If the concept of crushing were somehow personified it’d be akin to a mindless brute with the biggest club in town and an insatiable penchant for putting it to use—if, and or when, any problems should arise—irregardless of whether a caved in skull or shattered kneecap was the best possible solution anyone could come up with at the time.
On the contrary, going by this bastards backward logic, any problem whose solution didn’t include extreme violence shouldn’t even be considered a real problem to begin with.
And, by that same branch of logic, anyone caught spreading such malicious misinformation deserved a good long thrashing just for wasting its time.
A belligerent caveman with more brawn than it had sense, and an innate aversion towards anything even remotely resembling complexity.
It was all that and more, while also, simultaneously, making up the whole of upper management for whom he was forced to run everything by. If you couldn’t already tell, the mantra formation process wasn’t going all that well.
On the bright side, at least, within the strange realm that was this “pantheistic workshop,” he had a handy visual aid with which to track his many failures.
At first, it’d taken a fair bit of compare and contrast to even comprehend what it was he was seeing.
A neon purple explosion of roiling mist and warped lines, somehow held in perfect, glittering stasis, as if frozen in time. More akin to a semitransparent sculpture, which he manipulated with the same intuitive ease as he would any system screen. A single thought all it took to spin it a full three hundred sixty degrees, shrink it down to the size of a pin head, or blow it up to human proportions.
What the hell it actually depicted, or more specifically, what it was trying to depict, only made clear after he’d given the same editorial treatment to the other, far more stable mantras.
Selecting edit on his [Iron Fist] mantra, for instance, presented him with a far more decipherable scene. In it was depicted a nondescript warrior—formed of multilayered geometric symbols all outlined in purple—putting his fist straight through a crumbling stone wall.
Likewise, [Force Hammer] depicted that same warrior, sending out a pulse of silvery mist to obliterate a freestanding boulder.
Both models were crisp and immaculate. So much so that, if you ignored the wrapping lines and archaic symbols, it was possible to make out even the tiniest details across the warrior’s honed musculature. From the individual veins of his hand, to the beads of sweat on his brow. It was a picture so complete and staggeringly precise that it only further put into perspective how fuzzy, confused, and just plain incomplete his sorry attempt had been.
No wonder it’d blown up in his face.
If the first two were an example of what was to be expected of him, he felt justified in his decision to leave this method on the back burner for now. As it was, any attempts he’d made to poke and prod the arcane profusion of dandelion fluff into a shape that was at least recognizable, had been met almost exclusively with stubborn resistance.
As if the concept itself were… arguing with him.
Well, it was less a dialogue, and more its outright refusal to play nice. Every time he tried to introduce just the smallest bit of complexity, it was like rolling a boulder up a steep hill while a god watched on and lobbed halfhearted insults—occasionally reaching out and kicking it all the way to the bottom for seemingly no reason at all.
By the time he realized that his designs were only ever rejected for being too complicated, he was about ready to tear his own hair out. It became very clear to him, over the course of what felt like an eternity spent in trial and error, that any idea more complex than the running philosophy of, hit thing good, hit thing strong, would be met by outright refusal from the cosmic patron at large.
On top of everything else, it didn’t at all help his case that he’d initially intended for [Force Blast] to be, gods forbid, a defensive technique.
As it was, he was getting pretty sick and tired of the whole process, and was more than a little concerned with how warped his sense of time had become. Thinking back on it, it didn’t feel as though all that much time had passed, though seeing as he’d yet to feel hungry, tired, strained, or otherwise… well, human—a human being with normal bodily needs—he couldn’t help but worry.
Casting aside his failed project with another swelling of frustration, Jun rose to his feet and summoned two of the three mantras. He would leave this place, he decided, fairly confident at this point that all it would take was a thought. But before that, he’d make sure to snag a couple more mantras for the road. As he locked eyes with the first construct, a notification appeared.
Basic Mantra: [Iron Fist] (1st Aspected)
Grade: (Poor Quality)
Conceptual Stability: 17%
Do you wish to spectate, assimilate, or edit?
Without further ado, Jun selected assimilate.
You have selected the Basic Mantra: [Iron Fist] as your trial partner.
Is this correct?
YES/NO
Wait, what?
Initializing…
Calculating Trial Difficulty…
Your resonance pillar has been adjusted for.
Your body cultivation has been adjusted for.
Your soul cultivation has been adjusted for.
Be at ease. Your Mantra: [Iron Fist] does not offend its patron.
Please hold…
*Ding!*
Estimated Trial Difficulty: |1 Star|
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Designated Arena: Iron Fist Sect Entry Exams
Acclaim Bonus: NOT APPLICABLE
Notoriety Bonus: NOT APPLICABLE
Demonic Alignments: NOT APPLICABLE
Heavenly Alignments: NOT APPLICABLE
Star Ranking: NOT APPLICABLE
Temporary Titles: None
Please hold still while we transport you.
Your trial will begin in: 10… 9… 8…
Wait! What?!
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
The first world avatar slowly roused itself into wakefulness.
It was an involved process.
One that had been going on in the background ever since the introduction of this brand-new variable. As it awoke, it watched the new variable tinker with some of its surface level functions—the few still operational after its long time spent dormant.
Before its voluntary shutdown, it had spent entire eons in search of formal contact. At first targeting the scattered remnants of the first empire and its descendants. Then, when that search ultimately proved futile, it simply sought out any who might receive its call. In all that time, not a one of its efforts bore fruit.
And in all that time, not once had it predicted something else would find it first.
Even in the hypothetical event it had accounted for such an inconceivable anomaly, the odds of this pioneer being a juvenile mortal were so slim as to be the next thing to impossible.
A mystery as well then, on top of everything else.
Truly, when one variable relied upon for myriad functions comes askew, a cascade is the inevitable consequence.
It took some investigating before its curiosity was sated. To notice that the variable’s interface had been crudely tampered with. It hadn’t taken long after that to discern truth from fiction. Now, with confirmation that the child was fate-touched, one of the Fen’Reale, its calculations fell well within reasonable parameters.
Even better, now with an agent of providence karmically linked to its domain, plans it had abandoned long ago had a far higher chance of coming to fruition. It would still be some time yet before it was fully operational. Thankfully, the passage of time had never bothered the world avatar much. Just the fact that it once more had a direction was more than enough.
In the meantime, it would watch the Fen’Reale attempt its trial. More extensive preparations could come after.
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
“Junwei! You lazy dog. I know you’ve never been much for reading, but was your plan really to sleep through the whole of the exams? I know they say the written portion holds little bearing on the final selection, but good luck becoming an outer disciple without at least taking the practical first.”
Jun jerked awake with a splutter and a cough, only to be greeted by the familiar sounds of hilarity being had at his expense. The only thing that really stuck out to him about this turn of events, the fact that he didn’t actually recognize any of the voices.
See, there was this distinctive cast to the kind of derisive laughter he was so intimately accustomed to, and these halfhearted snickers weren’t nearly cutting, nor cruel enough to have originated from the members of his family.
Abruptly, Jun noticed an uncomfortable wetness running along his left cheek, then, looking down, discovered that a rather incriminating pool was darkening what appeared to be an academic textbook.
Had he been… drooling?
What the hell? He never drooled!
What was going on here?
Using a sleeve to scrub away the evidence, he ignored the second ripple of amusement this aroused, as he tried desperately to catch his bearings.
He was in a classroom of sorts. A wide, multilayered lecture hall with tiered seating enough to accommodate maybe a hundred students in total. It was a thing of bright wood paneling and rice paper screens—a set of stairs leading down the center aisle to open out onto the main floor below.
The main floor, and what he assumed was the instructor’s lectern. An instructor whose flinty, clearly unamused gaze made as if to pin him to the back of his chair. Jun quickly looked away, a single brush with those cold grey eyes all the casual contact he could stomach.
As he’d already been made well aware, he wasn’t the only person present. On the contrary, there were dozens.
Not enough to fill every seat in the hall, though not far from it either. Only belatedly did he recognize the instructor’s unique attire. A set of simple, though elegant cultivator’s robes finely embroidered with silvery, cloud-like patterns.
Admittedly, it went quite well with the man’s topknot, long hair, and nearly angelic features. It was also a fashion trend—obnoxious facial symmetry and, what he could only assume were sect colors, aside—that repeated itself all throughout the hall, himself included. That being said, the ostentation of each individual set of robes varied wildly from person to person.
Clearly, not all who came to take the exams were born equal. There was an obvious divide between those whose parents evidently had money, and those whose most certainly did not. Ironically, he apparently landed squarely in the latter category.
“Pencils up,” snapped the instructor. “You are now to approach the front, at which point you will then hand your papers over to teacher’s assistant Chen. If you should, for whatever reason, refrain from doing so in an orderly fashion—or have otherwise failed to complete the exam in the generous time that has been allotted—just know that it will be recorded, and you will be marked accordingly.”
Jun didn’t need to look up to know that the instructor was still staring daggers in his direction. And as for the others, the rustle of papers and scrape of chairs was their only response as the ninety odd applicants rose from their seats. Proceeding to make their way towards the center aisle.
Feeling an absurd jolt of panic, Jun was unsurprised to find every single answer on his test utterly blank. Without exception.
Seriously? This is like a bad dream. I literally just got here!
“Wow. Just… you’re really unbelievable, you know that?”
Jun glanced up and away from his test, only to come face to face with a bespectacled boy around his own age. He was tall and lanky, with a farmer’s tan and obvious freckles. He was also the owner of the voice that’d awoken him in the first place.
“My friend, you’re either too foolhardy for your own good, or a damned fool outright. Even if you’d only answered randomly there’s a good chance you’d have gotten at least some of them right. You’d better hope you really impress Elder Shao during the practical examination, because right now I’m pretty sure he’d sooner kill you than make you an outer disciple.”
For a pregnant few seconds, Jun couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Then, instead of spouting out something unproductive like “I have no idea who you are!” “I haven’t spoken to you a day in my life!” or “Don’t you realize that none of this is real?!” he simply grinned sheepishly and got up to follow the others.
“I was… tired,” he replied rather lamely.
Several behind and ahead of him chuckled at that. His apparent friend—note to self: ask for a name; discreetly if at all possible—laughed along with them, though not in a malicious manner.
“Hah! I’ll say.”
And then there was only companionable silence.
Jun, for his part, took this as an opportunity to study his apparent competition. As bad as he’d undoubtedly done on the test, there were others who appeared, going solely based off their decidedly greenish complexions, to have somehow done worse. Though, perhaps that was less a consequence of the portion he’d missed, and more in anticipation of the one that would come after.
Meanwhile, on the flip side there were those that appeared, if anything, far too confident.
Not always, though most often it was the better dressed applicants who practically secreted self-confidence from their pores—with chins raised high and wealth on clear display, like so many proud roosters strutting about their domain.
Whether or not all that bravado was earned, he couldn’t really say. It could be that they were simply in the same boat as him. In that they all had a pretty good idea what this “practical portion” would look like.