212. Training Grounds (I)

Alistair rushed Red back to the Teleportation Circle. His friend’s life force seemed stable, and the bleeding had stopped, but still. Over a quarter of his body had been crushed by the serpent’s bite and pierced by its fangs.

“I accepted the Quest, too,” Red said, his eyes closed. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Shush,” Alistair said. “You’ll reopen your wounds.”

He kept feeding blood essence into Red, bolstering his natural regeneration. Even so, the Old Man of the Lighthouse’s innate venom worked against him. The internal Domain lingered even after the beast’s death. 

Alistair gripped its skull tightly, cleaning it off with his freehand Mana. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the risks. If they had walked into an actual trap, it could have been far worse. As it was, he believed that their mission had been a coincidence—whoever was responsible for the hybrid beast must not have been paying attention when the mission came up at the Contribution Hall. 

They made it to the Teleportation Circle within a minute at his top speed. No one cared overmuch on their return, injuries being commonplace at the sect. However, Red’s situation was a little worse than most. People did let their gaze linger. 

Not caring about propriety, Alistair dashed to the Infirmary as fast as he could. A ghostly presence greeted him on his return. 

“What happened?” Dev'rox asked. Alistair communicated the situation without words through their link. “Damn Clear Water Sect bastards. I knew they were too good to be true.”

We don’t know who’s responsible yet, Alistair thought. Most likely, it’s one of the weaker, disgruntled elders like Fanghorn, or even a core disciple. The beast seemed to notice that we were Clear Water Sect disciples, and I doubt an inner disciple could be responsible for that. At least not alone. 

His thoughts drifted to Baron Zilvesky Aportamus’s warning. 

“If you ever come across a werewolf named Shan Mok, be wary.”

Alistair had done his research: Shan Mok was a subordinate elder of the Self-Defense Division under Elder Yan. A Peak Profound werewolf, he was a known unsavory character. He liked to gamble and would often bet body parts, ripping limbs off his victims if he won the bet.

All legally and consensually, of course, but who wanted to associate with a guy like that, no matter what the legality was?

Dev'rox handed Alistair the infused bluegrass. “Don’t worry, I reduce my presence as much as possible when in front of people. The elders and maybe some core disciples probably detected me, but that’s it.”

They arrived at the Infirmary. The translucent stillwater building’s first floor was the emergency section. Dozens of disciples laid on stillwater beds spaced ten feet apart, with little privacy. Agonizing screams echoed through the spacious hall as healers treated wounds and toxins.

A stern-faced woman making the rounds took levitated Red from his back, taking him to a bed a few hundred feet away at the end of the room. Alistair followed along, feeling that her aura was around Late or Peak Adept. 

“What happened?” she asked clinically, feeling Red’s injuries with her hands. “What’s this? He has no aura at all, yet his life force is fine, if a little weak.”

“That’s just his thing,” Alistair said. “He’s got this really perfect cloak up at all times, don’t worry about that. He got his left leg and hand bitten by a level 160 duskscale serpent, Beast Ruler second evolution. I stopped the venom from spreading and gave him a ton of blood essence to stabilize the wounds.”

“Level 160?” the woman raised an eyebrow. “[Patient’s Analysis] indicates him to be level 100-110. He shouldn’t be alive, even with your treatment.”

“I’m built different,” Red croaked out with a smile, despite his leg looking like it was going to fall off, and his hand missing from the wrist down. 

“Quiet, you,” she said. “I need a venom specialist here, now! Also, Jinti, come to me!”

A slight woman with white hair and eyes rushed over to the bed. “Holy shit, he’s handsome.”

“Not. Now,” the elder woman said. “Is his right leg salvageable, or does he need an amputation because the Dao venom has gotten too deep?”

“It’s close,” Jinti said. “Let me take a closer look.”

“No amputation,” Red said. “Give me the anti-venom and a Health pill, and I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I don’t think you understand how severe your injuries are, outer disciple,” the stern-faced woman stated with a harsh look. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll just walk out of here if you don’t give me those things,” Red said simply.

Alistair pleaded with the woman. “He will actually do that. I saw him standing after it happened, and he didn’t even seem like he cared that he was injured.”

“Ah, what the hell,” Jinti said. “Just put it on record. Patient autonomy is the most important value, right, Nadatika?”

The other woman sighed. “This is going on your record.”

Seeing that Red was getting the treatment he needed, Alistair rushed out of the Infirmary and straight back to the Contribution Hall. He guessed that the Infirmary saw a lot of strange things, to not comment on the half a skull on his head and half a skull in his hand. 

Alistair quickly went to the central water stream, interfacing with his personal system. 

Missions Completed

Merit Points: 622 -> 1,992

Outer Disciple Rank: 9,545 -> 9,310

There was a prompt asking him if he wanted to sell the Beast Core for 1,000 merit points. He refrained for now, only because he wanted to show the elder in charge. 

It was his lucky day that the Head Elder of the Contribution Hall was speaking with a core disciple at the far end of the floor, where the most valuable items were floating in crystalline displays. 

Alistair wasn’t sure how to approach it, considering the difference in status, but he remembered the Soulnet information on the Elder Aylesfort. 

He treats all disciples equally, regardless of their station of birth. Let’s do this.

As he resolved to go up to the elder and started walking toward him, Verryn Aylesfort’s sea-green eyes found him. Alistair got pulled toward the auburn-haired man, who dismissed the core disciple.

“Disciple Tan,” Elder Aylesfort greeted him. “You seem to have urgent news for me.”

“Honored elder, you know my name?” Alistair could not help but ask.

“I know the names of every disciple in my sect,” Elder Aylesfort said. “Anything else would be an insult to our hard-working disciples. Now, tell me why you are so disturbed.”

Alistair gave the elder a rundown of what had happened on the mission, from the strange behavior of the snakes, to their ridiculous numbers and lowered Mana density in the region, to the words that the Beast Ruler had said. 

Finally, he mentioned the humanoid nature of the beast and the weird Consumed Elemental Superhuman II tag under its species, along with Red’s speculation that the deaths in the area were because it had been consuming human soulcores.

The only thing he omitted was the Limited Quest. That sounded like the type of thing that would get him unwanted attention, since his current situation said nothing of whether he knew the secrets of the strange beast.

“You are sure,” the elder asked, stroking his silver-streaked beard, “that the beast said in the human tongue, ‘why would you strike your ally,’ and ‘I told your master it’s almost complete?’”

“I swear it on my Dao, Elder Aylesfort.”

“This is… concerning.” The elder looked deep in thought, no longer paying attention to his surroundings. “A beast consuming soulcores in that manner. The only explanation is foul play from a member of our sect.”

“That is what I concluded as well, elder,” Alistair said. “Truth be told, my friend nearly died from the attack. I worry that whoever was responsible will come after us. They would not dare attack an elder of your status, but a mere outer disciple like us, we would be easy targets for revenge.”

Elder Aylesfort didn’t act as Alistair had expected at hearing those words—a dark halo appeared in his kind eyes. “As long as I draw breath, no disciple under my watch will come to harm through such treachery.”

The halo left his eyes as soon as it came. “Your quick thinking and bravery are admirable. For alerting the sect of this threat, I grant you 2,000 merit points. May I have your findings?”

Alistair handed the two halves of the skull and the Beast Core to the elder. The items gingerly floated to his wrinkled hands. “There are indeed signs of techniques of the Clear Water Sect within this core. How does 2,000 merit points for these items sound?”

Alistair nodded vociferously. “I would be honored, Elder Aylesfort.”

A notification popped up in Alistair’s status screen.

Merit Points: 1,992 -> 5,992

Outer Disciple Rank: 9,310 -> 9,005

For a second, he thought the elder was going to dismiss him, but the older man looked like he was trying to think. 

“Tan. You were the last name to sign up for Outer Disciple Practical Combat Lessons, were you not?” 

“Yes, honored elder. I had heard of your reputation, and the price was incredible. I didn’t have any merit points, so a bulk payment class was appealing.”

“I look forward to seeing you, young man,” Elder Aylesfort said. “Maybe I can bribe you with a few more merit points to see those memories of your fight with the Beast Ruler? I think our class would love it.”

-----------

Thankfully, that last question was just a question and not a command that he had to obey. When Alistair told him that he used his finishing Skill and didn’t want to show his peers, the elder pushed the matter no further. 

With his 5,992 merit points, he immediately headed to the Technique Hall, where he picked up Threefold Breath Cultivation. 

The difference in breath was immediate. Even without practice, just with the simple innate guidance of the technique crystal, he absorbed 1.5x more ambient Mana with every spiration cycle. The detailed instructions explained that a perfected user could get twice the efficiency of the innate guidance. 

Next was Spiritual Dragon Cycling at 7,800 MP, a whole 5,808 points away from his current total. For that, he would need to grind.

Step one was the missions, and he planned on getting another right away, but first, he had to check out sparring. For that, he contacted Thalen and Severus, who he had accidentally left on delivered for two days.

Ready for our duel?

Are you busy?

Don’t tell me you already died?

Seriously, where are you?

— Thalen Rulhoi.

Hey, Thalen thinks he might have pissed you off somehow, so he asked me to write you. Hello.

— Severus Boirel.

Alistair replied back.

Hey, I’m really sorry. I got trapped in the Ancestral Grounds for two days, if you can believe it. I do not recommend going there if you have deadlines coming up. I’m headed to the Training Grounds right now if you’re interested.

— Alistair Tan.

He wasn’t expecting a reply so quickly, but Thalen immediately wrote back.

Already there. See you soon.

— Thalen Rulhoi.

Alistair arrived at the Training Grounds, the massive trough in the water stretching over a dozen miles. The crystalwater that connected the valley to the Infirmary glimmered in the light, passing over the grounds. Its almost transparent structure allowed him to see the hundreds of training arenas below, separated by stillwater walls.

As he saw on the tour, above the valley hovered floating spheres of opaque crystalwater. He imagined that the different colors represented different elements, as there was a sphere for every color of the rainbow and then some. The arenas below merely muted the aura emanating from the combatants, while he felt nothing from the spheres above.

They told him to meet up at arena #72, where he spotted Thalen, Severus, and an unfamiliar woman. Thalen was fighting the woman in a heated battle when he arrived. 

The tall ginger cultivator wielded a shimmering silver sword that felt like the sharpest thing Alistair had ever seen. When he slashed, a dozen copies of his sword appeared out of nowhere, slashing with him. 

The woman was undeterred. She had even darker red hair than Thalen, wearing extra flowing versions of the outer disciple robes. Whenever a slash was about to hit her, she struck with her palm, creating an outline of white-gold Mana that erased the sword slash itself. 

Disintegration Mana, Alistair realized. That secondary affinity was known for its sheer destructive power. The palms of disintegration Mana erased even the air itself, causing vacuum implosions that pushed both combatants back. 

“You’ve improved a lot, dear cousin,” Thalen said, reaching toward his belt, where a sword with a pitch black hilt sat in its scabbard. “However—”

Thalen didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence. A concentrated white-gold beam, no more than an inch wide, pierced through his heart. 

Winner: 

Selira Rulhoi

Outer Disciple Rank: 6,521 -> 6,505

Loser:

Thalen Rulhoi

Outer Disciple Rank: 6,237 -> 6,259

“The rank matters more than the merit points for challenges,” Severus said, seeing his interest in the rank change pop-up over the stillwater barrier of the arena. “Selira is only starting her 2nd year, and she’s already close to Middle Adept. She’s going to surpass Thalen pretty soon. The algorithm is superb, though, so if she were to get mis-ranked somehow, people below her would take her on and force her back in the right place. Losing to someone a lot lower ranked than you is terrible for your rank.”

Alistair nodded. This was all very familiar to him. It sounded like an Elo system for a video game mixed with a ladder. If I only get three challenges per day, it’s going to take a while to climb. Also, it depends on how many of my cards I want to show. 

“The beam seemed to pass through his heart,” Alistair said. “Will he be alright?”

“The arenas stop fatal damage,” Thalen said. “But not smaller injuries. In a lot of ways, if you’re going to lose, you should just get killed. I’ve seen some terrible cases where the stronger party beats the weaker party to an inch of death to get around it.”

“There you are!” Thalen shouted as he exited the arena with his cousin. “I was starting to think you'd gotten yourself killed.”

“It’s as I said,” Alistair replied, shaking the tall man’s hand. Now that he thought about it, they were the same height, it was just that he had grown so much. “The Ancestral Grounds are no joke.” 

“I’m glad I’ve never been. Personally, I find the graves of sect elders and leaders to be a disturbing thing. Even those Visionaries that have reached the peak of cultivation are still mortal. Ah, where are my manners? This is my dear younger cousin, Selira Rulhoi. Only attended the sect for a year and already at 6,505. I’d say she’s on pace to make inner disciple in five years.”

“You flatter me so, Thalen,” Selira said. “You’re the missing newcomer that Thalen was regaling me about. Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you as well,” Alistair said, shaking her hand. “I can’t say I’ve seen disintegration Mana before. It’s quite impressive.”

“The destructive capability is overrated,” Selira said with a shake of her head. “Any affinity can be turned into a weapon of mass destruction.”

“But not as easily as disintegration,” Thalen countered. “It’s far more compatible with Daos of Destruction, and even without the Dao, the multiverse itself recognizes the capacity for destruction, just like dragonfire. Don’t let her fool you with her false modesty. She’s got quite an ego. Now, Alistair, would you be up for a spar?”

“I don’t see why not,” Alistair said. “But I just came back from a mission, and I had to use a ton of my Dao energy and Mana, so my meridians are still recovering.”

“That’s fine, we’ll duel without quintessence,” Thalen said. “Let me send you the challenge. Ranked, of course.”

They tapped bracelets, and a new window popped up.

Thalen Rulhoi challenges you to a duel.

Rules: No use of Mana, nue, or Dao energy allowed externally. Flows of reality usage are restricted. Relatively equalized stats. 

Alistair innately understood the final sentence meant that while Thalen’s stats would be restricted, his allocation and relative aura would be preserved; that is, if he had insane stats for his actual level and a Strength build, he would still have an abnormal amount of Strength with the restricted stats. 

“Rank 9,005 in three days?” Thalen said as Alistair accepted the challenge and they entered the arena. “You’ve been busy.”

Alistair shrugged. “Caught a big snake.”

As they stepped into the arena, the stillwater walls shimmered to life, enveloping them in a faint blue glow. Spatial affinity Mana allowed the arena to be a mile in diameter, yet take up only a hundred feet on the outside. The floor was a sleek white surface that felt like stone to the touch—Alistair having ditched his Fall of Fleet boots, going barefoot.

He felt a slight tingle as the arena’s systems detected and restricted his quintessence. His aura remained the same as the weaker party.

“He seeks to be the ultimate sword!” Severus shouted from outside. “One slice, one kill.”

Sounds familiar. The arena's countdown began. Three... two... one...

Thalen didn’t waste a moment. They started a hundred feet away, but he closed that in an instant, his movements fluid and practiced. His silver sword was a blur as he attempted to slice Alistair in half before there was a chance to react.

Perhaps it would have worked if his stats weren’t restricted. As it was, Alistair was the faster party. 

The infinite sea of knives was a part of him. Infinite Arsenal, the second state of Kai’tazake Mutra. A slight silver aura spread over his skin. He brought forth Materia of True Martial Clarity, wrapping it around his hand and blocking the sword slash with an open palm.

Thalen backed up, sheathing his silver sword in its sheath. Almost immediately after, he put his hand back on the same hilt. 

The slash that came next was fast. Far faster than the first, yet Alistair was ready. The infinite chain of possibilities had readied him for this. 

One slice, one skill. The benefit of such a technique was precision, deadliness. The drawback was that it was calibrated to perfection. Alistair stepped back with unreal precision, the tip of Thalen’s sword slicing a minuscule layer of fabric in his robes. 

In an instant, he switched from Infinite Arsenal to Tranquil Mind. His mental state became that of peak serenity, his reflexes reaching the zenith. 

After his strike only cut fabric, Thalen narrowed his eyes, backing up slowly. “Your Agility is surprising, considering that brutish build.”

In response, he drew his second sword—the one with the pitch-black hilt. The weapon hummed with a silent intensity that echoed in the Dao. 

The tall ginger hadn’t disobeyed the rules—he physically couldn’t. Instead, it was obvious that this weapon had been a great instrument of death.

It had seen eras of bloodshed that Alistair could only imagine, a Dao History that was carried in the sharpness of the blade. 

They stood only ten feet apart despite the enormity of the arena, both waiting to make a move.

Thalen broke the stillness. His next attack came from an unexpected angle, feinting a quickdraw with the silver sword, then twisting his body to perform a slash with the black one. The movement was so fluid that it seemed impossible without Mana enhancement—the fastest strike of the match.

Alistair’s [Adaptive Kinesthesia] activated instinctively. He had seen the pattern of the swings twice. Not killing him with the second was Thalen’s fatal mistake. 

Once again, he dodged with the flow of the sword, this time by an even smaller margin, allowing the blade’s edge to come within less than a hair’s breadth of his skin. It passed so close to his face, a tiny cut opened over his nose from the sharpness of the air itself.

All creatures have patterns, all movements obey causality.

The Tune of the Fight began to flow through Alistair’s mind. As Thalen launched a sequence of increasingly precise attacks, his perception heightened. Faster, slower. The black sword came with increasing speed and precision each time, while the silver sword was the change-up, the slower and larger arcing attack.

The outer disciple’s notes were pure, but incomplete. The black swings were like the powerful melodies of cellos and violins, while the silver sword was a flute’s accompaniment that lacked skill. 

Throat, heart, major arteries. Alistair had the reach disadvantage, but his materia were easily strong enough to block Thalen’s slashes. While the black sword had no weight behind it, the silver sword sent him back dozens of feet at a time.

After ten seconds of carnage, he was getting close to the edge of the arena.

You cannot strike without being in range of your opponent's strike.

This fundamental truth became increasingly clear as Alistair observed Thalen’s movements. So what if a swordsman had a reach advantage? Was their sword not a part of their body? Disarming a master of the blade was like cutting off the hand of a martial artist. Deadly.

You cannot strike without giving an opportunity for your opponent to strike.

Each of Thalen’s attacks, no matter how precise, created a brief window where his own defense was compromised. His absolute commitment to offense was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

Thalen lunged forward, both swords moving in perfect harmony—silver high, black low. Silver slow and heavy, black fast and light. 

His speed reached the summit. This was his fastest attack yet, and also his heaviest—a pincer attack designed to force an opponent to choose which blade to block, either choice being fatal.

When your opponent is hard, become soft. When your opponent is soft, become hard.

Alistair's body responded instinctively. He blocked the black blade and dodged the silver, flowing between them like water. 

The silver sword passed over his ducking head as he twisted inward toward Thalen, not away. 

The black blade whispered past his ribs as he contorted his body at an impossible angle, shifting and dislocating his ribs with his intercostal muscles, so it only sliced superficial blood vessels and skin.

Alistair was inside Thalen’s guard now, too close for the swords to be effective.

Thalen’s eyes widened in surprise. Alistair struck.

Or rather, he didn’t.

Instead, he intentionally over-rotated, stumbling slightly as if he’d lost his balance during his evasion. His body fell forward, his defense seemingly open.

Thalen recognized the opportunity instantly. His black sword reversed its trajectory with blinding speed, aiming to stab Alistair’s exposed back. 

All creatures have patterns, all movements obey causality, Alistair repeated within Tranquil Mind. 

Alistair had counted on this reaction. Thalen’s tune only had so many accoutrements, so many furnishings. Compared to the impossible complexity and loudness of Red Harmonia, it was nothing.  

The tunnel vision of “one slice, one kill” had made him far too predictable.

As the black blade descended, Alistair’s stumble transformed into a controlled drop. He caught himself on one hand and pushed back up while kicking, using his momentum to sweep Thalen’s legs. The swordsman, committed to his killing stroke, couldn’t adjust in time. His feet left the ground.

But the 6,259th ranked disciple was no novice. Even as he fell, he maintained his grip on the black sword, stabbing his opponent through the liver from behind.

In that same moment, Alistair completed his rotation. His feet returned beneath him, and as Thalen fell forward, his hand shot forward, fingers stiffened into a spear-hand that pierced the disciple’s throat.

They both faded away, reappearing in their starting position a hundred feet away.

The stillwater walls flashed once, acknowledging the result.

Winner: 

Alistair Tan

Outer Disciple Rank: 9,005 -> 8,850

(Merit Points: 1,992 -> 2,185)

Loser:

Thalen Rulhoi

Outer Disciple Rank: 6,259 -> 6,399

For a long moment, neither moved. Then Thalen exhaled slowly, sheathing both his swords.

“Well struck,” he said quietly, a note of genuine respect in his voice. “You took the wound to deliver the kill.”

Alistair dropped to a knee, feeling the hole in his abdomen. Dragon’s Blood Mastery revved up, converting Mana to blood essence and accelerating his healing. Thanks to the rules, there wasn’t foreign Dao energy, so he would easily heal from a wound like that without needing the Infirmary. 

“Your technique is beautiful,” Alistair said as they exited the arena. “I’ve never gone up against swordplay of that skill before.”

Well, it’s by definition true because I’ve never fought a sword cultivator at my level, unless you want to count that barbarian Kaesa Lansfeld back in Felons vs. Fellows. Even so, Thalen is pretty good. 

“And I've never seen anyone adapt to my style so quickly. Perhaps you might have a chance against that Xiao Zhenyu bastard. What are the stipulations of his challenge?”

Alistair checked his inbox. “Uh, there are none. I assume that means it’s basically a normal fight?”

“Indeed,” Thalen said, shaking his head. “He might be ranked in the 7,500s, but like us, he’s on the verge of Middle Adept.”

He suddenly stopped, paying attention to Alistair closely. “Your aura feels like it jumped by more than 10% since I last saw you. A new Badge? Never mind, I understand that’s private. Anyway, even with that bump, he’ll have twice your aura. You’ll need a couple of tricks up your sleeve to win, which I hope you have. Because if you don’t, he’s going to savage you.”

The stillwater walls faded, returning the arena to its open state. Severus and Selira approached, the former looking a little too smug that his friend got beaten, while the latter had an unreadable expression.

“155 ranks in one duel,” Severus observed, eyes wide as he looked at the notification. “Are you trying to speedrun outer disciple?”

Alistair snorted at hearing the word “speedrun” at the sect, to the confusion of the others. “Well, I am trying to make inner disciple in a year.”

“Good luck with that,” Severus laughed. “The last one to do that was Norman Goldhair almost two hundred years ago.” 

“Norman? Literal gold hair, talks a lot?” Alistair asked. “Doesn’t he do the tour of the sect of unaffiliated disciples? He seemed like an easy-going guy. I didn’t strike him as the type to rush things.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Thalen said, “but that doesn’t take away from his immense strength. Maybe he didn’t rush anything, it was just his natural progression. They say now that he’s on the level of a core disciple, he just doesn’t want to progress yet.”

“That’s bullshit,” Selira interjected. “Core disciples have so many more privileges. Purposefully holding yourself back is stupidity.”

Severus wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Anyway, why don’t we get back to talking about how my good friend Thalen Rulhoi, first son of Eyedancer Duchy of Dragon’s Landing, got himself trounced by a man with three days under his belt?” 

Alistair put his hands up in submission and shook his head. “No, no, no, it was much closer than it looked. If I were off by a hundredth of a second, I would have lost.”

“So he’s humble too,” Thalen grumbled. “What’re you doing next? Want to get something to eat?”

Alistair glanced around at the other training arenas. “Actually, I think I’ll use my three challenges for today. Might as well climb while I have momentum. Let’s see how far I can go.”