talking amongst themselves by now, half in annoyance and half in excitement. This was such a monumental event, and they could watch it with their own eyes.

What was going to happen? Nobody knew!

Even the immortals had abandoned their aloof facade and were quietly conversing amongst themselves. Only the lioness and Vocrich remained silent, each for their own reasons.

“What is your disciple doing, Shol?” the lizard archmage asked. “Is he really cultivating under these circumstances?”

“He’s an odd boy.” Master Shol shrugged, but his voice contained hidden pride. “With such resolve to train, he’s gonna go far.”

“The most difficult step to take is the first one.” A third voice came, and everyone turned to regard the ascetic immortal from Barren High. He was thin as a stick and dressed in rags, looking like a beggar. However, when he spoke, every other immortal paid attention.

“Are you referring to his battle against Rufus Emberheart, honored seer?” Shol asked carefully. The seers of Barren High always spoke cryptically, but with the right questions, it was possible to squeeze out some more information.

This time, either Shol had asked the right question, or the seer felt like talking. “Yes, and also no,” he replied. “Your disciple’s path stretches far, but it is filled with danger. Such is his fate. He will always be faced with insurmountable odds, but as long as he survives, he will never stop advancing.”

Shol turned the words around in his head. “Thank you,” he replied, nodding in respect. The ascetic smiled.

“If I may,” the lizard archmage cut in, “you mentioned the first step being the most difficult one.”

Nobody expected the seer to respond. Getting so much out of him was already great. However, he spoke again.

“If Jack Rust can survive until tonight, he will truly embark on his path, and the sky will be his limit. But surviving until then…” He shook his head. “It will be difficult. Layers of threats will stand in his path, and he cannot make it alone. So I suggest, immortal Shol,” he turned to look at Shol, his milky eyes filled with depth, “that you bet on him.”

Shol raised both brows. The seer had advised him directly. This wasn’t common. Did the Barren High have a horse in this race? Did they care about Jack? But how? Why?

It didn’t matter. Shol didn’t quite understand, but only a fool would ignore the advice of Barren High.

“I understand, honored seer. I will do my best.”

The seer nodded and spoke no more. Shol settled down in his seat, too, but he was secretly rushing to contact his master.

In another place of the stands, the Sage leaned to Vivi and whispered, “I know that the tournament’s rules prohibit all violence until tomorrow, but I suggest you prepare your people for battle. Gather our allies.”

She shot him a glance, then turned and whispered something to Sadaka, who nodded and departed discreetly. Across the arena from them, Elena Richter was also nowhere to be seen. The four scions sat side by side, visible for the first time, and each had crossed arms and sharp gazes.

While most people were enjoying the show and having fun, all powers were moving. An hour was neither short nor long. Many things could happen.

Suddenly, a sharp, metallic note cut through the clamor. Everyone quietened and looked around, searching for the source of the noise, only for their eyes to land on a long-haired young man dressed in black leather.

“Excuse me,” Kane Vanderdecken shouted at the head judge. “Can I entertain the crowd while we wait? They do it for Superbowl.”

She frowned and shouted something at him, but he happened to scratch his guitar loudly right then, covering up her voice. He smiled and replied nonetheless.

“I can? Thank you, head judge! I knew the Animal Kingdom took care of its people!”

With a somersault, Vanderdecken landed in the stage, close to Jack. “Alright!” he shouted, filled with genuine excitement. He had just secured a performance in front of the entire planet. He was set for life. “Are you ready to metal, Jack Rust!?”

Jack ignored his shouts, remaining cross-legged with his eyes closed. Vanderdecken wasn’t discouraged.

“The power of the strong!” he yelled at the audience. “What a man! What brutal arrogance! Everyone, let’s give it up for Jack Rust, the man of the fist!”

The crowd cheered, and Vanderdecken struck a chord. He launched into a short guitar solo, then abruptly stopped and started singing, “Wake up! Grab a brush…”

The crowd went wild at his performance. The head judge glanced at the planetary overseer, then sighed and shook her head. The planetary overseer herself didn’t give a shit about a singing mortal or the crowd’s approval. She had other problems. If Rufus somehow lost, and if they were forced to give the tournament rewards to a human…she would have to take responsibility. Those things weren’t cheap.

She frowned, intensifying her Dao pressure to the limit of what she estimated Jack Rust could bear. She couldn’t see inside his soul—the soul was inviolable—but even if he tried to meditate, he could only last for so long. The level of pressure she exerted was torturous.

***

Jack couldn’t hear, see, or feel anything from the outside world.

His entire being was focused on the larger than life fist inside his soul. He inspected every nook and cranny of it with fanatical devotion. Everything about this fist spoke to him, be it the strength that clenched it, the intent it signified, or the towering, meteor-like purple aura surrounding it.

There was something here, but what?

After a while, he had noticed that the fist wasn’t alone in the void. A second existence stood beside it, though it seemed far less real.

It was an amalgamation of stars that shone with metallic light, like a barbed iron wire wrapped orderly around itself. There was profoundness there, too. It was the Dao Root of Indomitable Will, but Jack didn’t look much at it now. He focused on the fist. That was what really spoke to him, the core of his existence.

So why did it stand beside the wire like they were equals?

And why was he so far away?

Jack felt on the precipice of some big discovery, and he let instinct guide him. This was his soul; he was in control. The distance he perceived was only true in his imagination.

The next instant, he was standing right before the fist. It towered over him like a small hill; he only reached a third up its curled fingers. He reached out a hand and touched it. The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

It felt like home, like his perfect destination.

He let that feeling expand in his mind until it swallowed him whole. He dropped all defenses, all doubts, all hesitation. Nothing remained except for the fist. Every fiber of his being yearned for it. He inhaled, and the purple aura that danced around the fist was sucked into his body, little by little, filling him up.

It tasted like stars.

But it was heavy. Demanding. Unyielding. To fill himself with the aura, Jack had to forgo everything else. As it entered his body, he felt himself washing away. Gradually, bits and pieces of himself dove into the aura, into the power of the fist, disappearing forever. Jack didn’t even remember what he had lost.

This wasn’t right.

The fist sought to claim him. It was unyielding and proud. It demanded his total submission, pressing down on his soul harder than the lioness ever could. It was wiping him away.

But every drop of aura that entered his body made him stronger. He didn’t want to stop.

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