Chapters 37-38

If the concept of crushing were somehow personified it’d be akin to a mindless brute with the biggest club in town and an insatiable penchant for putting it to use—if, and or when, any problems should arise—irregardless of whether a caved in skull or shattered kneecap was the best possible solution anyone could come up with at the time.

On the contrary, going by this bastards backward logic, any problem whose solution didn’t include extreme violence shouldn’t even be considered a real problem to begin with. And, by that same branch of logic, anyone caught spreading such malicious misinformation deserved a good long thrashing just for wasting its time.

A belligerent caveman with more brawn than it had sense, and an innate aversion towards anything even remotely resembling complexity. It was all that and more, while also, simultaneously, making up the whole of upper management for whom he was forced to run everything by. If you couldn’t already tell, the mantra formation process wasn’t going all that well.

On the bright side, at least, within the strange realm that was this “pantheistic workshop,” he had a handy visual aid with which to track his many failures.

At first, it’d taken a fair bit of compare and contrast to even comprehend what it was he was seeing. A neon purple explosion of roiling mist and warped lines, somehow held in perfect, glittering stasis, as if frozen in time. More akin to a semitransparent sculpture, which he manipulated with the same intuitive ease as he would any system screen.

A single thought all it took to spin it a full three hundred sixty degrees, shrink it down to the size of a pin head, or blow it up to human proportions. What the hell it actually depicted, or more specifically, what it was trying to depict, only made clear after he’d given the same editorial treatment to the other, far more stable mantras.

Selecting edit on his [Iron Fist] mantra, for instance, presented him with a far more decipherable scene. In it was depicted a nondescript warrior—formed of multilayered geometric symbols all outlined in purple—putting his fist straight through a crumbling stone wall. Likewise, [Force Hammer] depicted that same warrior, sending out a pulse of silvery mist to obliterate a freestanding boulder.

Both models were crisp and immaculate. So much so that, if you ignored the wrapping lines and archaic symbols, it was possible to make out even the tiniest details across the warrior’s honed musculature.

From the individual veins of his hand, to the beads of sweat on his brow. It was a picture so complete and staggeringly precise that it only further put into perspective how fuzzy, confused, and just plain incomplete his sorry attempt had been.

No wonder it’d blown up in his face.

If the first two were an example of what was to be expected of him, he felt justified in his decision to leave this method on the back burner for now. As it was, any attempts he’d made to poke and prod the arcane profusion of dandelion fluff into a shape that was at least recognizable, had been met almost exclusively with stubborn resistance.

As if the concept itself were… arguing with him. Well, it was less a dialogue, and more its outright refusal to play nice. Every time he tried to introduce just the smallest bit of complexity, it was like rolling a boulder up a steep hill while a god watched on and lobbed halfhearted insults—occasionally reaching out and kicking it all the way to the bottom for seemingly no reason at all.

By the time he realized that his designs were only ever rejected for being too complicated, he was about ready to tear his own hair out. It became very clear to him, over the course of what felt like an eternity spent in trial and error, that any idea more complex than the running philosophy of, hit thing good, hit thing strong, would be met by outright refusal from the cosmic patron at large. On top of everything else, it didn’t at all help his case that he’d initially intended for [Force Blast] to be, gods forbid, a defensive measure.

As it was, he was getting pretty sick and tired of the whole process, and was more than a little concerned with how warped his sense of time had become. Thinking back on it, it didn’t feel as though all that much time had passed, though seeing as he’d yet to feel hungry, tired, strained, or otherwise human—a human being with normal bodily needs—he couldn’t help but worry.

Casting aside his failed project with another swelling of frustration, Jun rose to his feet and summoned two of the three mantras. He would leave this place, he decided, fairly confident at this point that all it would take was a thought, but before that, he’d make sure to snag a couple more mantras for the road. As he locked eyes with the first construct, a notification appeared.

Basic Mantra: [Iron Fist] (1st Aspected)

Grade: (Poor Quality)

Conceptual Stability: 17%

Do you wish to spectate, assimilate, or edit?

Without further ado, Jun selected assimilate.

You have selected the Basic Mantra: [Iron Fist] as your trial partner.

Is this correct?

YES/NO

Wait, what?

Initializing…

Calculating Trial Difficulty…

Your resonance pillar has been adjusted for.

Your body cultivation has been adjusted for.

Your soul cultivation has been adjusted for.

Be at ease. Your Mantra: [Iron Fist] does not offend its patron.

Please hold…

Ding!

Estimated Trial Difficulty: |1 Star|

Designated Arena: Iron Fist Sect Entry Exams

Acclaim Bonus: NOT APPLICABLE

Notoriety Bonus: NOT APPLICABLE 

Demonic Alignments: NOT APPLICABLE

Heavenly Alignments: NOT APPLICABLE

Star Ranking: NOT APPLICABLE

Temporary Titles: None

Please hold still while we transport you. 

Your trial will begin in: 10… 9… 8…

Wait! What?!

***

The first world avatar slowly roused itself into wakefulness. It was an involved process. One that had been going on in the background ever since the introduction of this brand-new variable. As it awoke, it watched the new variable tinker with some of its surface level functions—the few still operational after its long time spent dormant.

Before it’s voluntary shutdown, it had spent entire eons in search of formal contact. At first targeting the scattered remnants of the first empire and its descendants. Then, when that search ultimately proved futile, it simply sought out any who might receive its call. In all that time, not a one of its efforts bore fruit.

And in all that time, not once had it predicted something else would find it first.

Even in the hypothetical event it had accounted for such an inconceivable anomaly, the odds of this pioneer being a juvenile mortal were so slim as to be the next thing to impossible. A mystery as well then, on top of everything else.

Truly, when one variable relied upon for myriad functions comes askew, a cascade is the inevitable consequence. It took some investigating before its curiosity was sated. To notice that the variable’s interface had been crudely tampered with. It hadn’t taken long after that to discern truth from fiction.

Now, with confirmation that the child was fate-touched, one of the Fen’Reale, its calculations fell well within reasonable parameters.

Even better, now with an agent of providence karmically linked to its domain, plans it had abandoned long ago had a far higher chance of coming to fruition. It would still be some time yet before it was fully operational. Thankfully, the passage time had never bothered the world avatar much. Just the fact that it once more had a direction was more than enough.

In the meantime, it would watch the Fen’Reale attempt its trial. More extensive preparations could come after.

***

“Junwei! You lazy dog. I know you’ve never been much for reading, but was your plan really to sleep through the whole of the exams? I know they say the written portion holds little bearing on the final selection, but good luck becoming an outer disciple without at least taking the practical first.”

Jun jerked awake with a splutter and a cough, only to be greeted by the familiar sounds of hilarity being had at his expense. The only thing that really stuck out to him about this turn of events, the fact that he didn’t actually recognize any of the voices. See, there was this distinctive cast to the kind of derisive laughter he was so intimately accustomed to, and these halfhearted snickers weren’t nearly cutting, nor cruel enough to have originated from members of his family.

Abruptly, Jun noticed an uncomfortable wetness running along his left cheek, then, looking down, discovered that a rather incriminating pool was darkening what appeared to be an academic textbook.

Had he been… drooling? What the hell? He never drooled!

What was going on here? Using a sleeve to scrub away the evidence, he ignored the second ripple of amusement this aroused, as he tried desperately to catch his bearings.

He was in a classroom of sorts. A wide, multilayered lecture hall with tiered seating enough to accommodate maybe a hundred students in total. It was a thing of bright wood paneling and rice paper screens—a set of stairs leading down the center aisle to open out onto the main floor below.

The main floor, and what he assumed was the instructor’s lectern. An instructor whose flinty, clearly unamused gaze made as if to pin him to the back of his chair. Jun quickly looked away, a single brush with those cold grey eyes all the casual contact he could stomach.

As he’d already been made well aware, he wasn’t the only person present. On the contrary, there were dozens. Not enough to fill every seat in the hall, though not far from it either.

Only belatedly did he recognize the instructor’s unique attire.

A set of simple, though elegant cultivator’s robes finely embroidered with silvery, cloud-like patterns. Admittedly, it went quite well with the man’s topknot, long hair, and nearly angelic features. It was also a trend—obnoxious facial symmetry and, what he could only assume were sect colors, aside—that repeated itself all throughout the hall, himself included. That being said, the ostentation of each individual set of robes varied wildly from person to person.

Clearly, not all who came to take the exams were born equal. There was an obvious divide between those whose parents evidently had money, and those whose most certainly did not. Ironically, he apparently landed squarely in the latter category.

“Pencils up,” snapped the instructor. “You are now to approach the front, at which point you will then hand your papers over to teacher’s assistant Chen. If you should, for whatever reason, refrain from doing so in an orderly fashion—or have otherwise failed to complete the exam in the generous time that has been allotted—just know that it will be recorded, and you will be marked accordingly.”

Jun didn’t need to look up to know that the instructor was still staring daggers in his direction. And as for the others, the rustle of papers and scrape of chairs was their only response as the ninety odd applicants rose from their seats. Proceeding to make their way towards the center aisle. Feeling an absurd jolt of panic, Jun was unsurprised to find every single answer on his test utterly blank. Without exception.

Seriously? This is like a bad dream. I literally just got here!

“Wow. Just… you’re really unbelievable, you know that?”

Jun glanced up and away from his test, only to come face to face with a bespectacled boy around his own age. He was tall and lanky, with a farmer’s tan and obvious freckles. He was also the owner of the voice that’d awoken him in the first place.

“My friend, you’re either too foolhardy for your own good, or a damned fool outright. Even if you’d only answered randomly there’s a good chance you’d have gotten at least some of them right. You’d better hope you really impress Elder Shao during the practical examination, because right now I’m pretty sure he’d sooner kill you than make you an outer disciple.”

For a pregnant few seconds, Jun couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Then, instead of spouting out something unproductive like “I have no idea who you are!” “I haven’t spoken to you a day in my life!” or “Don’t you realize that none of this is real?!” he simply grinned sheepishly and got up to follow the others.

“I was… tired,” he replied rather lamely.

Several behind and ahead of him chuckled at that. His apparent friend—note to self: ask for a name; discreetly if at all possible—laughed along with them, though not in a malicious manner.

“Hah! I’ll say.”

And then there was only companionable silence. Jun, for his part, took this as an opportunity to study his apparent competition. As bad as he’d undoubtedly done on the test, there were others who appeared, going solely based off their decidedly greenish complexions, to have somehow done worse. Though, perhaps that was less a consequence of the portion he’d missed, and more in anticipation of the one that would come after.

Meanwhile, on the flip side there were those that appeared, if anything, far too confident. Not always, though most often it was the better dressed applicants who practically secreted self-confidence from their pores—with chins raised high and wealth on clear display, like so many proud roosters strutting about their domain.

Whether or not all that bravado was earned, he couldn’t really say. It could be that they were simply in the same boat as him. In that they all had a pretty good idea what this “practical portion” would look like.

  ————————————————————

 After handing over his blank test to a rather stunned looking young woman in grey and silver robes, Jun let the others guide him out of the test hall and through the winding corridors that made up the vast outer compound. As they went, their group routinely passed by outer disciple members. In fact, it happened with such regularity that he began to question it.

Wonder if, perhaps, they were being strategically funneled there in order to elicit the very effect that could be seen on the faces of his fellow applicants.

Dressed in the grays and silvers that had to be the sect's colors, it wasn’t the quality of their robes, their elegant grace, nor the silver pendants they all wore around their necks which elicited a frightful feeling of awe. Instead, it was their powerful, almost domineering auras which brought them all up short.

Jun honestly couldn’t help but applaud the strategic bit of theater. Impressing upon them right away that these were the heights even an outer disciple of the iron fist sect was liable to attain.

Never mind that these cultivators had clearly been cherry picked—likely some of the best, most elegant examples they could find within the general masses. For some reason, Jun very much doubted they openly advertised the downtrodden cultivator too poor to afford their weekly contributions and daily meal vouchers simultaneously. The struggling men and women which made up the vast majority of their membership, as was often the case with larger sects.

All quiet little observations, he thought to himself, which should’ve been all well and good, were it not for the fact that he’d apparently let his thoughts show on his face. Jun looked away from the obvious farce, as two long necked beauties strode past in their opulent robes—barely giving their little procession of gawping applicants a second glance—only to accidentally catch the eye of Elder Shao, his supposed instructor.

They truly saw one another then, something unspoken passing between them, and if Jun had thought respect would be the man’s response to his seeing through the con, he would’ve been sorely disappointed.

Elder Shao sneered openly, before tilting his chin up a degree and turning away. Jun could practically hear the scritch of yet another mark against his increasingly unlikely acceptance. Not that he particularly cared if he got to join some make-believe sect he’d never even heard of.

But then again, there was the question of whether his assimilation was somehow dependent upon the results of this exam. Based on how everything had been set up thus far, he couldn’t help but feel it’d be something along those lines.

Eventually they reached the end of the outer compound’s winding corridors and exited out into the diffuse light of an overcast day. Emerging onto a great stone courtyard, at a glance you could immediately tell it was a place regularly used to hold tournaments.

If the stands weren’t a clear enough indication, the raised stone stage made it readily apparent. Taking in the main stage—in all its pockmarked, scored, and scratched up glory—he wasn’t in the least bit surprised to find a massive boulder sitting there prominently, easily occupying the very center of the large platform.

Before he’d even taken three steps into the courtyard, however, a sharp impact from behind nearly sent him sprawling. Just barely able to regain his balance in time, once Jun finally straightened, he was confronted by three teenaged boys. One tall and rail thin, another short and stocky, and a third who bore a striking resemblance to one Elder Shao. A handsome young man, likely no older than he was, who was almost certainly the one to shove him.

“Watch where you’re going peasant boy.”

“Oh! Uh-?”

“Listen well you inferior trash,” he continued. “If I find even a speck of your common born filth on my brand-new robes as a result of your own clumsiness, I swear I’ll have my manservant use your tongue for a wash rag. Do I make myself clear?”

Jun blinked in astonishment. The boy and his lackeys loomed tall, stared coldly, sneered openly—each of them clearly chancing for a fight. He was nearly tempted to laugh out loud.

Of all the cliché…?

This, at least, he knew exactly how to handle. And so, with the perfect rebuttal held firmly in mind, Jun promptly went down on both knees.

“Apologies, elder brother! This one humbly requests your forgiveness! This one would kowtow a thousand times for this one’s many transgressions!”

This was immediately followed by several very poor attempts at obeisance—he’d never actually seen it done after all, only ever read about it in books—forehead striking painfully against the rough tiles more than once.

He’d always believed the stories involving the inner workings of sect life to be hyperbolic in the extreme. And in reality, perhaps they were. Here though? In this fake world hidden inside a very real trial, he figured it was safe to assume everything operated by petty sect logic.

Which, actually, now that he thought about it, made what he was doing now quite possibly the worst thing one could do, given the circumstances. Essentially establishing the pecking order in full view of everyone, with him somewhere near the very bottom.

That said, it wasn’t as if he was going to be here long, and this was far far simpler in the short term. Hell, it’d still be livable in the long term. More miserable maybe, forced into the role of obedient lapdog for much stronger cultivators. Still, it wasn’t as if such a life would come as much as a culture shock. His home life honestly hadn’t been that far off.

As he’d expected, his over-the-top reaction was first met with surprise, then with suspicion, and finally with embarrassment as the scene went on for a good two minutes.

By the time the three boys, now fully red in the face, finally took the hint and stormed off—some trite comment or another hurriedly lobbed over a shoulder—Jun was quite honestly relieved. He’d genuinely been running out of ways to prostrate himself and had begun to contemplate more… drastic measures.

When, at last, he finally rose to his feet, forehead raw from the repeated collisions, not even his, as of yet unnamed friend, would meet his eye—this was by no means an uncommon reaction—and was, in fact, in the process of sidling away. Casually distancing himself, both physically and socially.

It was an outcome Jun was entirely too pleased with. No drama, no fuss, only the practical trial to look forward to. The sole reason he’d been sent here to begin with, he assumed.

Elder Shao cleared his throat. Glancing up, Jun found that even the elder’s normally contemptuous expression was warped by secondhand embarrassment.

“If you’re done…?” he let the question linger.

Jun merely nodded, the very picture of quiet dignity. Minus the forehead.

“Good. Now, teacher’s assistant Chen has done you the honor of grading your tests. You will be called up to the trial rock by order of test score, from highest to…” he paused, visibly resisting the urge to turn Jun’s way. “Lowest… Teacher’s assistant Chen, if you will?”

Recognizing that this would probably take a while, as names were called and a rough cue was formed, Jun popped a squat and set his mind to observing. An easy enough thing to do, given the wide birth the other test takers were giving him. Perhaps…? Could it be that he’d gone just the tiniest bit too far…? Nah!

“Liu Mei Ling! Please take the stage!”

From the front of the cue emerged a petite young girl with a face as pale and unblemished as porcelain. Over her shoulder she twirled a pretty pink parasol, which appeared to match her overall outfit perfectly.

Lots of differing shades of pink, flower petal designs, and a, quite frankly, absurd number of floating lengths of gauze.

The girl leapt up onto the stage with ease, this despite the three-foot high elevation effectively measuring around three quarters of her height. A few more silent steps and she was before the massive boulder, looking like a child standing before a giant—the towering monolith already heavily marred by generations worth of previous attempts.

Then, without even breaking her stride, Mei Ling reached up and snapped shut her umbrella, took it by the handle in both hands, then blurred forward with such incredible speed that he barely managed to catch the impact of her swing, let alone the flash of silver which briefly enveloped the umbrella from handle to tip.

The end result was rather deafening.

CRACK

Instead of folding in half like any normal umbrella should, after being shown such poor treatment, the precious parasol left an umbrella shaped impression in the rock. A concavity that was at least a foot and a half deep.

Then, as if that little display were nothing at all, Mei Ling proceeded to yank her parasol free, lever it open, then twirl it all the way back to their edge of the platform—a pleased smile on her face all the while. For the next hour and a half, it was essentially some strange variation of the same.

Some used their fists, others used their heads, while still others simply abused random household objects. As a matter of fact, as far as he could tell, the only things they expressly hadn’t deigned to use, were weapons.

Jun had just finished spectating a broad ox of a boy who’d used his sandal clad foot to punch his leg through the stone well past his ankle, when the only name he’d actually looked forward to was called.

“The honorable Shao Luang! Please take the stage!”

Of course, he was the only one to get an honorific. Who wanted to guess this test was only for appearances sake. Still, Jun perked up all the same. How would the sect elder’s progeny perform, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Breaking away from his two friends, the tall boy easily leapt onto the stage, after which he purposefully marched towards its center—flashing the occasional smile at the odd female attendee as he did so. Predictably, most either swooned, sighed, or giggled. That or some combination of the three. Even Jun could admit, he’d be a very handsome man someday.

Reaching the looming boulder far faster than any of the others, he was quick to assume a martial stance, then deftly manipulate his crushing aura. Unlike the others, however, he didn’t strike immediately. Instead, he continued to gather dense clouds of crushing aura—directing more and more of it into his glowing right fist, until that entire section of the arena had been replaced by a nearly blinding glare.

Then, after what had to have been fifteen full seconds of nothing but the oppressive build up, at last, there came a sudden release. The bang which followed wasn’t just deafening in the figurative sense.

Jun had this distinct feeling that if he’d been any closer to the point of impact, it was entirely possible he’d have irrevocably damaged his hearing. As it was, the physical shockwave created by the attack was enough to roughly bowl him, and several other attendees over.

Sent skidding across rough stone tiles, it was several more confused seconds before he’d collected himself enough to take in the extent of the damage. Once he had, he found he had a hard time picking his jaw up off the floor.

The gigantic boulder… had moved! Where it’d once been, there was now a deep track carved into the underlying foundations. Leading from where Shao Luang took in deep, panting breaths, to the trial stones new place of origin—a spot that had to have been at least ten entire paces away.

Gods above…

Needless to say, everyone who came after Shao Luang somewhat paled in comparison.

“Zhaoshen Junwei! Please take the stage!”

And then, it was his turn.

***

The newly awakened first world avatar was… unimpressed.

It was something of a novel sensation. Primarily because, purely as a side effect of its superior ninth tier architecture, her facilities did not attract any but the most exceptional. And that standard should’ve applied doubly so for one of the infamous Fen’Reale. It wasn’t even a matter of selection on its part.

Unbeknownst to many, it was not simply a common turn of phrase, the idea that ‘like attracted like.’ Where the higher realms were concerned, it became a fundamental ruling arbitrated by universal law. By all rights, it should be a statistical impossibility for any but the most gifted to stumble across its station, whether that be on purpose, or by accident.

Which could only mean that either the immutable rule of law which governed the greater multiverse as a whole had been turned over on its head in the world avatar’s absence, or that it was missing something. More inclined to believe the latter than the former, the first world avatar compartmentalized its doubts, and allowed the trial to play out as it must.

And though a part of it recognized the phenomena for wishful thinking on its part, it was entirely possible the discrepancy lay with the hand the trial taker was attempting to conceal within the inner folds of his robe.