Griffin found himself mesmerized by the scene that unfolded before him as he stepped into the Martial Law Sect for the first time.

A large, slightly elevated stone arena dominated the space before him. Relatively ordinary in make, the arena itself was not what had attracted his attention. No, it was the hundred or so robed cultivators that were spread across it’s surface in groups of two, cycling through a series of telegraphed motions in unison.

Fifty punches were thrown out and fifty punches were caught in the palm of the cultivators’ hands. Their coordination was a sight to behold, the sound amplified by several degrees as they kept their movements synchronized to an almost perfect degree.

“What are they doing?” Griffin asked Jun-Ra as they walked past them, towards a wide, single-storey building that was almost twice the length of the arena and placed parallel to it. If he had to guess, he would bet it was some form of conditioning meant to make the body more resilient to impact.

“....am up,” Jun-Ra replied, only for her voice to be drowned out by the thunderclap of fifty leg kicks being blocked at the same time.

“I didn’t catch you.”

“Warm up,” Jun-Ra repeated calmly.

Griffin found himself too flabbergasted to respond, simply nodding and continuing to follow Jun-Ra and Shen-Ya towards the single storey building that was hallmarked by a plaque depicting two long, snakelike creatures with horns intertwined in a battle against each other.

When he stepped inside the building through a pair of sliding doors, Griffin was immediately greeted by a wave of comforting warmth and the scent of burning incense, albeit a far more pleasant version of it compared to what he recalled back on earth, like the aroma of an exquisite dessert.

“Guardian Jun-Ra,” A burly voice called out with familiarity in his tone.

Griffin turned his attention to his left, discovering a tall, ridiculously well built man standing behind a counter. A blacksmith’s apron was worn over his cultivator robes, his tanned skin and towering height making for a very intimidating sight.

“Guardian Mok-Rakan,” Jun-Ra acknowledged.

“A new face,” Mok-Rakan noted, his tone sounding intrigued. “Well, how can I assist the rising star of the Inner Courtyard.”

“Please, Guardian Mok-Rakan. You know that the monsters hiding in the Central Courtyard are not people I can hope to contend with anytime soon,” Jun-Ra seemed to humbly downplay her achievements, though Griffin could swear that he detected a hint of bitterness in her words, if only for an instant.

“Nonsense,” Mok-Rakan waved his hand dismissively. “You will make us proud in the annual intra-sect competition.”

“Thank you for your encouragement,” Jun-Ra politely accepted the praise. “Guardian Mok-Rakan, this is my cousin brother, Gen-Ra. He has been granted a temporary membership into the inner courtyard by Elder Shirong and is now here to collect his orientation amenities.”

“Has he gone through the initiation process?” Mok-Rakan asked.

“No, but I hope that will not be necessary for now. He hopes to retain every edge he can for as long as possible.”

“Ah,” Mok-Rakan offered a light nod in subtle understanding. “Well, if Elder Shirong is okay with it, then who am I to stand in your way. Take a seat, this will take a moment.”

Griffin used that time to better understand the purpose of the building he was currently situated in.

The blacksmith Guardian seemed to be incharge of a small storehouse situated in the bottom-left corner of what he was interpreting as a Dojo. The wooden walls were surprisingly bare, the chair he was currently seated on comfortable yet very much utilitarian. Cultivators drenched in sweat left one of the two dozen doorways positioned on either side of a long passageway that took up most of the remaining surface area, in groups of twos and threes.

He only spotted a single new group, two smartly dressed cultivators dressed in light-azure robes offering a salute to Mok-Rakan before entering one of the recently vacated chambers.

A training ground of some sort, for one on one sparring?

“What are those rooms for?” Griffin asked, as his curiosity got the better of him.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Those are private cultivation chambers,” Shen-Ya answered. “Very expensive, a single hour costs ten times more than your armor and has to be booked days in advance.”

Just as Griffin thought about inquiring more about the subject, a muted thump echoed out in the left side of the room.

“Here you go,” Mok-Rakan offered as he finished tying a knot, thereby sealing the cloth bag that contained his uh, joining bonus?

Griffin immediately got up, though he still chose to wait for Jun-Ra to take the lead.

“Thank you kindly, Guardian Mok-Rakan,” Jun-Ra’s tone seemed to be tinged with genuine gratitude as she picked up the sack before offering it to Griffin.

Catching onto her drift, Griffin received the bag with both his hands and then immediately bowed low, like he had seen Jun-Ra doing in front of the Elder.

“Thank you, Guardian Mok-Rakan,” Griffin managed, his pronunciation of the man’s name coming out a little butchered.

“Don’t mention it, Disciple. If you ever need a trusty blade forged, just remember Mok-Rakan, you hear.”

Griffin enthusiastically nodded, before Jun-Ra led their procession out of the Dojo.

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Twenty minutes later, Griffin found himself in his new accommodation, a single room that was conveniently on the same floor as Jun-Ra and Shen-Ya. It seemed like the former had quite the pull in the Inner Courtyard of the Martial Law Sect, for Griffin had seen the woman get her way thrice now.

Without any hesitation, he dove for the comfortable looking bed.

“Ahhh, I never thought I’d get to experience the luxury of a soft bed and a clean pillow again,” He sighed in relief, the emotion in his words a hundred percent genuine.

Jun-Ra subtly gestured for Shen-Ya to seal the door and only after three locks were bolted in did she speak.

“You— what in the great sins were you thinking!” Jun-Ra’s tone was kept to a normal, but Griffin could feel the undertone of anger in her words.

“I wasn’t expecting to be asked that question,” Griffin replied as he stretched his arms out on the divinely soft bed. “But I defaulted to the role you asked me to play, did I not?” He asked.

It was Shen-Ya that responded to his answer by burying her face in her open palm.

“Do you have any idea….,” She began, her tone far from amused. “....what reaching the fifth floor of the Gilded Dungeon means? I can barely manage it and I have been a martial artist for two and a half decades!”

“Wait,” Griffin blurted out. “Wait, wait, two and a half— what? Just how old are you?”

Shen-Ya blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction.

“Thirty five,” She responded, not understanding what the hub-bub was about.

“Thirty… five…?” Griffin asked, his tone sounding disbelieving. “And you?” he asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Forty two.”

“Okay… ooookay, I’m just going to ignore that information for now. Anyway, I think it’s you that doesn’t understand my situation.”

“Oh?” Jun-Ra asked, the anger in her tone having been replaced by that ever present curiosity relating to him again.

Taking a deep breath, Griffin finally admitted that it was impossible to conceal this bit of information.

“Do you know what a calling quest is?”

“A myth,” Shen-Ya seemed to almost reflexively blurt out at his mention of it.

Jun-Ra seemed to involuntarily take a step back, her eyes quivering as her brain tried to unravel the implications of what Griffin at just revealed.

“It’s no myth,” Griffin replied, annoyed. “If I don’t kill a hundred F rank creatures on my own in the next uh, let me see, three weeks, then I’m dead. This system of yours will literally kill me and the worst part is, I have no guarantee that it can’t pull this shit again.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Jun-Ra asked with all seriousness, a hint of warning in her gaze.

Griffin Thorne looked her dead straight in the eye and replied, “I’m not.”

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“Elder Shirong, fifth floor of the Gilded Dungeon in three weeks,” Elder Ma began, not long after Griffin and the Guardian-Disciple duo entered the Inner Courtyard of the Martial Law Sect. “Has Guardian Jun-Ra angered you in some way? I know that circumventing the sect guidelines for friends and relatives is sometimes frowned upon, but too many do it for it to not be an unofficial policy of the sect at this point.”

“Angered?” Elder Shirong questioned with amusement, layering her tone. “Why would I be angry, Elder Ma?”

“Pardon?”

“When was the last time an insect you could crush with a flick of your finger dared to match your gaze with arrogance instead of fear?” Elder Shirong asked, the amusement in her tone rising.

“The country bumpkin was simply not aware of my stature,” Elder Ma replied, though there was some doubt in his tone now that Elder Shirong had mentioned the matter.

“Elder Ma, your cultivation might supersede my own, but when have you seen me being wrong about the hearts of cultivators?”

“Hmm.’

“Instead of just matching your gaze, I might daresay that he was looking down upon you in turn. How amusing,” Elder Shirong explained, a hint of anticipation buried in her tone.

“Arrogance without strength is worthless,” Elder Ma replied. “But…. I cannot deny it. You have piqued my interest, Elder Shirong.”