Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

Jack smashed a Meteor Punch into the sharken’s face, shocking the entire arena.

This was completely different than when he used flip-flops. The shape of a true meteor appeared around his fist, and a purple starry tail followed after it.

And it was fast. Too fast.

Shard Presht barely had time to raise his blades and block. The meteor smashed into him and sent him flying back at great speed. He used the Dao of Momentum to stop himself mid-air, but Jack had followed, and a towering fist smashed into his face in the next moment.

Shard Presht flew back again, and this time, he didn’t stop until he crashed into the far wall.

Jack cracked his knuckles again as he watched Presht stand. “Well?” he asked. “Is that all? I thought you were a tough fish.”

“I’ll show you what I am,” Presht replied, shimmering with anger. His flat was slightly dented by Jack’s fist.

“Be my guest.”

The sharken adopted a sprinting position, then charged. Jack wouldn’t make the same mistake twice; he adopted a battle stance long before his opponent was supposed to arrive, and it was a good thing, because Presht never stopped accelerating.

He reached his maximum speed almost instantly and then kept going, accelerating faster but still at a tremendous rate. He reached Jack far sooner than anticipated, and at a speed that resembled an arrow’s.

The audience was reeling. Jack punched out, and his knuckles met the blade head-on. Both fighters flew back.

Jack’s body was beyond sturdy by now. He had 105 Constitution and the Pugilist Body skill, which augmented the hardness of his entire body and especially his knuckles. He also had the body-hardening technique brought forth by the third tier of Pugilist Body, the one he’d reached in his spar against Dorman, which allowed him to harden his knuckles even further.

All that still wasn’t enough to completely block a sharp blade coming at high speed. A millimeter-deep gash was drawn on his knuckles, dripping with blood. It also limited the nimbleness of his fingers, but he didn’t need those.

Blocking those blades was dangerous, but the problem was that Shard Presht was fucking fast. If Jack couldn’t block and had to dodge all the time, achieving victory would be ten times harder.

But worth a shot. It wasn’t like he had a choice.

Shard Presht brought his bloodied blade in front of his face. He took a deep sniff of Jack’s blood, then licked it. His smile returned and widened.

“Tasty,” he said.

Some of the audience cheered, but most stayed quiet. The Ice Peak cheered especially intensely.

Jack snorted. “If you like my knuckles, shark, there’s no need for blades. I will deliver them directly to your mouth. Just watch.”

He jumped back into the fray. At the same time, his fighter’s mind churned fully.

Against an opponent like Shard Presht, who could manipulate the momentum of his weapons at will, Jack should avoid extended clashes, as the Dao of Momentum would be too strong there. He needed rapid bursts of violence where he struck his hardest and hoped to outmaneuver Presht.

Presht took Jack’s charge, blades held steady and ready to jump at any angle at full speed. Jack arrived, threw some quick jabs, then stepped back, narrowly avoiding a strike. Presht chased, and he was faster, but Jack could defend while retreating.

He dodged the blades or slapped them away. He struck out himself, forcing Presht to defend. Soon, their clashes turned into flashes of motion on the sand, where both fighters zoomed around the arena at great speed and met for only one or two exchanges before separating again.

Presht had the advantage in speed but couldn’t afford to be careless. Nor did he need to; as Jack couldn’t block, he was forced to fight awkwardly, and Presht held the upper hand—or fin—in the vast majority of exchanges.

Jack knew that. The problem was that he could do nothing about it. None of his skills could help here. He wasn’t lacking in penetrating power, fighting skill, or even attacking potential. What he lacked was just hardness on his knuckles. It was at times like these that he wondered whether he should buy iron knuckles, but he quickly discarded the notion.

His Dao was that of the Fist. And, though the word bare was not there, he sensed that even the most discreet of weapons would only draw him away from the core of his Dao, even if it gave him temporary strength.

Yes, Jack was losing and had no idea how to turn this around. But did that mean he would resign? Of course not! He’d just keep punching!

Flashes kept exploding throughout the arena. Blades whistled and fists crashed through the air. Occasionally, blood flew from any of the two fighters—mostly Jack.

He was fighting measuredly, looking for openings, some weakness he could exploit. His will was indomitable. He had full control over his mind, which the sharken probably lacked. Jack could last long. Maybe Presht would tire first. He could only hope.

At least he knew that the sharken didn’t have a second Dao—he’d bought information on the scions. But he was still losing.

Jack’s only hope now was the Dao Root of Indomitable Will. He leaned hard into it, limiting all unnecessary thoughts and optimizing himself. His mind remained razor-sharp for a long time. More clashes ensued, but now Jack wasn’t trying to take down Presht, only drag him into a battle of attrition he could hopefully win.

Jack fell deep into the Dao Root of Indomitable Will.

He refused to bend; refused to retreat; refused to go down. His will could not be stopped.

Why, then, could his fists?

The thought struck him like thunder, disrupting him so abruptly he almost lost a hand. He retreated again, but his mind was only half there.

My will is indomitable. My body is the carrier of my will. Why do I have to let him break my fists? Why can’t they be indomitable as well?

He clenched them again, and this time, something was different. As the Dao Root of the Fist was revving inside him like a steam engine, so did the Dao Root of Indomitable Will. Jack guided it into his fists.

The next time he clashed with Presht, he did not dodge. He did not run. He punched straight into the blade, refusing to lose. It wasn’t only his will that was indomitable. His Dao was, too. And so were his fists.

Knuckle met blade and both flew back. Not a drop of blood appeared on Jack’s hand. He grinned savagely. Presht’s slit-eyes widened in surprise, revealing deep blue irises.

I got you, fucker.

Jack had a new weapon. His punches were imbued with both the Dao of the Fist and the Dao of Indomitable Will. He struck out again and again, and Presht could do little to stop him. He was like a storm of fists that only accelerated the more they fought.

“You’re combining two Dao Roots!?” Presht hissed as he retreated. “You’re only F-Grade! This is impossible!”

Jack’s grin widened. “Look better,” he said, then smashed his impossible fist into Presht’s face, sending him flying back.

In the F-Grade, cultivators developed Dao Roots, but those Dao Roots weren’t part of a whole. They were each a different weapon. It was only when a cultivator transformed one of their Dao Roots into a Dao Seed that fusion was achieved, allowing them to channel all their Dao Roots through the Seed.

Jack wasn’t truly fusing his two Dao Roots. He was simply using them at the same time, and he could only achieve that because both of them were passive in nature, and they also fit well. If he really could combine them, the strength increase from that would have been exponential.

Fortunately, it looked like concurrent use was enough here.

Jack chased after Shard Presht, not giving him time to rest. The sharken could attack, yes, but he didn’t dare to because the price was high. Jack could just block, and as his strength was higher, he would win every exchange!

Presht stepped back, and Jack was there. One fist smashed at his abdomen and was blocked by a blade. Presht flew sideways from the impact, then channeled that into his blade, spinning at great speed and trying to lop Jack’s head off. Jack had seen that coming and leaned back, dodging at an impossible angle.

He then used both hands to directly grab Presht’s blades, enduring the pain to push them both aside. For a moment, Presht was wide open. His slit-eyes widened again as they met Jack’s predatory gaze.

“I re—” he started saying. Before he could finish his words, the world turned monochrome. Everything became black and white, and only a single purple meteor shone in Presht’s vision, taking it over completely. He quit speaking and tried to dodge, but it was too late.

A full-force meteor smashed hard into his mouth. All color returned in one, massive explosion, a blinding flash, and an ear-rupturing bang. Dozens of sharp teeth flew away half-broken as Presht himself was catapulted backward with tremendous force, smashing into the wall like an arrow.

He tried to stand; therefore, the battle wasn’t over, and Jack rushed in again. He didn’t intend to kill a scion—that might have invited more trouble than he could bear—but he sure could roughen him up a bit.

“Enough!”

A massive aura crashed onto Jack from the sky. He screeched to a halt, then looked up to find the head judge flying over him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. Though the aura was heavy, it was something he could handle. After all, this judge was only a merchant Class, as was every alien here, with the exception of the C-Grade Planetary Overseer.

“Stop immediately,” the judge said. “Your opponent has resigned.”

“He has not!”

Jack felt the blood rush to his head. Shard Presht clearly had not resigned. And he knew this because he had seen many people try to resign in the tournament but get hit before they could finish their words. They had to clearly say the words “I resign!” The judges had never intervened before.

Now, they did. Now that a scion was on the line. A scion who could just say it now if he really wanted to resign. After getting meteored in the face, he’d had the time to say it ten times before the judge intervened!

Fucking cheaters. Jack was boiling. A purple glow flashed on his fists, coming and going like a wave. He itched to plant it into the judge’s righteous-looking face but held himself back.

He clenched his fist harder. Will indomitable. The purple color was extinguished. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he reopened them, Presht was staring with a bitter gaze, and the judge acted as if nothing was happening.

“John Brown wins,” she declared. “However, for breaking the rules of the tournament and attacking a resigned opponent, he receives one loss in his record.”

Jack glared at her. They hadn’t done this when Rufus Emberheart openly murdered that girl, and they didn’t mind all the previous occasions when someone tried to resign but couldn’t.

Fucking cheaters, he replied inwardly but didn’t speak his thoughts.

“Hey!” A guy with strong lungs shouted from the audience. “This is unfair.”

Several agreeing voices rose to meet his.

“It is my ruling, and it is final,” the judge replied, cutting them off. She clearly didn’t give a shit about their opinions. She then continued, “That was the final match for today. The sixteen finalists have been determined. All finalists please gather in the arena and await her Nobility.”

Even through his anger, Jack frowned. He hadn’t heard anything about a closing ceremony for the first stage. Nobody had.