image [https://i.imgur.com/aiXjRiH.jpg]

I drank potions of agility, intelligence, stamina, and strength. With a thousand Oxum zombies in hot pursuit, I poured every ounce of energy into my legs toward the only geographic feature ahead of me—the cliff overlooking the aerocline.

Many of the zombies looked ancient, more skeletal, whose clothes had long since rotted off. Hundreds of barefoot zombies pounded the ground behind me. With necrotic flesh exposing bones, they made the sound of thousands of clacking wooden sticks slapping against the stone. And they ran fast. I almost fell within their grasp.

With fists pumping, I leaped off the mesa and invoked Hot Air, suspending myself over the foggy abyss. Scores of zombies chased and fell off the cliff, dropping close enough for me to smell the foul breeze of their passing. They almost grazed my toes before plummeting into the fog. Like lemmings, the ranks behind followed suit, futilely reaching for the young human beyond their reach.

With Fabulosa out of the game, Forren had seven total blessed followers, giving me 70 seconds of hang time before Hot Air gave out. With every passing second, dozens of zombies flowed over the precipice like an undead cataract disappearing into the fog.

The combat log flashed with death messages. For a minute, I watched them cascade into oblivion until the back of the stampede came into view. I willed them to hurry before Hot Air expired. My blessing expired seconds after the caboose topped over the edge, and Slipstream returned me to the mesa’s solid ground.

Perhaps a dozen hobbled and disabled zombies staggered and crawled after the main rush. Because of their poor locomotion, I sidestepped around them to face one at a time and avoided being overwhelmed.

Killing low-level zombies earned me no loot or experience, but I confirmed Bircht’s theory about zombies having intact cracked cores. I approached the back gates with more caution than before.

After minutes of dispatching stragglers, nothing else on the mesa moved. When players cleared a large amount of low-level monsters, they expected a boss fight. But in this case, no undead giant pounded the ground, demanding I fight him. No flesh golem stitched together in unnatural ways awaited me. No plague doctor wearing a bird beak mask and heavy goggles cursed me for interrupting his experiments.

But when I returned to the gatehouse, I realized I wasn’t alone.

A single figure stood in the courtyard’s center as if waiting for me. A deep elf wearing a long silk robe bowed at me. Only ears and faded complexion gave away his ancestry, as I’d never seen wrinkles on a deep elf before. I thought they enjoyed eternal youth.

His garment flowed in the wind as gently as the white mustache and beard that nearly reached his ankles. His nameplate wasn’t that of a monster, player, or NPC. It matched only one other entity I’d seen in Miros.

Name

Jiaolong, Master Trainer

Level

30

Difficulty

Unkillable (white)

Health

none

“Welcome, my most worthy student, to the Morphren Dojo. You may address me as Master.”

The spark in Jiaolong’s eye convinced me he wasn’t undead.

The courtyard stood empty, aside from ourselves and a few trampled zombies. Exercise equipment with wooden arms and legs dominated the otherwise empty space. Sparing dummies and punching targets filled the area, looking a bit like playground equipment.

“I am also known as Great Scaled Dragon, although I see no need for formalities. You have the look of the Daikaku—the enlightened one. You have met Sune Njal?”

“Sune Njal! Yes, I have.”

“I trained him when he was a boy. He complains like the cat, that one—meowing whenever things don’t go his way.”

I grinned at the monk. “I can believe that.”

“And what did you learn from Sune Njal’s lost wisdom of soldiery?”

“A soldier’s true strength is their company.”

Master Jiaolong raised his chin in approval. “And yet you are alone.”

“And I am weakened for it, Master Jiaolong.”

Had I not lived the path taking me from Belden to Sune Njal, fighting for Hawkhurst, and studying with Dino, the lines would have been melodramatic. But in a world where honor mattered, my words rang with truth. My bow punctuated the conviction, impressing the master.

“I lost some dear friends on the way, but I hope to reunite with them soon.”

Jiaolong gave a curt nod. “A most worthy quest.”

“Thank you, Master Jiaolong. My name is Apache.” I bowed again to show respect. If I could ingratiate myself, perhaps Jiaolong would help.

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Master Jiaolong nodded his approval to my response. “You have swept aside a terrible stink that has plagued this sanctuary for centuries. You are almost a master yourself. When you return with ranks in bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing weapons above 30, you’ll be able to best me and gain passage to this most worthy of sanctuaries.” He waved his hand toward the monastery ruins invitingly, like a gameshow hostess.

“Wait—does that mean you won’t let me inside? Even after I cleared away the zombies.”

Jiaolong rested his hands on his hips and laughed. “Hah! As you have seen, many have tried. But Master Jiaolong grants passage to none but his peers.”

His words confused me. I thought the undead came from the plague. “Does that mean you killed all those people?”

“Like gnats from thin air, trespassers sully the sanctuary with their presence—they were easy enough to swat.” He clapped his hands for emphasis and returned them to his hips.

“You killed doctors and patients?”

Jiaolong waved his finger at me. “No-no-no. The zombies came from the horde that broke in with torches and clubs. Killing and burning, they caught the sickness plaguing this ground.”

“You’ve been here for hundreds of years?”

“Many more than that. It is I who allowed the doctors to use Morphren’s Sanctuary for their medicines. And it was I who purified the sanctuary of attackers, who swept in from every side. Even the surest swordmaster cannot defend himself from hornets. And yet—I tracked them down. But to my shame, they rose again, and I found them to be invalid targets.”

“Ah! You can’t kill undead.”

Zombies weren’t my favorite monsters. Every game and movie had slightly different rules about them. After almost losing a 100-yard dash to zombies, I wouldn’t hold it against The Book of Dungeons for breaking tradition—as long as I didn’t have to deal with them.

“I could easily kill zombies, but my protocol prevents me from targeting them. Only willing trespassers are valid opponents—but these undead have no will. I thought there would be no end to their stink. How could I keep a respectable school with so many pests?”

I bowed again, hoping that changing the subject wouldn’t insult him. “I thank you again for your gift. Is there a way I may enter with your blessing?”

“You seek to be a young master?”

I waved my hands. “Oh, no. You’re definitely the master here. I just need to get something inside.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. When the mob descended on our grounds, I vowed to let no one enter who wasn’t a master pugilist.”

“And how do I become a master?”

“There are two ways. You may defeat me in a no-magic bout—the first to three kill-shots wins.”

While formal bouts risked no danger of death, my face fell. Unlike the rules we used when RIP, Fabulosa, and I dueled in Belden, each hit needed to be a kill shot—so wounds didn’t count. I sometimes matched Dino in sparring exercises or, at least, survived his attacks. But I could never defeat him in formal duels. His swordplay was perfect.

“Have you ever met Dino…?”

“Dino Marcello de Piane! Yes, he was a pupil of mine.”

I grunted. If I couldn’t beat Dino, then how could I beat his teacher? “Um, you mentioned another way?”

“You could also become a master by passing a graduate exam.”

Dino had once taught to regard an opponent’s eyes, and Jiaolong studied me close enough that there seemed meaning behind it. By showing no complaint, I felt as if I’d already passed the first test. I resisted the urge to ask how long it would take. Even with Duchess and Toadkiller on my heels, I needed to focus in order to gain passage to the monastery. It seemed safer than trying to force my way in and fight the master for real.

“Okay, let’s do that one. What’s the first test, master?”

“For the duration of the test, you may call me sifu.”

Without Gladius in my grip, I felt somewhat naked with strange words, and pronounced it carefully. “Shee foo?”

Jiaolong nodded.

I kowtowed to him. “Great sifu, how may this unworthy student prove himself?”

Jialong nodded in return. “That is better, Candidate Apache. First, we will examine the harmony of step. Show me the lotus petals.”

I’d learned a little botany in Belden when putting together the book about wilderness survival. A lotus had eight petals, reminding me of Dino’s eight points of the compass. I performed the footwork routine of weight transfers, jumps, and postures, showing my mastery of the circle of attack.

Jiaolong raised his chin, squinted, and assessed my movement. “Enemies may attack from any angle, but they won’t move to your schedule. Can you perform at battle speed, or can you only match the sloth, snail, and turtle?”

“Yes, sifu!” I doubled my efforts to move faster. Time was never a factor when practicing with Dino, but if Jiaolong wanted me to hurry, I wouldn’t argue. The sooner we finished this examination, the better.

By the time I felt sweat beading on my brow, Master Jiaolong clapped his hands. “That’s enough, Candidate Apache. You have shown the minimal acceptable competence for moving like a master.”

I bowed. “Thank you, sifu.”

Jiaolong pulled out a wooden sword boffer and drew a box in the sand. “Inside, with you, Candidate.”

“Yes, sifu!” I complied with a bow.

“Now, show me the harmony of wind.”

Only Dino’s order of instruction prepared me for Jiaolong’s attack. My only guess as to what the harmony of wind might be rested on the next discipline I practiced after learning movement—falling, rolling, jumping, and ducking.

Staying within the box was an exercise new to me, but Dino made us practice in place, rendering the confines of the box redundant. I twisted, dodged, and avoided the wooden boffer which swept, stabbed, and japed into my personal space.

Exhausted debuffs appeared along my periphery—the kind that lowered my stats until I took an eight-hour rest. This wasn’t good. I needed these stats against Duchess and Toadkiller and couldn’t squander them trying to impress this nagging NPC.

And yet, my natural desire to rise to a challenge pushed me on. Through no pattern I could perceive, Jiaolong randomly attacked my space with the boffer. I audibly sucked air in order to avoid his wooden weapon. When 8 Exhausted icons appeared, Jiaolong lowered the weapon, stepped back, and examined the square of lines he’d drawn in the dirt.

While catching my breath, I, too, studied the marks, hoping I’d not accidentally kicked dirt inside or smudged the box with my feet. As far as I could see, I hadn’t sullied the boundary.

“That’s enough, Candidate Apache. You have shown the minimal acceptable competence for dodging like a master.”

“Thank you, sifu.” During my bow, I supported myself on my knees—a move that made Master Jiaolong smile.

“You must compose yourself for the last test. Drink this, Candidate Apache.”

Jiaolong extended a piping hot tea in a cup tinier than an expresso cup. Weariness eclipsed any curiosity about how he’d produced such a thing in the middle of a dusty courtyard. After a Herculean effort, I stood upright, received the cup and saucer with two hands, and bowed.

Item

Gongfu Tea

Rarity

Masterwork (green)

Description

Level 30 potion

Item use—Once per day, tea resets cooldowns and clears debuffs.

This wonderful little drink solved my issue with Hot Air. The tiny cup had more leaves than I expected, but I drank it without hesitation. I controlled my panting enough to drink without spilling it.

My undeveloped tea palate rendered me insufficient to compare it to anything. Its complex taste was more subtle than I expected, not the flavorful teas I’d had before. It refreshed me instantly, and I felt the urge to complete whatever test Jiaolong offered.

I bowed and returned the dainty cup to the master, who disappeared it into thin air. “Thank you, sifu! Thank you very much. I’m ready for the last test. What must I do?”

“You must defeat me in a no-magic bout—the first to three kill-shots wins.”