The Jade Shadows Must Die [Cultivation LitRPG]

Reaching for his essence with his mind's eye, he concentrated on how he wanted the System to distribute it, then he pushed it out into his meridians. Energy exploded throughout his body. It didn't stay contained to his channels. It burst out through his bones, his muscles, his flesh, strengthening and empowering. It was like a warm bath, a rush of blood. His skin seemed to be glowing, painting his cell a vibrant gold, and there was a thrum of power that tinged the air around him.

He basked in that sensation for several minutes, until it eventually winked out, and then opened his eyes to find the world changed.

No, not the world, just his perception of it. After his experience in the Fractured Realm, he'd made a decision. While strength appealed on a fundamental level, what he really needed to survive was to simply see more. To notice his enemies before they noticed him. He had the tools, the speed and techniques, but all the offensive power in the world would be wasted the moment distraction took him.

For this reason, he'd pushed 6 of his points into acuity. With the Quartermaster's advice about one-trick ponies echoing in his mind, he threw the other 2 into agility to further lean into his strengths. Now, those two attributes were almost equal.

The difference was marked. From the texture of the stone to the gentle hum of the prison to the feel of the air itself, it was all heightened. It wasn't a colossal improvement, but it was noticeable. He called up his System display:

[Path]

Tier - Whisper (Mid)

Class: Unfused

Weapon bond: Quarterstaff

Style: Foundational Quarterstaff Basics (Null)

Embodiments: None

Aspects: None

Mana: 200/200

Essence: 1%

Techniques:

[Force Hammer (Low)]

[Wind Blade (Low)]

Body

Agility - 15

Strength - 7

Vitality - 7

Mind

Acuity - 16

Mana Control - 10

Mana Capacity - 10

Soul

Authority - 0

Sovereignty - 0

While that number of points felt small, the boosts were significant relative to his starting totals. He wondered what the attribute pools of the Ascendants were like. The men and women of the Chronicles who could dash like an arrow and tear trees from the ground. Their numbers had to be astronomical.

More importantly, what would his own earn rate look like over time? Would he get 8 points every rank forever, or did it change as he grew stronger? He needed to visit the library, or perhaps return to the Quartermaster at some point once he'd taken care of his more pressing concerns. For now though, it was a marvel to sit down with one set of capabilities and stand up simply better. At the end of the hall, he could now pick out the murmur of a conversation between two guards. It was faint, and the words were still lost to him, but he hadn't been able to hear it at all before he'd forged.

He slashed the air a few times, as though wielding his staff, and felt the improvement of his agility in the way his hands cut the air, though that would really only be tested in battle. For now, he was satisfied. He was more powerful. A Mid Whisper who had officially progressed down the Martial Path. Not even the Steward could deny he was a Martial Soul now.

And tomorrow, the arena. Prisoners weren't required to fight, but they could if they chose to. He had no idea what it would be like. In the Martial Corps and Thousand-Year Families, Martial Souls battled one another all the time for prestige and territory and contracts and heavens knew what else, but beyond the scraps he'd caught in the training yard, he had no real idea what that looked like or how it might factor into his plan. If anything, it was frustrating that he wouldn't get to dive again. Between making heartstones and the arena, that was two days of the week that were stolen by things that weren't making him stronger.

He now very much had a taste for that.

***

Sleep came easily that night, and with it, dreams of glory and power.

Though he woke hungry, he decided to skip breakfast again. He'd been hungry plenty in his life. In a way, that familiarity was comfortable. It wasn't like he was diving today. And between the Iron Hand and his uncertainty how to handle Luna and her apparent lack of boundaries, he felt happier keeping to himself.

Besides, he had bigger priorities today. There were improvements to test and a style to set.

He'd tried channelling his style several times in quiet moments in the Fractured Realm, and it had always returned that same fuzz. It clearly wasn't something that would just go away. He didn't like it, but both Master Zhen and the cocky Martial Soul from the Cauldron training area had said a martial foundation was key to his problem. Such primitive combat had never seemed worthwhile to him — in Cloudpiercer you fought with weapons or not at all — but he wasn't above doing what was required.

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He didn't even bother fetching a practice staff when he arrived at the training block. The old master sat at his post, as always, this time sipping from a steaming cup while he read. Though the man didn't give any sign that he noticed Rix's arrival, Rix was sure he could feel a set of eyes on him as he strode into the nearest training cell and sized up the dummy. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth. The elder was full of bluster that he wasn't going to offer any more than the bare minimum advice, but deep down Rix suspected he was a little more invested than he'd let on.

In any case, for now Rix didn't need any more advice. He already had a mission.

The perfect punch.

He dropped into the stance Master Zhen had shown him, his body at a forty-five degree angle, his elbows tucked tight, his knees loose. He'd been told the goal of the stance was to make himself a smaller target, which felt a little stupid when facing down an armless dummy, but he could see the value if he ever found himself in a brawl.

Drawing a deep breath, he struck out, pushing off from the ground and throwing his body weight forward by thrusting his hip in tandem with his fist like he'd been shown. He was aiming to strike the dummy's face with the middle knuckle of his right hand. Apparently, that knuckle was most in alignment with the bones of the arm when straight, allowing the most potent transfer of force.

"One," he said, as the blow landed. Having lost track last time, he'd decided to count aloud with every attack.

"Two."

"Three."

The blows felt…fine. He understood the theory. By pushing off, you could put more of your mass into the punch, increasing its power. Martial Souls may have had unfathomable strength compared to mortals, but at lower tiers, they fundamentally still used their bodies to transfer force, and they could do that more or less efficiently. The problem was just that it felt awkward to him.

"Fifty."

"Fifty one."

He could tell there was a chain of power that was supposed to flow through his body and into his fist, but the timing of the movement from legs to hips to chest to arm wasn't quite right. His attacks definitely had more power than what he'd displayed for Master Zhen the previous day, but the elder had said Rix would know when he landed a proper punch, and he hadn't experienced any kind of epiphany so far.

"Two hundred and twelve."

"Two hundred and thirteen."

It was embarrassing doing this in public, a Martial Soul fighting without a weapon. He'd heard several people show up since he'd arrived and begin training of their own. The clash of weapons rang out from both sides, but he refused to meet their eyes. His focus was solely on the dummy.

"Three hundred and sixty."

"Three hundred and sixty-one."

Master Zhen had said he couldn't think his way through this, but he couldn't stop his mind running. He experimented, shifting his weight subtly, trying to alter the timing of his movements and add more snap to his strike. His knuckles were already growing sore and sweat beaded his brow, but nothing clicked into place.

"Well isn't this precious? My favourite little lamb playing at fisticuffs." Yutaro's sneering voice cut through Rix's concentration. Rix slowly turned to find him standing in the open training cell gate, Kenzo ever his shadow to one side. "What's wrong, lamb? Your little stick not doing the job? Or are you trying to toughen up those hands for when you have to count out my two stones this week?"

Rix forced his expression to remain neutral, despite the unease coiling in his gut. "Heartstone day isn't for a while, Yutaro. I'm just training."

"Training!" Yutaro clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm. "Of course, you are! Diligence! Such an admirable quality in a dreg." He winked at Kenzo, who offered a dull smirk. "But all this effort," Yutaro swept a dismissive hand towards the dummy, "is it really going to help you cough up what you owe? Two stones is a lot for a little lamb. Wouldn't want you to overexert yourself, and then find you've got nothing left for the Iron Hand."

"I'll have your stones," Rix said, his voice tight. He was trying for neutral, but the edge of defiance was hard to completely suppress. In truth, he didn't know that he would have them, but saying otherwise didn't seem smart right now.

"Oh, I'm sure you will." Yutaro's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. He strolled closer, circling Rix slowly. "Because you're a smart boy, aren't you? Smart enough to know what happens when you disappoint people. Important people." His gaze flicked briefly towards the mess hall, a subtle reminder of who exactly ran the Iron Hand. "And smart enough to know that after our…misunderstanding in the yard the other day, your credit with me is running a little thin."

He stopped directly in front of Rix. "Tell you what," Yutaro said, his voice dropping to a confiding tone, all false concern. "Let me give you a little demonstration of how it's done."

Rix didn't need the extra points he'd stacked in acuity to know Yutaro was primed to attack. Every instinct Rix had roared to get on the front foot once more, to strike before he was struck, but that's exactly how he'd ended up here in the first place.

So, when the blow came, instead he simply dodged. Between his preparation and his higher agility, he managed to slip backwards. As he moved, he found his eyes darting towards Master Zhen. The man was observing their cell openly now.

Yutaro's expression darkened as his swing missed, and he raised a fist again, but then he followed Rix's gaze and hesitated. Master Zhen stared back, silent and impassive. Yutaro drew a slow breath, eyeing Rix, his expression calculating.

Instead of striking Rix again, Yutaro turned and unleashed a single, explosive punch into the dummy's chest. The impact was like a miniature thunderclap. The force of the blow sent the wooden figure rocking violently on its base.

"That's how a real Martial Soul trains. But you wouldn't know anything about that, now would you, dreg?" He stepped back. "Two stones. Next week." And with that, they left.

Once they were gone, Rix let out a shaky breath. His hands were clenched, the knuckles white. Yutaro's punch on the dummy had been a raw display of power Rix couldn't yet match.

"Is that all it takes to disrupt you then?" asked Master Zhen. Rix hadn't even heard him approach.

"Just collecting my thoughts," Rix replied.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Well, that shouldn't take long."

With his ebbing adrenaline and frayed nerves, he wanted to snap back, but he managed to contain himself. "I understand, elder," he replied curtly. "I'll get back to it."

And so, though he was still rattled, he dropped into his stance and resumed.

"Four hundred and three."

"Four hundred and four."

Yutaro's parting sneer still echoed in his ears, each thud of his fist against the dummy a dull counterpoint to the explosive power the other man had displayed. What was the point of this? It felt like a futile gesture. He wanted to call forth his staff, his bonded Martial Soul weapon, and slap the dummy into next week. But of course, his summon was blocked here. And all that would do was prove everybody right.

"Four hundred and five."

Out of ideas, he stopped trying altogether.

"Four hundred and eighty."

Like yesterday, he felt himself slipping into a sort of trance. The rhythm of the count, the steady thunk of his blows, the way his muscles flexed and relaxed over and over. There was something vaguely soothing about it, abandoning all hope and expectation.

"Five hundred and forty-two."

He froze. That punch had felt different. Crisper. More harmonious. It was a strange word to use, but it fit. Everything had been in alignment. More importantly, he'd been able to see the difference. The dummy had actually shifted, even if only a fraction. It wasn't the equal of Master Zhen's punch, or even Yutaro's, but it was far and away the hardest he'd punched over the last two days.

He looked over to Master Zhen again. The man had his face buried in his book, but Rix swore he could see a hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes.

Rix joined him. It felt good. It was a tiny thing. He wasn't going to be punching any fadeborn to death. But it was progress. And it said that perhaps the old master's advice wasn't a waste of time after all.

He finished his thousand strikes with renewed vigour. He knew what a proper punch felt like now, but rather than try and focus on replicating the exact movements, he simply held that feeling in his mind and let his body do what it would. By the time he reached his target, one in twenty blows had that same feeling. That ratio wouldn't set the world on fire, but it was progress. He was capable and would continue to improve with practice, and that was what mattered.

If someone had told him six months ago that he'd be thrilled at the prospect of punching a dummy correctly, Rix would have said they were mad, but it was true. He just had to hope it had the implications for his style that he'd been told.

But he couldn't test it further now. He had somewhere else to be. The arena would be open soon, and all prisoners were expected to attend. While he'd witnessed some of the stronger Martial Souls training, he'd never had the opportunity to see them in all-out combat. The duelling grounds of the Martial Corporations weren't open to the mortal public. This was his first opportunity to see what true martial combat looked like.

Giving the dummy one final punch, he headed for the arena.