Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

With the ringing of the ten massive bronze bells, the tournament officially began.

People erupted into cheers louder than even the ringing. The C-Grade lioness disappeared, and long energy walls split the arena.

These walls were transparent and shimmering blue. There were three of them; two split the arena into four equal parts, and the other was horizontal, stretching over the arena’s lip and isolating the four mini-arenas that had been created.

A djinn jumped into the air. White wings spread from her back as she came to hover over the center of the arena, where the two criss-crossing walls met. She held a scroll in her hand.

Jack scanned her instantly.

Djinn, Level ??? (E-Grade)

Faction: Merchant Union (C-Grade)

It was almost the same screen he saw every time he scanned a djinn. However, his sharp eyes noticed there was an extra question mark on this one. Ar’Tazul and Ar’Karvahul only had two question marks. The lioness had had three.

Does that mean her Level is three digits? he wondered. Interesting… So the E-Grade extends to the hundreds.

He then realized there was a much easier way to find out.

“Hey, Karvahul,” he asked, “up to what Level does E-Grade go?”

“125,” replied the djinn, shooting him a weird look. “Why are you asking this now?”

“Just curious.”

He turned his attention back to the arena, where the flying, three-digited-level djinn was about to speak.

“Attention, participants,” she read from her scroll. “The rules have already been announced to you by Her Nobility. I am Al’Marazith, the head judge for this Integration Tournament, and I will handle the more mundane parts. As Her Nobility said, you will fight a series of rounds, each lasting exactly one Earth-387 day. For every round, each participant will only fight once, at a maximum time limit of ten Earth-387 minutes.

“Before the beginning of each round, your fighting order and opponents will be randomized. Your identification tokens will buzz and glow an hour before your scheduled fight, but to avoid no-shows, we encourage you all to be here each dawn, when the names are randomized. After all, you might have to fight first.

“Finally, the Animal Kingdom will graciously provide ten thousand credits to the winner of each fight. These will be transferred automatically to your identification token, from where you can draw it into your credit card.”

Whispers erupted at the sound of such a large sum. A man with strong lungs, however, had another question. He stood up and shouted, “What about ties?”

“Then, both opponents lose,” she replied.

Jack found himself nodding. That made sense. When is my fight? he wondered, glancing at his token. It wasn’t shining.

“I will randomize your names now,” the flying djinn said, still staring at her scroll. It shone bright for a moment, then dimmed down. Jack’s token glowed silver. So did Edgar’s.

“Dude!” Jack said, raising his hand for a high-five. “Nice! We’re lucky.”

“I’m scared,” Edgar responded, matching Jack’s high-five dispiritedly. “What if I lose on the first round?”

“You’ll have another shot. Come on, Edgar! Live it up a little!”

“I guess you’re right…”

“Here, have this. It will braven you up.” Jack reached into his jacket pockets and retrieved a pack of salami, then opened it and handed a slice to Edgar. They were already pre-cut; how convenient.

Edgar’s eyes widened. “What’s that!?” he asked.

“Salami.”

“No, I mean, where did you find it?”

“In my fridge. There’s lots of them.”

“No, I—” He seemed in disbelief for some reason. “Why do you have salami?” he finally stuttered out.

“To eat it?” Jack raised a brow. “I have cheese too if you prefer.”

Edgar groaned.

“Is that salami?” Karvahul asked, taking a look. “Can I have some?”

“Sure.” Jack smiled, letting Karvahul have a slice, then taking one himself. Two slices went to Brock, whose sneaky hand had already been reaching for them.

“Yummy, right?”

“Totally. Fuck those corn-selling cheating bastards.”

The winged djinn’s voice washed over them again. “First fights,” she declared. “Elijah Hogan and the Dao of the Chain versus Chloe Barnes and the Dao of the Axe. Billy Walsh and the Dao of Cold versus Lauren Foster and the Dao of the Dagger. Kane Vanderdecken and the Dao of Metal versus Xi Shin and the Dao of Beauty. Chad Morgan and the Dao of the Gun versus Kwau Okonjo and the Dao of Music.”

The horizontal energy wall acting as the roof of the arena disappeared. A few moments later, eight forms jumped into the four mini-arenas, and the roof closed over them. The audience cheered. Jack opened his eyes wide, and even Brock leaned against the railing to have a better view.

Four djinns stepped on the arena lip, each overseeing one fight. “Start!” they declared at the same time, and a ton of magic went flying. Jack watched with rapt attention.

These people were good.

Of the eight down there, all were probably stronger than Henry White, and this was just the first round. Unfortunately, four fights at once were too much to take in. He glimpsed at an axe-wielding woman getting quickly tangled up in chains, while the dagger-wielder started shivering but bravely moving forth. The other two fights interested him more.

A long-haired young man with spiked wristbands and a leather jacket made a metal sign at his opponent. “Alright!” he shouted before starting to sing Chop Suey at the top of his lungs and head-bang. His opponent, a gorgeous young woman, covered her ears and screamed mutedly. Then, she powered through the pain to flash him a devastating smile.

The young man faltered, going off-tune for a moment. That was enough for the woman to step up and approach him, hips swaying hypnotizingly. Jack had to shake his head to wake up, but the young man wasn’t so lucky. He only stared at her with a stupid smile until she came within ten feet of him.

Suddenly, his long hair fell before his eyes, and he recovered. An electric guitar appeared in his hands out of thin air. Before the woman could respond, he struck a crescendo so hard it unleashed a visible shockwave, sending her flying and slamming her into the far wall. She fell on one knee, bleeding from the ears.

“I resign,” she muttered.

The young man raised his pinky and index finger at her. “Begone, thot!” he declared. “I only play for the DEVIL!”

He strung his guitar once more, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Jack found himself cheering along. This was fun!

“Salami,” Karvahul said, stretching out a hand without looking.

“I didn’t hear a please.”

“...Please.”

“There you— Wait. Where’s my salami!?”

It was in Brock’s rapidly-chewing mouth. He flashed guilty puppy eyes at Jack, who only laughed. “No problem. I have another.”

The first battle was done—the axe woman got fully entangled in chains and resigned—and so was the second—the dagger-wielder reached the cold mage and made him resign. The fourth battle, however, was still going at full force.

A clean-shaven, military-looking man was shooting his rifle at a dark-skinned woman with a long wooden flute. Notes kept flying out of it, meeting the bullets mid-air and sending them off-course. Now that the metal guy had stopped screaming, Jack could hear her music as well; a sort of deep, calming tune that nullified the man’s attacks.

At the next moment, finally uncreasing her brow—probably annoyed at the metal guy—she changed her tunes. Her flute now released deep, thudding sounds and crimson melodies like a song of war. Jack felt his blood boil. Crimson notes flew out of her flute and rammed into the bullets, plowing through them and trying to surround her opponent.

The gunman defended valiantly. He turned his rifle around so hard it seemed random, yet he hit each note accurately. He probably had a skill for infinite bullets, too.

The bard stepped forth as she reached a crescendo. Her music accelerated. A long row of notes flew out like an army. Half formed a shield before her, stopping the incoming bullets, and the other half darted at the gunman. He did his best, but he was overwhelmed.

A note smashed into him with a small explosion, making him grunt in pain, and another followed soon after, hitting his legs and dropping him to the ground.

“I resign,” he said quickly, and a wave from the bard made all other notes disperse.

The crowd roared again. Not only were these people extremely strong, but their powers were exciting, too!

“This is one of the allures of an Integration Tournament,” Karvahul said with a smile. “On more developed planets, people know which Daos work and which don’t. They are much more uniform. Here, you can see all sorts of fun stuff.”

“I thought all Daos worked,” Edgar said.

“Theoretically, yes, but some are more difficult than others. Take the gun person, for example; even with his talent, he’ll struggle to find suitable complementary Dao Roots, let alone step into the D-Grade.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

All fighters left the arena, either jumping back to their seats or taking the stairs and elbowing through the crowd, and the head judge announced the next pairings. It still wasn’t Jack or Edgar’s turn. However, two of the pairings were very interesting.

One included a young man that sat right next to Jack. Jack had his eye on the guy, actually; though he looked like a kid, he was Level 38. The previous fighters had all been under 30.

When he jumped into the stage, he seemed to fall faster than gravity would indicate. According to the announcer, he was Dorman Whistles, with the Dao of Speed. His opponent barely had time to draw her weapon—a metal pipe—before Dorman had his daggers at her throat.

“I resign…” she said breathlessly. This time, the crowd didn’t cheer as hard; most were still reeling from this guy’s speed, as was Jack.

He was pretty confident he could sweep the floor with any of the previous eight fighters. This Dorman, however… Jack frowned, looking at his flip-flop. If I meet someone strong, this could be a struggle. Maybe I should have gone for the Dao of Spanking With My Fist.

Dorman quickly jumped back up, then flashed Jack a smile.

“Nice fight,” Jack said. “Salami?”

“Sure,” Dorman replied. He was an Asian-looking kid with a nonchalant attitude and two daggers at his waist. He didn’t even flinch when Jack pulled the salami out of his pockets—maybe he’d seen the previous one. “Nice monkey,” he replied.

“Thanks. His name is Brock.”

“Is he a good boy?”

“A strong one.”

The other interesting pairing, however, didn’t end as fast. It was a battle between a dark-skinned man with the Dao of Fire and an eastern European woman with the Dao of Ice. These two were already polar opposites, so Jack expected a good fight. What he didn’t expect was the tension in the spectator stands across him, where two groups were facing off.

One was made up of dark-skinned people and led by a woman in fiery red athletic clothes. The other had pale-skinned, hard-faced slavs, led by a big guy with hands as big as shovelheads. The two groups were a few stands apart, but they were staring at each other while their leaders shouted something that Jack couldn’t catch.

“That’s the Flame River and the Ice Peak,” Karvahul explained from the side. “They’re two of the three major factions of your planet, and they’re expected to be at odds due to their opposite powers.”

“Are factions supposed to be built around a power theme? Like fire or ice?” Edgar asked, inspecting the people across them.

“Usually, yes. You’ll see; when people get used to the System, your planet’s factions will gravitate towards that model, too. Those ones are just ahead of the curve; they probably control fire-oriented and ice-oriented resources.”

“Hmm.” Jack nodded. The Forest of the Strong had Physical-oriented resources. It was reasonable that his faction would focus on melee combat.

The people on the stands shouted at each other for a bit, then watched the battle below with heated eyes. Coming to blows was against the rules, but that didn’t apply to the people in the arena.

The dark-skinned man with the power of fire and the slavic woman with the power of ice clashed fiercely. Both were over Level 30, unlike the vast majority of people, and their battle wasn’t to be taken lightly. Incidentally, both of them also sported the Planetary Frontrunner (100) title, which probably meant they were one of the first hundred people on Earth to get a Dao Root.

They weren’t the first people Jack saw with that title, but there were fewer of them than he would expect.

In the arena, torrents of fire smashed into chunks of ice. Sharp ice peaks rose from the ground under the fire man, who somehow used fire to propulse himself through the air.

His limbs were clad in flames. The slavic woman held a thick shield of ice. Apparently, both of them were proficient in both ranged and melee combat because, when they clashed, it didn’t end quickly. They kept striking and dancing around each other for a good minute before the slavic woman snuck a fist in, sending the dark-skinned man flying to the far wall.

He fell on the ground and spat blood but rose again.

“That’s enough, Sadaka! Resign!” the dark-skinned woman—probably the leader of their faction—shouted from the stands. Her voice washed over the arena without need for magic amplification.

The dark-skinned man—Sadaka—glared at the slavic woman, who made the “come at me” gesture with a smug smile. Sadaka almost charged before gritting his teeth so hard Jack was afraid they’d break.

“I resign,” he forced out, shivering from the humiliation. The audience cheered for him—he was plenty strong—but that didn’t seem to make him feel better. At the same time, his opponent shook her head in disappointment.

Both fighters jumped back to their stands, where their factions were back to ignoring each other.

“Oh, wow,” Jack said. “Those guys are really going at it.”

“I told you, they’re polar opposites.” Karvahul shrugged. “They’re heavily inclined to clash, anyway.”

The announcer announced the next pairings. Among them, one stood out: “Edward Hole and the Dao of the Club versus John Brown and the Dao of…Spanking.”

She hesitated for a split-second before announcing Jack’s Dao, then looked at the arena curiously, waiting to see who showed up.

“Finally!” Jack said with a smile. “I’m up.”

“Good luck!” Edgar and Karvahul said in one voice. Beside them, Dorman quipped, “Careful,” between bites. Jack knew what he meant: be careful not to ruin the salami in your pockets.

He jumped down, floating through the air to land on the sand. The feeling was completely different here. The damp smell, the eyes on him, the big-bodied opponent staring him down with a large club on his shoulder.

This felt like the time he boxed Harambe, but so much grander. Jack grinned. The battle fever rose in him. He clutched his flip-flop.

It was time for a thorough spanking.