After the three-hour training with Pike came lunch, a welcome respite in Alistair’s day. Lunch was a full hour and he ate with the other yellow headbands, who were welcoming enough of the outsider. Alistair spent the entire time recuperating as much as was physically possible, and they were allowed to drink more of the herbal tea mixture that sped up healing.
After lunch was another break, thankfully—meditation. But before that, they gave him a nice shave, making him bald-headed like all the other apostles. They spent two hours in solitude, contemplating the deeper mysteries. Somehow, despite being promised that he would learn the secret of the Silver Comet Sect’s Steel Body and the multitude of techniques belonging to their style, the details of their meditation style were forbidden to him.
Alistair spent the time trying to feel “the Mother’s Presence” as the Holy Raviners called it, to no avail. At least it served as a good rest. It was the easiest thing in the world to sit in peaceful, dark loneliness, away from the sweltering heat of the training room. The non-heated areas of the Silver Comet Sect were quite cool.
The next three hours were physical training in the inverse of the start of the day, so weight training, then toughness training, then the run. But saving the run for last made it twice as difficult. The yellow headbands were instructed to go easy on him during toughness training, but not everyone got the memo. However, based on the fact that he wasn’t actually dead from internal bleeding after the session made Alistair convinced that something was going—maybe it was the herbal tea or maybe it was his willpower convincing his flesh to submit.
Dinner came after the run, and then the other yellow headbands had technique and sparring. Alistair instead went back one-on-one with Pike, but instead of punching the man, he had to knockdown a set number of weighted dolls within a certain period, or receive a beating from the apostle.
After two hours of that, there was finally an hour and a half of free time before sleeping and starting the whole thing over again.
On the first day, Alistair was too tired to do anything but lie down and nurse his wounds. The herbal tea was practically a miracle cure, but even that could only go so far in his recovery. Pushing the body to its limits and then far beyond could not be fully ameliorated by a simple medicine.
The Silver Comet Sect forced Alistair and Oliver to bunk separately, but they spent their free time in Alistair’s room, which he shared with three other yellow headbands.
“What’s wrong with you?” Oliver said, who was lounging on one of the hard stone beds. He looked in much better condition than Alistair, who didn’t even want to rest on the heated bed, lest he be unnecessarily reminded of his sweltering training. Instead, he closed his eyes and laid down on the ground.
The only reason Oliver was so chipper was because he had been worked much less hard than Alistair. Unlike some systems where the higher ranks did less work, in the Silver Comet Sect, the workload commensurately increased for the headbands, except perhaps for the black rank. Alistair hadn’t seen Master Ko Pao participating in any of the hard training.
Alistair didn’t respond, closing his eyes in silence and pretending like his body didn’t exist.
Oliver continued to talk to his quiet friend. “Are we really going to get out of here?”
Alistair was in no mood to talk, feeling overwhelmed with fatigue. He wanted to blow up and tell Oliver what a stupid question that was—how was Alistair supposed to know any better than him? They were in the same situation. But he couldn’t. Not when Oliver sounded like a scared little kid. It was Alistair’s duty to stay strong.
“Of course,” Alistair said. “I’m not losing again, especially if their weakest champion is a nepotism hire.”
“Again? When did you lose the first time?”
Alistair realized that he had never told anyone else about what happened. Only Dev’rox was there to witness his beating. He reluctantly retold the story to Oliver.
“And here I was thinking you were the strongest at our level,” Oliver said at the end. “Looks like I have higher heights to aim for now.”
“Red was still like thirty levels higher than me at the time? My level now is probably still under where he was back then.”
“But it sounds like he didn’t even use a fraction of his full power?”
“Shut up.”
“It’s a very sore topic for him,” Dev’rox added.
“Shut up.”
“But I didn’t say anything?” Oliver gave him a confused look.
“Oh, I forgot. Dev’rox can’t speak to you because of the Devonic Elision Field. Looks like I’m the only one that has to hear his annoying voice.”
“Ah. Say hello to Dev’rox for me.”
“I can hear you, boy,” Dev’rox replied.
Oliver stood up from his stone cot, a luxury that Alistair couldn’t perform. “I wonder what changes the Pathfinder AI is going to make once we return. Surely all this training can’t be for nothing?”
“You might become a pugilist yourself,” Alistair said absently.
“How horrific,” Oliver replied. “Our team has enough brutes already. Where’s the sophistication?”
“Hey,” Alistair interjected. “I’m sorry, but can I get some rest?”
“Oh yeah, my bad. I’ll shut up now.”
Alistair felt a little bad that he was dampening Oliver’s youthful spirits, but he needed his rest. Tomorrow was going to be even worse.
----------------------------------------
One week into his training, Alistair was running on empty. He had long passed his physical limits, only his willpower pushing his body to continue.
It was the seventh of his morning sessions with Pike when he began to understand the deeper mysteries his teacher had been trying to important.
All the light had vanished from Alistair’s eyes. All of his lofty ideals and goals had been subsumed and left to the wayside. The willpower that drove him wasn’t his desire for justice or to avenge the weak, but his base hatred of losing.
He could hardly remember his own name or what he was here to do. All that lay ahead was pain and more pain. A single thought passed through his mind—don’t lose.
“Again.”
Alistair punched Pike’s hardened frame with all his might, moving the man back less than a centimeter.
“Again.”
Alistair kicked Pike in the vulnerable spot of a man, ignoring his teacher’s previous prohibition. He didn’t do it on purpose, but he acted purely on instinct since his conscious faculties no longer controlled his movements. From his body’s perspective, he was in a fight for his life and nothing was off limits.
Alistair’s sucker kick moved Pike even less than his punch. Not even a grimace flashed over Pike’s chiseled face. He shook his head, looking down on Alistair. “Wrong.”
If Alistair had been conscious, he might have complained at the ridiculous nature of his training. Pike had not given a single explicit instruction in the entire period of training. Not one single hint or lesson. Just “again” or “better” or “worse” or “wrong” or “insufficient.”
But Alistair wasn’t conscious, at least not fully. So he continued. He continued for two and a half hours, striking Pike in all manner of ways. He tried throws, leg takedowns, trips, kicks, punches, elbow strikes, knees, submissions, eye pokes, knifehands. One-inch punches and fajins. His arsenal of moves was more vast than the most experienced MMA fighter in the world with the direct knowledge of {Psychompomp’s Discipline} imbued in his muscle memory, but Pike didn’t look impressed. If anything, he looked disappointed.
“Your diversity of techniques would shame even the average black headband. Yet why are they so poorly executed?”
Alistair’s mind barely registered those words, following up with a question mark kick—a type of kick that appeared like a front kick, then at the last second transitioned into a roundhouse kick using only the power of the knee. Not the hardest hitting of all the vast array of kicks, its utility was in its surprise factor.
Alistair’s shin smushed Pike’s cheek in, who barely felt a thing. “You’re not even listening, are you? Is our basic training that difficult? I knew Master Ko Pao was wrong about you. You can’t even learn something so basic to save your loved ones?”
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It was obviously a bait, but it worked. Alistair’s anger temporarily overwhelmed his fatigue, and he attacked with a renewed flurry of blows, eschewing technicality.
His body had gotten leaner and less muscular in only a week of staying at the Silver Comet Sect, a testament to their insane training regimen. But despite the loss of muscle, his blows were far stronger than they were at the start. As much as Pike would be loath to admit, Alistair was a prodigy of martial arts. In the little time he had spent learning, his blows were becoming more accurate, more efficient. Just not fast enough.
After his misguided outburst, Alistair could barely breathe. His lungs screamed from the forced intake of the humid air, searing his insides. He rested his hands against his knees and panted like a dog. This was the end. This was his limit. He was going to die.
So why not try to knock that smug smile off Pike’s face before he went out?
Suddenly, his vision shrank. There was only himself and Pike. They were two meters apart, but he felt infinitely close to the red headband.
Alistair tried the most basic of attacks, a right straight directed at Pike’s solar plexus.
His arm was as heavy as a lead rod. His punch was slow, with little explosive force. By all rights, it should have been the weakest punch he’d thrown yet.
Alistair’s eyes opened into a new universe. In his lowest moment, he found the keys to the pinnacle of martial arts. In his ragged breath. In his weak heartbeat. In his blurred vision and delirious brain. The inner workings of the flow of power.
Why had he been wasting so much energy before? The best attack was direct.
Alistair’s fist collided with Pike’s chest with a soft thud. No matter what secrets of power Alistair discovered, he was on death’s door physically. His punch was not strong. But nonetheless, Pike took one whole step back. He did no noticeable damage, and the tall man didn’t make any noise. But that one step was enough for Alistair. He collapsed instantly after seeing the aftermath of his punch.
——
Ko Pao felt his unconscious student’s forehead with his palm. Alistair was resting quietly in the infirmary wing of their temple, attended to by their best medics. A special preparation of the herbal tea was being prepared, many times the normal concentration. It was both miraculously curative and toxic to the internal organs. The secret was that the tea cleansed the body and accelerated healing so thoroughly that it could cause complete system failure from overwork.
“One week?” Ko Pao stroked his long beard. “In the entire records of the Holy Ravine, have you heard of something like this?”
Jo Ran, a black headband just fifty past years and the last champion of the Silver Comet Sect, shook his head. “Never. There is no precedent.”
“Obviously, it’s different,” Pike clarified. “His knowledge and arsenal of techniques exceeds mine, and perhaps even rivals yours, if I may be slightly presumptuous Master Ko Pao. He clearly has had extensive training.”
Ko Pao looked at his closest confidants. “If his statements are to be believed, he first started his journey in the fist four months ago.”
Ectavian, Pike’s closest rival within the sect, offered his opinion. “Further evidence to the power of this ‘cultivation’ the outsiders speak of. With all the information we now know, it is clear that our civilization will not remain in this state forever. Silvanio is a greedy man. Based on Vritra’s departure, he knows a way to the outside world. There is no doubt he will one day venture outside to gain power beyond our imaginations. We cannot forget there is also the possibility that this Final Frontier Empire intervenes and integrates us directly.”
“But this does make us more confident in the outsider’s chances, does it not?” Ko Pao asked. He looked at the archivist, Davnos.
The archivist Davnos, a man of forty years who had just replaced his father in the post, shifted his spectacles. “It’s still a tree colony away, Master. He may grasp the first fundamentals, but the stress we put him through here will severely delay his Steel Body training. We won’t be able to push him to the state required for explosive growth for at least a month and a half.”
Ko Pao assessed their situation objectively. Two sects had aligned themselves entirely to the Church of the Holy Ones. Two more were in their sphere, meaning that they pretended to stay neutral while always siding with Silvanio. One was truly neutral, and two opposed the Holy Ones—only Kodaidaemin and the Silver Comet Sect. Kodaidaemin was the second most powerful group in the ravine, but the opposition’s power slipped every year. Within another decade or two, Silvanio would have complete and uncontested control of the Holy Ravine.
In the past, Ko Pao had been worried about the poisoned fruits of such an outcome. With Silvanio’s greed, he would not have been surprised if the former champion tried incursions into neighboring territory.
But now? After seeing the physical power of a being like Vritra, the answer was clear. If Silvanio was allowed to obtain the power of cultivation, the ruin he would bring on both the Holy Ravine and the outside world was untold. Based on Alistair’s detailed recounting of the initiation, one’s base talent and attributes contributed to both the initial level and subsequent growth of the individual in cultivation.
Ko Pao felt a pang of fear.
There was much to loathe about Silvanio Apostolos. But he was unrivaled under the heavens—the greatest talent in martial arts in the Holy Ravine for over a thousand years. He would master the Pathfinder AI in no time.
The only hope was to align with the powers of the outside world. And for all his naivete and youthful bravado, Alistair was their only hope.
Davnos looked up. “I have no inkling, if I am to be honest. This situation is unprecedented in our history.”
Ko Pao suddenly tapped his cane on the floor with considerable force, causing a wave of wind to expand from the point of contact. “You have not spoken to anyone else about what Alistair told me and Brother Pike on that day?”
“Of course not, Master,” Pike said, the others agreeing.
“Good. Keep that a secret and hold it to your chest. Everything hinges on Governor Silvanio’s ignorance. Continue training the boy and report back to me on his progress.”
----------------------------------------
Alistair went right back to training the next day. Thankfully, the Silver Comet Sect wasn’t entirely mental, and they cut his workload in half, removing the toughness instruction and the first personal session with Pike. That still left two hours of running, two hours of weight training, and two hours in his second session with Pike.
“What did I learn yesterday?” Alistair asked as he approached Pike. They switched locations for their class, taking the lesson outside. Pike stood in the middle of a shallow rapids close to a gigantic waterfall. Alistair’s vision was partially obscured from the mist churned up by the falling water.
“The fundamentals of action,” Pike said. Alistair waded through the water, finding Pike’s implacability astounding. Alistair himself couldn’t help but be swayed by the strong currents, while his teacher was perfectly still.
Despite his collapse from exhaustion yesterday, Alistair felt better than ever today. Actually, that was the wrong way to phrase it. His muscles still ached and he still had internal damage. No matter how strong his willpower was, his physical output was delimited. But he was more solid. That sounded funny since at that very moment, the river was churning him around like butter, but it wasn’t fair to compare himself to Pike.
Pike continued his speech as he waited for Alistair to catch up, wading deeper into the river and closer to the waterfall’s point of contact.
“To properly master the art of fighting, you must understand the ‘intention’ behind all of your and your opponent’s movements. Nothing exists without purpose. Why do I punch or kick at a certain time? Why do I then follow up with a foot sweep or throw? You have entered the realm of fundamentals. But do not confuse this for mastery. You are far behind the peers of your generation within the Holy Ravine.”
Alistair raised his hand, though evidently Pike didn’t understand the gesture based on the confusion on his face. “So what happens in a fight between two masters of fundamentals?”
“Are they exactly the same in their mastery? Such a thing is quite rare. Obviously, the one who sees farther into the depths of intention has the advantage, but their victory is not assured. There are a plenitude of other factors, such as reach, weight, technical skill, willpower, durability, stamina, speed, creativity, and others that I am not thinking of now.”
“So who’d win in a fight?” Alistair asked. Pike continued backpedaling, not even looking behind. The waterfall was only a few body lengths away, the deafening noise of the crashing water forcing the two of them to shout. “You or Master Ko Pao?”
Pike chuckled. “Master Ko Pao, of course. While I surpass him in all physical categories, he is a supreme archon of the fist. In all the Holy Ravine, he is in the top three strongest fighters. Only Silvanio Apostolos and Mira Xeni surpass him. Some say Lord Xiaoli as well, but I disagree.”
“A woman is at the top?” Alistair asked. Based on everything he had seen, gender didn’t matter in the least in terms of strength for cultivators. While the people of the Holy Ravine lacked Mana, they were certainly superhuman in many respects, so it wasn’t necessarily surprising.
“This is unusual to you?” Pike almost had his back underneath the waterfall now. He outstretched his arm and beckoned Alistair to come forward. “Why is that the case?”
“Not unusual, per se,” Alistair said. “In the arena of cultivation there isn’t a difference between the genders, though since you guys don’t have extreme magic, I’d assume it would be closer to Earth where men had an advantage in combat.”
“I see. I am not well traveled, but I have heard from the archivist, Davnos, that there are certain lands where women do not fight. The Kingdom of Erazt for one. That strikes me as foolish. We cannot spare a man, woman, or child. Strike me.”
Alistair lunged forward. But he stopped midway.
“What happened?” Alistair asked.
“Ah, you’ve seen it now,” Pike replied. “You can’t read the intention, can you?”
“Are you using some technique to hide it?” Alistair wondered.
“No. You unlocked your true sight under extreme duress. While a master can access it as easily as walking, you are not there yet. You will have to partially replicate the conditions.”
“Didn’t Master Ko Pao say that I shouldn’t push myself too far? How am I supposed to do that?”
“The mind conquers all things.”
Very helpful. Alistair closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. It always came down to the breathing, didn’t it?
He tried to remember the sensation of seeing the principles of movement. The state of his body. At the footstep of death’s door. Alistair strode toward Pike with his eyes still closed, letting his other senses take over.
The feeling of oneness returned. It reminded him somewhat of communing with his Dao Nodes, though the exact nature of that was lost to him. Ever since entering the Devonic Elision Field, it was like his specific memories and feelings that he had of anything cultivation related were sealed behind an impenetrable gate.
Slowly, piece by piece, Alistair was confident that he was learning to access the Dao manually, what the Raviners called the Mother’s Presence. Compared to his full power, it was literally a microscopic droplet, which made Alistair wonder if he had already inadvertently accessed the fundamentals while using the Dao of the Fist while he wasn’t suppressed and just forgot about it.
But something deep inside him made him think otherwise. While his memories were partially sealed, he was sure that he had never seen so deeply into the machinations of combat.
With natural ease, Alistair flowed into a flurry of blows without opening his eyes. From his perspective, it was like it happened in slow motion. Every muscle moved with intention. All of his strikes felt as if they landed at the same time, defying the laws of causality.
Alistair opened his eyes. He had pushed Pike back into the waterfall. But even more than that, Pike had moved. Alistair had the edge of his hand a few centimeters away from the apostle’s throat, who had blocked with his palm, catching Alistair’s blow with ease.
Alistair laughed hysterically. He had gotten Pike to block!
To his credit, Pike didn’t look bothered at all by his pupil’s growth, despite his previous dislike of Alistair. “It’s finally time to start training for real.”