George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

Crack!

Wing-Spear pancaked down. The blow had proved too much. Bob's adversary had passed out cold, white froth bubbling from his mouth. The picture of the defeated enemy.

"Up you go." Bob hoisted the body up and over his shoulder. He started for the cluster of Wing-Spear's companions, pausing only to give a champion's smile and wave to his golden fan. Body successfully deposited, Bob strutted over to Mess, eager for his reward of praise and admiration.

"Sensei, I think I need a new belt. Something in the brown-black category."

Bob readied a high-five. Unfortunately, the system's cultural translation did not bother translating and Mess just sort of high-waved back. Bob slapped the hand anyway. We learn through experiences.

"Mr. Brown, what do you believe yourself to have achieved?"

"What? Mana-expression of course. Man's out cold." Bob struck a bodybuilder pose and patted his bicep appreciatively.

"Mr. Brown, I can assure that your opponent passed out from sheer terror. You scared him half to death. Are you prone to such unintentional cruelty?"

"I think the phrase people tend to use 'bumbling-annoying', but I've never done a survey. Worth doing probably."

"Well, we can all be grateful your attack did not succeed. You spent a whole thirty seconds dumping mana into your right fist. For a mage, that is a terrifying quantity of mana. You probably would have blown his head right off."

"Ah, shucks. Now that you mention it, even my big spells don't use require any serious charge time," Bob sighed, "Mess, what's the trick to it, man? I was sure I had it that time."

"I believe, it is my turn to ask a question."

"Shoot."

"Mr. Brown, how does one 'level up'?"

"Mess, are you asking seriously?"

"Academic interest."

Bob knew a non-academic question when he heard one. But was Mess wrong for trying? Progress is a long history of man attempting to defy his fate. Maybe a monster could do the same.

"Truth be told, I do nothing. The system handles everything. I've leveled up without even noticing before. But big-picture, every time I kill a monster or sentient I get a portion of experience. When my accumulated experience hits a certain threshold, I automatically level up and receive level up bonuses."

Bob watched the gears of Mess's mind turn, as he followed the discussion with very non-academic interest.

"I don't think you'll be able to replicate it, Mess. The system doles out the experience and the system facilities the level up. You'd need to understand both of those processes and be able to replicate them yourself. Hell, you'd need a magical researcher."

"Thank you, Mr. Brown. You are the only person I could have asked. I will think on it."

The bottom bracket semi final pitted Maceatron against a lean, graceful warrior armed with twin daggers.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"He looks a bit squishy, Mess? One good club and he'll be paste."

Mess actually chuckled. "She, Mr. Brown. And I can assure you she has no need for your apprehension. She is the favorite by far. She is a warrior that does not deserve to die at lowly D rank. She could do great things, Mr. Brown, if only... well..."

"I shall call her Moon-Fang."

Mess actually swiveled around to look at Bob directly. "Mr. Brown will you explain to me why she receives a name such as Moon-Fang and I am... Mess."

"It's cause we're buddies. Do you think she'd go for Moony?"

"You should certainly call her that."

Bob chuckled. It's not every day you get to joke around with Rank C Zone Bosses. They get a bad rap.

"It's the last match before the final. Who do you wish to back, Mr. Brown?"

"Well, you've kinda given the answer away. But Mess, you know, we're buddies now, right? I'll just answer any reasonable questions you put to me. We don't have to bet."

"Is that so?"

"Of course, but hey, help me figure out how to mana express and I'll let you ask something difficult."

The trick Mess explained was penetrating a being's mana boundary. At D Rank a sentient had two overlapping and intermingled bodies, his mana body and his physical. In the same way that the physical body was bounded by a weather-resistance, protective skin, the mana body was protected by a mana barrier. The Arcane Barrier Layer or ABL.

To inflict serious damage, an attack had to penetrate this barrier. Some mana forms did this naturally, fire being the cardinal example, but most attacks needed to shaped. It had been as though Bob was pushing really hard on a piece of paper. It doesn't much how much you push, you won't draw blood. The force is spread out over too wide of an area. Bob needed to sharpen and concentrate his mana as he expelled it, rather than simply gushing it out.

The shortcut for the mana uncoordinated was mana-signed weapons. The core property of a mana-signed object is that it allows colored mana to flow into it. The mana is then molded into the shape of its host, be that knife's edge, arrow tip or shaped projectile. And can therefore penetrate the ABL and damage mana-based entities.

Bob listened attentively and took notes. He had several questions brewing and would greatly have appreciated a live demonstration. Unfortunately, Moon-Fang lived up to her reputation. She trounced Maceatron. Decimating the poor soldier in less than a minute.

It was Bob's turn. Time for the final.

"Mr. Brown, as promised, I have a difficult question for you."

"Oh? Let's hear it, old pal. You've got me worried. You don't eat people, do you?"

"No, Mr. Brown, I do not eat people."

"That's a weight off my mind. So what's the question?"

Mess started to say something. Then changed his mind and clamped up.

"It can wait until after the final."

"If you're sure. Don't worry, I'll wrap this up in no time."

"I think you'll find Moon-Fang more challenging than you might expect."

"Bah," Bob struck another bodybuilder pose. It didn't suit him. "Shit, almost forget. This is a tournament, right? There's gotta be a prize. Don't tell me it's just the glory of the moon or something abstract bullshit. What are we fighting for?"

Mess smiled. "Mr. Brown, I think it's something you'll find useful. A personal training session with yours truly."

"Mess, I have bad news for you. You realise you've already given me the prize? What if I don't win?"

"Mr. Brown, I think you'll find I can teach a little bit more than simple mana-expression. A skill, I will note, that all of my companions intuit from birth."

"Intriguing Mess. What are we talking here?"

The air shimmered and Mess was suddenly standing beside Bob. His hand pressed across Bob's throat. Bob sputtered, glancing to where Mess had stood and to where he stood now, before stumbling back and belatedly raising his arms in defense.

"Neat trick, Mess. You'll have to show me that one later."

"Mr. Brown, there is a lot more to mana combat than simple mana-expression. That is the foundation of the foundation. And you need more help than you think. Somehow you have acquired an intuitive mastery of a form with no conscious understanding of how it works. It is most curious. But I promise you, you will hit a ceiling soon. You can't adapt. You can't improvise. Your form is not a part of you. And until it is, you will never understand how it is to be grown."

"And you can teach me? Even with my overwhelming lack of natural talent."

"Mr. Brown, despite what you tell yourself, I can assure you that you are very far from lacking talent. Yes, to answer your question, I believe I could teach you many things."

"Sensei." Bob gave a mock-bow, palm over closed fist. "Sensei, ganbarimasu." And then he lifted his head, smiling. "Mess, you really know how to sell a thing. I'm going to win this tournament or die trying."

Bob snapped his neck side to side, cracked his knuckles, and swaggered into the ring.