The rest of the meal went without much of note. They mostly discussed internal politics and Holy Ravine affairs. He had Dev’rox absorb as much of it as possible. The infernal imp didn’t even need a bribe since he genuinely enjoyed political machinery. It gave him something to do while he was trapped inside Alistair’s body.

Back at the sect, Alistair’s training ramped up once again. They never went easy on him by any stretch of the word, but after nearly dying while unlocking his foresight, his body physically needed a break.

He was placed back into the regular group with the other orange headbands. That meant the runs, the toughness instruction, weight training, and sparring.

Alistair found the moves coming naturally to him after his bout with Apol-Xin. Not that he was a slow learner before, but the actual life experience of their fight increased his learning rate an appreciable amount. Alistair worked twice as hard as anyone else, so that no one thought he was coasting on his talent alone.

Every day hurt like hell, but it was doable. Pike worked him twice as hard in their personal sessions. He brought in a rotating coterie of purple headbands for him to spar with. They didn’t go that hard so he could recover, but it was still tough fighting against opponents every single day.

It felt like Pike had a secret motive with his selection of opponents. He never spoke about it outright, but Alistair could feel that each was tailored to a certain weakness in him. Whatever Pike chose to focus on in their training, he would find a purple headband to match that theme.

For example, if they were training to better Alistair’s foresight, the sparring partner would be someone with deep insight into the fundamentals of battle. If they were instead aiming for increased power generation, he would face a physically imposing opponent. All this served to round off Alistair’s rough edges and turn him into a fighting beast.

Alistair adapted to the new schedule faster than it got harder. The Steel Body training increased all of his physical stats except speed. All in all, that meant his mind wandered more than before, when he barely had any energy to think.

His thoughts drifted to the Northeast Order Freehold. To Alexandra, his family, John, the Woods, and Pharaoh. To Donna and Tamia and all the other innocent people. Because of the time dilation, he calculated they had just finished the second week of Earth Asunder. He had missed an entire natural disaster cycle. There could be an untold amount of damage from whatever storms or quakes or floods emerged.

Based on the rate of the flow of time, he would return six days into the second wave of [Armageddon]. And he would miss out on all the Contribution Points. He really wanted the highest Contribution Score. How would the Pathfinder AI treat the sudden change in his knowledge and abilities?

Alistair smacked himself in the face. It was no use worrying about things outside his control. Whatever happened on the outside happened. He needed to focus on his training and getting stronger.

Today, Pike was taking him for special training. But he wasn’t alone. Ko Pao had assigned to him a partner from a different sect, a woman named Izaila d’Fortune. She came from Kodaidaemin, an allied sect to the Silver Comet. Together, they were the last opposition to the total domination of the Church of the Holy Ones.

This was nearly two weeks after Alistair’s fight against Apol-Xin. Already, he was too strong for the orange headbands. His growth was unstoppable. Apol-Xin, who once easily defeated Alistair, was easy pickings now. They had scheduled his promotion bout to purple in two days.

Izalia was meant to bridge that gap. The other sects in the village didn’t use precisely the same headband ranking system, but she was still at the top of the heap in Kodaidaemin, having a black rectangle tattooed on her forehead. Their style was predicated on fast and precise combos. It wasn’t as quick as the Holy Ones, and they didn’t have their whimsical sense of airiness either, but used direct, straight lines of attack. In that sense, they were somewhat similar to the Silver Comet Sect.

Alistair thought he understood why Master Ko Pao chose someone from another sect, and not internally. Since he was climbing so fast, it was embarrassing for the apostles to lose to him when he was weaker than them not a few weeks ago. By using an outsider, he didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

His progress wasn’t their fault. He already knew so many techniques that once he had been given the keys to employ them, he was destined to grow leaps and bounds. Alistair looked at Izalia d’Fortune with greedy hunger. How soon would he be able to beat her?

Ouch. Alistair almost recoiled from a stream of water entering his eye.

After hours of various martial exercises, they ended the day meditating under a waterfall. Well, maybe meditating wasn’t the right word. Pike instructed Izalia and Alistair to stand on a rock face underneath a billowing, rigorous waterfall. Tens of thousands of gallons of water fell over their heads every second. While they stood there, they had to punch continuously.

Pike had the two apostles stand facing each other to up the competitive spirit. He didn’t give them any goal in particular to aim for, or any notion of when the exercise would end.

So Alistair punched away. He kept a steady but superhuman pace, punching a permanent veil in the water with his immense speed. However, even with his durability, it was incredibly painful to remain under the falling river. The pressure and weight of the water felt like a ton of rocks crushing his shoulders and head. He could barely breathe with the water trying to wade its way into every orifice.

Alistair looked over at his partner. She was tall for a woman, coming up to his eyes, with black hair and large purple eyes. Despite her height, she was very skinny, skinnier than you would expect for a martial artist, and had an unusually youthful face. She met his gaze unwaveringly, showing intense determination.

“Excellent, excellent,” Pike announced after thirty minutes of their practice. At that point, Alistair’s arms wanted to fall off. Punching for half an hour was normally as easy as walking for him, but the added mass of the water made it like having a hundred kilograms weight on each arm. “Let’s take a quick break.”

Thank goodness, Alistair thought to himself, practically falling out of the waterfall. To his dismay, Izalia showed him up by reacting slowly to Pike’s words. She stayed punching for a few moments more. That was unnecessary.

Pike ushered them to a cliff face overlooking the Silver Comet Sect’s temple. In the distance, you could make out the smoking chimneys of the main town square, and the looming specter of the Church of the Holy Ones. In times like these, a scenic vista was something Alistair wouldn’t neglect to enjoy. There was something sublime about the natural beauty of the Holy Ravine. Despite its parochial milieu, Alistair found it easy to believe how such powerful individuals would choose to remain within its borders.

“What was the purpose of that exercise?” Pike asked the two of them.

Both Alistair and Izalia shot up their hands with the vigor and enthusiasm of a teacher’s pet. Pike shook his head. “Okay, we’ll take turns. Alistair, you go first.”

Alistair tilted his head and stroked his chin. “Uh, because you want us to get used to acting under pressure?”

“Wrong!” Pike slammed his fist into a nearby rock, causing a massive shockwave that sent cracks all throughout the mountainside. “That is part of the reason, but not even close to the main purpose. We can do that anywhere. Why specifically here, on the mountainside, and underneath the River Sylo? Izalia, go.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Izalia stiffened and spoke with youthful brashness. “Sir, I believe it is because the method of water is the most suffocating of all. The ancient songs of the Holy Ravine describe the exploits of the Fisher Hero Dranik who trained to face the Serpent of the Depths by standing under a waterfall.”

“That’s more like an extended version of Alistair’s answer. The real answer is tradition.” Pike performed the standard moveset of the Silver Comet Sect, what Alistair would call a kata, and the Pathfinder AI’s soul translation service agreed. A series of prescribed movements in a standard order that is meant to be memorized and assist with the cohesion of one’s martial arts. The kata Pike performed was simple, relying on strength and power.

Pike looked at them with a devilish grin. “What good are these moves? And when I say these moves, I mean these exact moves.”

“Presumably, they are an accretion of thousands of years of users,” Alistair answered. “In each generation, the best techniques are preserved for the future, with ineffective methods left to the wayside.”

“You’d think that,” Pike replied. “But that isn’t necessarily true. The kata are great, yes, but to call them perfect would be an interesting claim. Their weight comes from tradition, not perfection.”

“Tradition, but not perfection?” Alistair asked. “But why would you purposefully lessen your own techniques by passing on imperfect techniques?”

Izalia scoffed. “That’s easy, newbie. Does this concept not exist on your world? Tradition is power. When a legendary hero has used a certain technique to vanquish her infamous enemies, the technique itself becomes legendary.”

Alistair called up Dev’rox from his dormant state. The imp’s lethargy was difficult for Alistair to contend with. He did not like thinking of what was happening to his friend. The two of them had a bond that transcended their initial pact. Without words, he knew that if he didn’t get out, Dev’rox would eventually pass to nothingness.

“Is that something true of the whole multiverse?” Alistair asked Dev’rox. “Sorry to bother you, buddy.”

“Buddy? That’s new,” Dev’rox said. If he had his material form, he certainly would have been grinning. “It is fine. I still have enough gathered spiritual presence to last for another three months, so you’ll have a berth of over a month to leave. Just don’t call on me too much. As for your question, while I haven’t heard it in those exact terms before, it sounds correct. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say it is connected to the Akashic Records.”

The Akashic Records. The mysterious location at the center of metaphysical reality. Alistair’s ghost blood dragon bloodline came from the Akashic Records. It was an interesting theory. Perhaps when accessing a move that had achieved momentous accomplishments, it was stronger because of being closer to the metaphysical center of the Akashic Records.

“Ah,” Alistair said, not wanting the conversation to grow awkward in silence. “Yes, I apologize, I did know that. So by changing technical imperfections in a technique, you could lose the bonus from the legendary nature? In that case, wouldn’t all the best moves be the oldest ones with the most storied histories?”

“Aha! You’ve stumbled onto something, my apprentice.” Pike jumped onto a boulder overlooking Alistair and Izalia. “Two things—legendary accomplishments are only legendary as long as people remember them. The sands of time take all. Generally speaking, the strongest period of a legacy is two generations after it is created. Enough time to cement the story in people’s minds, but within or almost within living memory, though of course there are exceptions for the truly brilliant. And then, of course, there is genius.

“Genius is like the blooming of a flower. Delicate, and fleeting. Always destined to occur. Using an ancient technique to the letter is fine. But improving upon it with your own creativity? That is sublime. That is the pinnacle we all try to reach.”

“What if you aren’t even modifying a known technique?” Alistair wondered. “Like, what if someone just makes something purely from their imagination, with no provenance?”

Pike flashed a high kick faster than Alistair could even dream of reacting in his current state. The large apostle’s toes touched his nose, though Alistair swatted it down right away since the smell was quite gross. “Then your name would be forever remembered like Dranik or Elegion or Red Harmonia. I recommend you aim for those heights.”

“Is Silvanio at that level?” Izalia asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Pike said. “Now, back to my original question.”

“My answer was essentially correct,” Izalia complained. “Of course I knew about the tradition aspect, but I was answering from the perspective of the original user, sir.”

“Very well. You get full credit for your answer. Go ahead and punch Alistair as you reward.”

Izalia smirked and dashed into an elbow strike right for Alistair’s stomach. Since he had forewarning, he braced for impact, diffusing the impact of the blow with the Steel Body. Still, it hurt.

“Is this really necessary, Brother Pike?” Alistair coughed. “When I get a question right, I can’t hit her.”

“You’re more sturdy than her. Have some decency,” Pike retorted with a smile. “I allow you to try to strike her, but you just miss every time.”

Alistair sighed. That much was true. He had met Izalia d’Fortune today and in the half-dozen times Alistair had been allowed a punch for answering a question correctly, he had hit only air.

“That’s enough for this lesson,” Pike said. “How about a short sparring session, and then we can go into the town?”

Both Alistair and Izalia excitedly agreed. They barely got any free time, so a sojourn into the town was much needed.

Alistair rolled up his sleeves. Sparring session time it was.

----------------------------------------

Alistair held in his pain as the three of them ran through the forest. Putting it mildly, Izalia had beaten his ass. They hadn’t gone a hundred percent since it was sparring, but he knew he was far outclassed. There was simply nothing he could do.

But for some reason, it didn’t feel as bad as when he got destroyed by Apol-Xin. With his greater experience, he could plainly see the areas where the d’Fortune heir outclassed him. She was faster than him, saw deeper into the fundamentals of martial arts than him, and had superior perception than him. Her application of technique and reflexes were superior. These things could and would be improved over time.

That didn’t take away the soreness from his ribs and the pain he experienced in every rapid step as they cruised through the forest.

At their rapid pace, it only took thirty minutes to sprint through the forest. Alistair requested that they pick up Oliver along the way. He knew that his friend was wilting in the Silver Comet Sect, to put it lightly. That kid had a lot of grit. No, Alistair thought. I can’t call him a kid anymore, can I?

Despite not having a lick of martial arts background, Oliver had adapted as best he could. He was still in the white headband group, and near the bottom of the pack, but he never gave up. Alistair guessed that he wanted to prove to Alistair that he wasn’t weak, that he had the mental fortitude to never give up.

The last week or so, Oliver had barely spoken. The intense training took its toll, and he rolled up into bed as soon as possible every night. This would be an opportunity for him to relax and have fun.

Alistair pleaded with Pike for the Necromancer’s case. Technically, it wasn’t allowed, but the experienced apostle pulled some strings and permission to bring Oliver along for the ride.

The four of them made their way through the forest and joined the main trail leading into town. In a strange coincidence, Alistair saw a familiar face on the way.

“Grag?” Alistair asked. He spotted two people a couple of body lengths away along the road to the town center, one of whom looked very familiar with his farmer’s tan and red silk robes.

“Oh? Oh! May, it’s those outsiders!” Grag exclaimed. “This har is my wife, May. Ya didn’t see her last time round cuz she was at her folks’ house.”

“Nice to meet you, May,” Alistair said, unsure of what greeting custom to use. He had found out the hard way that the clasping handshake was only for after duels or moments of great significance, and not to be used as a standard greeting.

Luckily, the woman made a simple and deep bow that he returned in kind. May was a short woman, her head reaching her husband’s shoulder, with similar tanned skin.

“You know these two, Alistair?” Pike asked.

“We met them when I came here for the first time,” Alistair said. “What are you two doing here?”

“A most joyous occasion! May’s little sister is getting marred, and there’s a gran’ old fest goin’ on in the Dragon’s Head tavern.”

“Marred?” Alistair raised an eyebrow.

“Married,” Izalia supplied.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Alistair said. Oliver nodded his head vigorously.

“I’m so happy for the two of tham. Such a wonderful couple. Say what, would ya like to come along?”

“You’re sure it wouldn’t be an issue?” Alistair asked. “We don’t know the bride or groom at all.”

Grag was about to say something, but then he seemed to get a hold of his surroundings. He immediately bowed, almost to an absurd degree, testing his back’s limit in flexibility.

“Mah apologies, Lord Fighter,” he said, bowing many times over toward Pike. His wife copied him. “I did not see ya at first. And Lady Fighter, ma’am. Please have mercy on me and mah wife. I would not dare think o’ inviting ya to the wedding.”

Alistair was taken aback by how servile Grag was. It was a good reminder of the difference in status of those at the top of the Holy Ravine and those at the bottom. Grag must have recognized the red headband tied around Pike’s forehead as a symbol of authority within one of the seven sects. They were the nobility of the Holy Ravine. It felt weird, since he thought of them more like warrior monks than nobles or aristocrats. Except Silvanio, he had major noblesse oblige vibes.

Pike put up an arm nonchalantly. “It’s alright, I care little for political titles. You don’t have to address me so formally. I’m not my great-great-great grandfather, after all. Alistair, do you want to join them? I suppose we’ll have to take off our headbands to blend in.”

“I think it could be fun. What do you think, Izalia?” Alistair asked.

“I’m for anything that doesn’t involve more training. Let’s go.”