“Why’d you get beat so hard, man?” Oliver asked.
“I concur with the skeleton boy,” Dev’rox said. “That was an embarrassing showing.”
Alistair opened his eyes. His head was throbbing and his limbs felt like they were being weighed down by anchors. He was still on the floor of the training hall, still sweating like a pig.
“How long have I been out for?” Alistair asked.
“Just a few minutes. They dragged you over here to recover.”
Alistair lifted his head off the ground and observed his surroundings. The apostles of the Silver Comet Sect were sparring with each other. He and Oliver were in the corner, along with Ko Pao.
“I should have had two solid hits on him,” Alistair said. “But he’s made of stone or something. I don’t understand.”
Ko Pao chuckled. “That is the famous Steel Body that our sect is prided on. You, boy, you have potential. I can shape you into a masterpiece if you stay with us for three months.”
“Three months?” Alistair questioned. “We can’t stay here for three months. We have to get out of here as soon as possible. I have millions of people relying on me.”
Ko Pao’s venerable smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I am afraid that it might be more difficult to return than you imagine. I have yet to explain the crux of the situation, and for that I apologize. It was not my intention to withhold or mislead, but the circumstances were not proper until now.
“The Holy Ravine is under the control of one organization—the Church of the Holy Ones. You have most likely seen their building already—the temple in the middle of town with a twelve-pointed star. The Church of the Holy Ones was once a sect like us. By the letter of the law, they are still a sect, but in practice they serve as the entire government.
“There are seven martial sects that have existed for a thousand years in these lands. The Silver Comet Sect, the Raging Bull Sect, the Viper’s Fangs Sect, Kodaidaemin, the Sworn Sisters, the Slaves of Shadow, and the Church of the Holy Ones. For the majority of our history, the Holy Ravine has been in flux between these sects, with different ones coming to the forefront at different periods. That is, until thirty years ago.
“The governance of the Holy Ravine is determined by the winner of the triannual Dragon’s Equinox Festival. Each sect sends three fighters under the age of forty and the sect of the winner is declared the governor of the Holy Ravine for the next three years. In our entire thousand-year recorded history, there has never been a four-time repeat victor. Sects have won four times in a row, but never with the same fighter. Then twenty-four years ago, a man from the Church of the Holy Ones appeared. His name was Silvanio Apostolos, and he became the youngest ever governor at the age of seventeen. Then, to the eternal shame of the other six factions, he went on to win seven more times in a row.”
Alistair did some mental math. “So then he’s forty-one now? Meaning that he’s aged out, unless they changed the rules.”
“Correct. As he is now older than forty, he is ineligible to compete in next year’s Dragon’s Equinox Festival. Even Silvanio has not gone so far to change the sacred ruleset, but his control over the Holy Ravine is strong. Ten years ago, after the fifth victory, they rebuilt the town center with the enormous temple you see today. Even though we might not like his rule, we all respect his strength, though all the other sects wonder if his young heir shall be up for the task in next year’s tournament. Or even if he shall relinquish power upon a loss. Alas, these concerns have no bearing on you. All that applies to you and your friend is that Silvanio has a deep distrust of outsiders. By making the decision to harbor you, we have made ourselves enemies of the Holy Ones more than we already were. If Silvanio can control this field you speak of that is limiting your powers, he would never tell you willingly, and he will not let you leave.”
Alistair shook his head. “I’m sorry if we’re a burden. I had no idea.”
“Nonsense. I was the one who said to take you in,” Ko Pao said. “I did it on a hunch. The other outsiders told us of the great changes to the world, but nothing compared to what you said. Your exploits sound legendary.”
“Don’t butter him up too much,” Oliver said. “He’s already got people worshiping him like a god back on Earth. Well, the other parts of Earth.”
“Hah. As if,” Alistair said. “If the tournament is going to take another year, what’s this about three months? How are we going to get out of here?”
Ko Pao held up a finger. “One thing before that, if we agree to train you, you must do something for us in the future. We aren’t so altruistic as to do this for free.”
“Something?” Alistair asked.
“One favor. I can’t tell you exactly what for since I do not know yet.”
Alistair stroked his chin. “I can’t promise you anything. There are certain things I won’t do. But within reason, you have yourself a deal.”
“That is sufficient,” Ko Pao replied. “It’s not as if we are moving heaven and earth for you in the first place. Both of your training will be in our routines.”
“Both?” Oliver asked.
Ko Pao glared at him. “Refusing our hospitality would be unwise, young one. You have much to learn from our teachings. While you may not have the hardware or talent of your friend, all canvases can be painted upon. Now, to your previous question, it is simple. All contests in the Holy Ravine can be determined with the fist. If you want to leave, you’ll have to defeat one of Silvanio’s five champions and ask for a favor. He will respect that tradition.”
“Five champions?” Alistair looked incredulous. “If the Church of the Holy Ones is the most powerful sect, wouldn’t that mean that one of his champions would be equivalent to your strongest apostle? Or at least, one of your strongest? I lost to a guy that’s in the middle of your rankings. How am I supposed to defeat one of his champions?”
Ko Pao tapped his cane on the ground. “As a newcomer without renown in our world, you will certainly fight the weakest of his champions. Indeed, this champion is not the top five of Silvanio’s sect, but has reached his position for his potential. That does not mean he is weak, but he is not at the level of the other champions, or someone like Pike.”
“Pike, the tall guy with the scar and red headband? But isn’t red a rank below black?” Alistair gestured around to the several individuals with black headbands. There were five, excluding Ko Pao.
“I have yet to promote Pike not out of his lack of strength. He is the strongest of the younger generation of this sect. Now, enough talking. Your training begins.”
----------------------------------------
“Master, I don’t understand.” Pike stood leaning against the wall of the training room with his arms crossed. “Why are we placing our bets on this random outsider? We don’t even know if the tall tales he spins about his position in the outside world are true. He could be a liar.”
They observed the first hour of training for their two guests. The tempering of the body came before any technique drilling. Alistair was with the yellow and orange headbands doing intense calisthenics, while Oliver trained with the white headbands practicing both cardiovascular endurance and the strength of their knuckles by punching wooden dummies over and over over.
“What he said corresponds to what the others have said. And have you not felt the Mother’s Presence on him?”
Pike snorted. “Whatever you wish, Master.”
But Pike knew that Ko Pao was correct. It didn’t mean that everything this Alistair spoke was true, but the Mother’s Presence was undeniable. The overall amount of Mother’s Presence had exploded since the displacement of the Holy Ravine onto the planet called Earth, but this man in particular had an obscene amount, rivaling the Master himself. His techniques were pitiable and his physique laughable, but that meant something. It wasn’t just a case of all outsiders being blessed—the other Earthlings were even more deficient than the average yellow headband. Except Vritra.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Pike dislike that arrogant snake, and was glad that he had disappeared. But his power was undeniable. He had defeated Silvanio’s strongest champion with unthinkable speed and power. If Alistair’s words were true, he was even stronger than Vritra since he had defeated the Reptile Emperor.
“You will be his personal instructor,” Ko Pao said.
“What? But surely you would be a superior choice, Master. I am but a candle to your sun as an instructor.”
“You underestimate yourself.” Ko Pao smiled. “I think not of only this moment, but of all future moments. By training this man, you yourself shall reach another level. In next year’s Dragon’s Equinox Festival you will defeat Elerie Apostolos.”
“Truly?” Pike’s eyebrows shot up. Ko Pao was not a man to flatter or exaggerate.
“Are you doubting your master’s words now? Go join the others. I must meditate for an hour.”
With that Ko Pao dismissed Pike, returning to his private meditation chambers deep in the recesses of the temple. Pike performed the ancient breathing ritual of the Seventh Sworn Brother, exorcising all the little demons with his dantian. How much had Master Ko Pao done for him, a wretched delinquent? He had taken in Pike as troubled young man, who fought in the streets every day and night. He owed everything to that old-timer. He would train the outsider. But he wouldn’t go easy on him. If Alistair died from not being able to handle Pike’s routine, that wasn’t his fault, was it?
----------------------------------------
The first two weeks Alistair didn’t train in martial arts at all, nor did he see Oliver except for free time at the end of the day and the ten minutes when all the apostles gathered for a morning and evening hymn under Master Ko Pao.
All of his time was spent “tempering the body.” And by tempering the body, Apostle Pike meant torturing him in new and exquisite ways that would have the worst war criminal blushing.
Alistair had thought he had known pain before. He had thought he had known what hard work was, what struggle was. But he knew nothing of any of that. He knew now that he had lived a sheltered existence. There was no power-up coming, no special Quest. No guidance, and no way out.
He bunked with the yellow headbands, which was the second lowest rank. They had six in total, white, yellow, orange, purple, red, and black. But he only performed half of their daily activities. The other half was personal tutoring under Apostle Pike, the strongest apostle of the Silver Comet Sect under the age of forty. In fact, he was only twenty-five, just three years older than Alistair, though Alistair thought he looked thirty-five with his rough features.
He woke up two hours before dawn with the other yellow headbands. Every day, they went on an hour run at a breakneck pace that Alistair felt was verging on Olympic-level fast. And that was just the beginning. After the run was an hour of “toughness instruction.” What they didn’t explain was that it was the most absurd form of self-flagellation Alistair had ever seen.
The members of the Silver Comet Sect punched and kicked and slammed and elbowed each other over every part of their body in the name of improving durability and endurance. They played a game where each person got one hit on the other, and the first one to touch the ground with any part of their body except their feet lost. After that ridiculous training with only their unarmed body, they would move on to hammer time, which was as crazy as the name sounded. There was a position that rotated among members called the Smith who would go up to each of them and smash them. Oh, but lest Alistair forget, the head was off limits. As if that made things better.
The first time Alistair took a hammer to the stomach, he collapsed to his knees and threw up his dinner.
After toughness instruction they had breakfast, along with a special secret herbal medicine developed from the plants only found deep in their forest that sped up healing and recovery. Then was an hour of strength training, consisting of both calisthenics and weight training with discs of stone. That was Alistair’s favorite part of the day. While it was extremely difficult as they took each exercise to beyond failure with dropsets and supersets and partial reps, it wasn’t literally crazy like the other training types.
After strength training were three hours of drilling techniques and light sparring, but Alistair wasn’t allowed to participate in that. Instead, he had personal tutoring with Pike Zenbatty.
The first day when Alistair and Oliver did their ceremonial duel, Ko Pao let them rest after “light” training which was actually the most grueling physical exercise Alistair had ever done. Therefore, the next day was their first official day.
Three and a half hours after waking up, Alistair reported to one of the private training rooms. Dying.
Alistair drank from his canteen with wanton thirst. He could barely feel his limbs at that point anyway. The kind of training he was doing was beyond reasonable, and on pre-initiation Earth would have led to rhabdomyolysis, an extremely dangerous medical condition where damaged muscle tissue released its proteins and electrolytes into the bloodstream. That further confirmed his suspicions that there was something funky going on with these Holy Raviners. While not even close to the physical capability of a cultivator, they were clearly stronger, faster, more durable, and more cardiovascularly fit than any human in before.
By his best reckoning, it was something with the Dao. He could feel it within all of the apostles, very faintly. A small inkling that powered up their bodies when they expressed their hardened willpower, and improved their techniques to beyond the humanly possible. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach the Dao of the Fist within himself. He could feel it, so faintly, but it was locked behind in an impenetrable wall of darkness.
Pike Zenbatty stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the training room. It was a small enclave deep within the Silver Comet temple, plainly adorned with engravings of comets in the stone walls, along with the names and faces of past sect leaders. With his over two-meter-tall frame, Pike’s shaved head almost reached the ceiling.
Alistair almost fell to his knees upon entering the sweltering room, even hotter than the main training room. When will this end?
His whole body was screaming for mercy. His skin was bruised and battered. His muscles were exhausted. Every breath was agony and the sweltering heat that the Silver Comet Sect included in every single training room didn’t help. At least they were allowed an ample amount of water. Alistair took a swig from his canteen, relishing in the ice cold fresh water.
He had forgotten everything. Overdue debt payments? His parents and friends? The future of Earth? When the body is put under extreme stress, the mind goes blank. Alistair was no longer capable of stringing together chains of coherent thought, only small snippets of conscious volition.
Collapsing to his knees on the floor of the small training room was the first time he had been off his feet in an inordinate amount of time. Finally, his body had a chance to rest.
“I would love to see you give in, outsider,” Pike sneered. “Master Ko Pao puts too much trust in you. The Silver Comet Sect’s reputation will suffer if you fail your challenge.”
“This… is impossible,” Alistair managed to say. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Nonsense. All that reveals is your will is weak. When I was a junior apostle I suffered ten times worse. Where the mind wills, the body follows. This is the basic principle of martial arts, and also of the Mother’s Presence.”
Alistair stayed silent for a few seconds, drinking out of his canteen and trying to stop panting from exertion.
“Mother’s Presence?” Alistair finally asked.
“The Mother of War is our patron goddess. You can feel her presence in every art of war—when you raise your first; when you breath the bellicose air; when you dedicate your body, mind, and soul to the pursuit of victory.”
“The Dao?” Alistair tried to center his imbalanced breathing and concentrate. Without the easy mechanism of his Dao Nodes within his soulcore, the Dao felt so very faint. But there was an inkling, unable to be fully constrained by the suppression field.
“Perhaps. I know not of the outsiders’ techniques.”
“What are we going to do?”
Pike took a deep breath, then straightened his posture. “You’re going to hit me.”
“Uh, what?”
“You will strike me for the next three hours without respite. If you can survive that, I will consider you worthy.”
Alistair wanted to say that that’s not what Master Ko Pao said, but he refrained. The old man wasn’t here to save him. Plus, he wasn’t about to give Pike the satisfaction.
“Isn’t that a technique?” Alistair asked.
“No. I will not be teaching you any specific moves or styles. You are free to hit any part of my body, including my face, with anything you want.”
“And what about down th—”
“No.”
“Okay, that clears things up.” Alistair stretched his fingers, opening and closing them in a fist several times. His breathing was under control and the pain of fatigue had faded into a dull ache. Maybe Pike was right about this mind over matter stuff. The Mother’s Presence. The Dao.
“Maybe—” Alistair decided to be cheeky, throwing a powerful straight right directly at Pike’s face. Was it against the rules? Alistair thought not, and he wanted to see how the red headband apostle would react. Attacking while talking was practically his signature move at this point.
“Disappointing.”
Alistair immediately started cradling his fist, which hurt like hell after connecting. What the hell are these people made of? Alistair wondered. Even their faces were like punching steel. Pike tanked his punch without even moving a centimeter, absorbing the entire kinetic chain of the blow with impassable conviction.
“Again,” Pike commanded.
Alistair calmed down. If a sucker punch wasn’t effective, he needed to try something more orthodox. Jumping up and down to get blood pumping to his legs, Alistair soared into the air, performing a perfectly executed tornado kick straight into Pike’s face.
This time, the pain from hitting the absolute unit that was Pike’s skull bones was lessened since the area of contact was spread over his shinbone. Yet the apostle’s face was still implacable. But Alistair noted that his feet shifted upon impact, ever so slightly.
“Better. N—”
Alistair interrupted Pike’s next words, delivering a left hook to the side, an elbow to the cheek, and then a full power uppercut straight into his tutor’s stomach in quick succession. A loud thud met each blow, with Pike not even flinching in the slightest. Alistair put his hands on his knees after his combo, panting for the humid air.
“Again.” Pike loomed down with his two meter frame like an angry deva. Alistair was in for a long first day.