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Jun’s POV (9)
🕑 Added 2024-10-29 02:26:52 +0000 UTCThings were… actually going surprisingly well.
He found it entirely too suspicious. Still, given the unimaginable harvest he’d reaped, he figured this burst of productivity was well worth whatever calamitous disaster loomed on the far horizon.
Basic Mantra: [Sweeping Cleave] (1st Aspected)
Grade: (Excellent Quality)
Conceptual Stability: 60%
Basic Mantra: [Blade Slash] (1st Aspected)
Grade: (Excellent Quality)
Conceptual Stability: 60%
Basic Mantra: [Spearing Thrust] (1st Aspected)
Grade: (Excellent Quality)
Conceptual Stability: 60%
Needless to say, he’d been somewhat busy.
Creating the mantras that would, effectively, act as the basic template upon which all of his innovations would stem from wasn’t easy, though it was getting noticeably easier.
He had no doubt some of that ease could be attributed to practice, but he thought a lot of it was the result of one simple fact. That fact being, unlike when a given mantra was rejected by the patron at large, after whatever hodgepodge agglomeration he’d devised was accepted by the patron, it saw no harm in his reusing the cogent arguments and persuasive reasonings he’d first applied to great effect—in other words, the myriad interconnected image threads—indefinitely.
Or at least that had seemed to be the case when he’d spun up his second Spearing Thrust in a fraction of the time it’d taken to make the first—shamelessly copying his previous work more or less verbatim.
This revelation, that he would only be getting faster at creating these templates, couldn’t have come at a better time. He was going to be making a lot of these things after all, as, with each new Custom mantra he made, he effectively overwrote the basic one.
With a grunt, Jun leveraged himself up to his feet.
He then began moving through a choice few of the stretching exercises he’d managed to pick up from the denizens of the previous trial. Not for any physical reason, mind you—his body was incapable of feeling things like soreness or hunger in this place—but instead because the deliberate movements worked to soothe his mind and helped him think.
Questions. He was riddled with them.
Far too many for his mind to easily quantify. But, if he had to narrow it down, the way he saw it, there were three things he absolutely needed to look into.
The first had to do with his mantras. As he pushed them further and further from the traditional path of progression, their effects were becoming increasingly haphazard and… well, deadly.
A fickle disposition he could ill afford.
Often resulting in a double edged sword more likely to cut himself than the enemy. And if he couldn’t find a way to fix that little issue entirely, in the meantime he needed a way to standardize his understanding of them—flawed as they were.
To systematize the exact scope of their adverse effects and, in so doing, hopefully find a safe range to operate in. And in his best case scenario, figure out a way to mitigate the fatal repercussions completely.
Second. He needed to know the precise difference between a one star rank trial and a ten star rank trial—assuming, of course, it even went that high—and everything in between. To know what exactly constituted a jump in difficulty, and what he could do, personally, to insure he knew what he was getting into before he hit assimilate.
And finally.
Third, he needed to know the exact nature of the trial worlds he was going to be spending so much time in. How they operated. What made them tick. If it really was a one to one facsimile of a living, breathing world—without rhyme or reason—or if, much like the scripted explosions of the spectate option, some choice parts of it were rote.
He already suspected that parts of the trial worlds weren’t as random as they appeared to be—had already begun to glimpse the slightest peek behind the curtain—but even still, he felt quite strongly that, if he were to have any chance of dragging himself out from under the mess he‘d stepped in, he would need to know the trial worlds like the back of his hand.
Which meant he would first need to figure out what exactly the rules were. And after accomplishing that, if it was at all possible, to break them utterly.
***
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: [Leaping Slash] does not offend its patron.
Please hold…
Ding!
Estimated Trial Difficulty: |1 Star|
Designated Arena: Silent Sword Martial Blade School
Acclaim Bonus: Half-blood Rebellion
Notoriety Bonus: Fallen Iron Fist Sect, Maximillian Alexander De Campos
Demonic Alignments: NOT APPLICABLE
Heavenly Alignments: NOT APPLICABLE
Star Ranking: NOT APPLICABLE
Temporary Titles: Mammoth Slayer, Giant Slayer, Titan Slayer, Free Thinker, Death Strider.
Please hold still while we transport you.
Your trial will begin in: 10… 9… 8…
***
What greeted him upon his awakening, was a scene of impeccable order and commendable discipline—precisely what one would’ve expected from a martial blade school.
With the sun barely cresting the eastern horizon, he found himself standing before a sprawling stone courtyard, hemmed in on all sides by weathered stone walls carved in intricate relief. They depicted powerful warriors battling terrifying beasts, and not a one of them was without their school's iconic namesake.
Throughout the vast stone courtyard, blade school disciples, dressed in identical robes of green accented with gold, were already up and active—having assembled themselves into neat and orderly rows.
Under the watchful gaze of their instructors, the young men and women, hundreds all told, swung their practice swords in unison, smoothly transitioning from one form to another with each harsh bark of instruction. The swish of so many blades falling in time accompanied by a staccato clacking, like the snapping of branches.
Only belatedly did he realize where the rapid sounds were coming from. To the left of the communal drill session, what appeared to be a gathering of older disciples were using their unsupervised free-time to spar with one another.
It was… an intimidating display, to say the least.
And as good a demonstration, as to the true martial prowess of the blade school, as he was likely to get.
Their bodies little more than greenish blurs, sweeping blades barely seen as more than a faint flicker before the resulting crash. Their swift movements and agile steps weren’t beyond his ability to follow necessarily, though it most certainly would have been if not for his temporary titles.
He shivered at the sheer brutality of each concussive strike, each resounding collision. Even with his resiliency raised to unprecedented heights, the thought of being hit by one of those…? Unpleasant was the first word that came to mind.
Meanwhile smaller groups of junior disciple members, few of them over the age of seven, bustled about their daily chores, tending to the needs of the school with a quiet diligence unheard of in those so young.
Some swept the stone pathways clear of fallen leaves, others set to polishing wooden practice swords with a will, while still others carried buckets to and fro, watering the many gardens that lined the courtyard—each patch of greenery vibrant, colorful, and well maintained.
Despite the humble nature of their menial tasks, they carried themselves with straight backs and evident pride. Shooting the occasional glance of longing at the older disciple members, even as they continued to work themselves to the bone—practically willing their efforts to be seen and recognized by their elders.
And behind it all loomed the massive compound of the blade school proper. A sprawling complex of two and three story buildings—square shaped and plentiful in both the number of red pillars adorning each white stucco facade, and the flaring style of protruding eaves on display.
Each swooping roof covered in dark clay tile. A true behemoth of a building, towering at least three or four stories above the rest, standing at the very heart of the compound.
Glancing up, Jun realized that he hadn’t actually entered the blade school proper yet, and was instead hovering—somewhat suspiciously, now that he thought of it—before the main entrance.
Two rising red pillars, as thick around as several tree trunks combined, marking the school's grand threshold—just a few steps ahead of him. Further taking in his immediate surroundings, he noted, not only where he was, but where the school he now found himself in, or, well, near, lay as a whole.
Nestled within a tranquil valley, its hills carpeted by forest canopies, and half obscured by creeping morning mists, the blade school was like a gleaming pearl resting at the center of a massive oyster.
Finally turning around completely, his eyes widened and his heart lurched.
He stumbled, nearly tripped, but, at the very last second, managed to catch himself. Heart thundering, legs trembling, he figured that was probably for the best. Considering the steep drop down innumerable stairs he would’ve had to look forward to, he didn’t relish the time it would’ve afforded him to stew over his own embarrassment.
The stone steps, wide enough for twenty men to walk abreast, and well worn by generations worth of foot traffic, descended for some time at a steep angle, before receding into that same dancing fog of creeping mists, so dense that, barely a few steps into its cloudy domain, everything simply disappeared.
It was pretty eerie actually, and Jun briefly wondered whether he’d found the end of the simulated world. Like after a certain point the land would just cut off, and he’d be left to free fall for an eternity. Jun shivered.
He took several steps back from the looming precipice.
Spinning back around, Jun briefly hesitated on the threshold, before, with another run through his mental checklist, he plunged headlong into the breach. What immediately greeted him was a palpable sense of disillusionment. For all this world had effectively been created to accommodate him, he appeared to be the least interesting thing in the courtyard.
Junior disciples barely gave him a passing glance as they rushed about their chores. The lines of drilling disciples were far too absorbed in their practice to pay him any mind.
And the older disciples…?
Well, he wasn’t ready to face them just yet. What if his theory about the wandering shoulder principle held? His Leaping Slash mantra was basic at best. It didn’t even have a single concession to its name. He hadn’t needed it!
He was under no illusions that it would hold up against a seriously trained opponent. And if he got into a fight with an actual martial practitioner, the way he was now?
He wouldn’t live long enough to test a single of his running theories, let alone the several he had in mind.
Which ultimately left him with nothing to do but haplessly follow the stone pathways like some lost puppy, in the vain hope someone would approach him—his feelings of self importance rapidly dwindling by the second. Eventually, one of the older disciples took pity on him, breaking away from his group to jog over.
Like most cultivators, the man was handsome, tall with long brown hair, a strong jawline, and broad shoulders. He also ate up the distance far faster than he had any right to at only a light jog. When he finally came within speaking distance, he wasn’t even breathing hard.
“Ah! Hello stranger. Are you here for the monthly entrance exam? You’re a bit late, but I’m sure brother Lang can still slot you in if we hurry. Here, let me take you to him.”
The young man was already turning to leave when, quickly taking a breath to steel his nerves, Jun spoke.
“Exams? Hah! Can’t say as I am. Left all that schooling nonsense behind me years ago and never looked back. And not a day’s gone by wherein I’ve regretted the decision neither. Say, you got any grub on hand? Worked up something of an appetite on the way up here, and I wouldn’t say no to a bite to eat for my troubles.”
Question #1: What happens if I outright ignore the trial completely, and instead do everything in my power to derail things as much as humanly possible?
