In its place, a massive square dais materialized—rough stone blocks fitted together with the precision of master craftsmen. Jungle erupted around us, thick vines draping from trees that scraped the sky, their leaves so green they practically glowed. The humidity hit like a physical wall, instantly coating my skin in moisture that had nothing to do with nerves.
Through the humid haze, I could just make out the spectators—ghostly outlines watching from beyond whatever barrier separated this place from reality. They flickered there but not there, present but removed. Another spirit realm then? Perfect. At least if Zachary turned me into paste, it wouldn't leave a permanent stain on the actual floor.
"Striker's Rules," Zachary announced, his voice carrying a formal cadence that made everything sound like a proclamation. "Only blunt weapons if necessary. As the challenger, I shall follow your lead. If you choose to mana burn, I shall reciprocate. No mudras or manifested runes—nobody wishes to be incinerated while attempting to engage in fisticuffs."
I nodded. Seemed fair enough. The last time I'd properly sparred with anyone who wasn't a Master trying to humble me was Erik, and that was my first week on Ark. That encounter had ended with my discovering new and exciting ways to break bones. After getting thoroughly educated by Jeremy for the last few weeks, I was curious where I might fall now against someone closer to my level.
Well, theoretically closer.
Valor's aura swept over the arena, settling tentatively on Zachary. The big man's reaction was immediate—a smile that stretched across his face.
"That aura feels considerably different than what I sensed a moment ago," he said, rolling his shoulders in preparation. "Almost menacing! Though we have only just become acquainted, watching your performance in the tournament proved rather entertaining. My cousin Francis speaks highly of you."
I shifted into a Tai Chi form, but not the slow, meditative version most people knew. This was something Jeremy and I had been refining over the past month—Yang style with modifications for people who could punch through stone walls without trying. Sturdier foot placement, snappier movements, less meditation and more deliberation. The centered stability you needed when your body could generate forces that physics textbooks didn't have math for.
Across from me, Zachary raised his arms in what I could only describe as a classical strongman pose with his fingers splayed out. He was flexing every muscle group simultaneously. The guy looked like someone had carved a statue and then decided it needed more muscles for good measure.
"I shall permit you one uncontested strike," he declared, his chest puffed out. "Allow me to gauge your strength, Breaker. As you remain a Seeker, I must understand your limitations to avoid causing undue harm."
I shrugged, moving through several warm-up forms before approaching. My fingers stopped just shy of his chest, barely grazing his grayish skin. "One hit?"
Zachary's laugh boomed through the jungle. "You shall not harm me, Breaker. I merely need to assess your capabilities to ensure I do not inadvertently damage you. Few strikers within these halls can claim to have fractured one of my bones. Which is precisely why I am curious about your potential."
Through Valor, I could feel his complete sincerity. No deception, no trap, just genuine curiosity wrapped in absolute confidence. The man honestly believed I couldn't hurt him.
Challenge accepted.
I'd gotten better at hitting people—marginally—but something about Zachary's certainty flipped a switch in my brain. I forced every drop of mana I could manage into my hand, pushing until it hurt, until my bones creaked under the pressure. This was the same technique I used to drive nails through wood barehanded, except cranked up even higher.
I stepped past him slightly, following the form's natural flow, then snapped out the hardest punch I'd ever thrown in my life.
The impact was like hitting a bank vault. A shockwave exploded outward, shoving me backward despite my mana-reinforced stance. My knuckles screamed in protest—bruised to hell but miraculously not shattered again.
Zachary slid backward a full meter, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline as he grunted and lowered his arms. One massive hand came up to check his chest, prodding at what would definitely be a bruise tomorrow.
"Ow." He said it like he was testing the word, like pain was a foreign concept he'd just discovered. "You have not been idle this past month. I should have allocated more mana to defend against that strike. Arrogance on my part. It shall not occur again." His grin turned predatory. "Come, Ben. Break yourself upon me."
What followed was an education in humility.
Zachary moved like someone had forgotten to tell him that people his size weren't supposed to be fast. Every time Valor warned me of an incoming attack, every time I dodged or deflected, he was already transitioning into the next strike. It was like fighting a very polite avalanche—inevitable, overwhelming, and surprisingly cheerful about the whole thing.
His fists came at me in combinations that would have confused professional boxers. I ducked under a haymaker that displaced enough air to mess up my hair, only to catch a knee to my ribs that folded me like bad origami. I rolled with it, came up swinging, and landed a solid hit to his jaw that would have dropped anyone else.
Zachary just laughed.
"Excellent form!" he complimented, before grabbing my extended arm and using it to introduce me to the ground. The stone dais cracked under the impact, mana barely able to keep my bones from cracking along with it.
Malcolm's voice drifted through the spirit barrier, somehow clear despite the veil: "Is it just me, or is Ben actually enjoying this?"
He wasn't wrong. Something about getting my ass handed to me by someone who wasn't trying to teach me a lesson or put me in my place was... refreshing? Zachary fought like someone who just genuinely loved fighting, with no agenda beyond seeing what would happen next.
I glimpsed something as we exchanged another flurry of blows—his Seal pulsing with power. There was definitely a life rune in the mix, explaining how he'd healed that finger earlier. But the overall pattern reminded me of something else entirely. A tree growing through concrete—all stubborn persistence and inevitable growth. I couldn't put a name to it, but just as I understood its shape, Zachary did something that made Valor scream.
He spoke a single word—something that resonated through reality itself. The sound was less heard and more felt, vibrating through my bones.
Unstoppable
The fist that followed was exactly that. Valor couldn't see it, couldn't warn me, couldn't do anything except watch as it connected with my solar plexus. I left the ground entirely, flying backward in a graceless arc that would have been funny if I wasn't the one experiencing it.
I hit the ground hard enough to bounce, feeling at least two ribs crack on impact. Something inside shifted in a way that internal organs really shouldn't, and I had just enough time to think, 'well, that's not good' before I coughed up blood.
The red spray across the stone was surprisingly artistic, I thought deliriously. Abstract art, but with more internal bleeding.
Divine mana immediately went to work again, that familiar warmth spreading through my chest as bones began knitting themselves back together. Two months ago, coughing up blood would have sent me into full panic mode. Now? Just another day on Ark.
"Gaia's tits, Ben!" Cass's voice cut through the haze. "Stop trying to catch his fists with your insides!"
I pushed myself up, spitting out another mouthful of copper-tasting unpleasantness. I'd landed a few hits on Zachary, sure, but I was completely outclassed. The smart move would be to yield, laugh it off, maybe see if Katie had made anything good in the kitchens.
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Fuck that. I'm going to prove I can do it.
Blue flames erupted around me as I ignited my mana burn, the energy coursing through me. But this time, I pushed harder—doubling the output until the flames roared around me. It would drain my reserves twice as fast, but I wanted to see just how far I could push against someone this strong. Test my mana pathways for all they were worth.
The thought surprised me even as I had it. Normally, I'd have tapped out by now, made some self-deprecating joke about knowing my limits. But something about today, about Zachary's genuine enthusiasm for the fight, made me want to really try.
Zachary's response was immediate—red flames burst to life around him, his own mana burn igniting with the casual ease of someone flipping a light switch. But then his eyes went wide as I exploded toward him, moving fast.
I slipped past his guard, driving an elbow into his stomach with enough force to launch him airborne. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, and I heard Malcolm whoop from beyond the barrier.
I launched myself after him, catching him mid-air just as he got his guard up. Each strike against his defense created another shockwave, the sound echoing through the jungle. For the first time in the fight, I had him on the defensive, pressing the advantage with everything I had.
He landed and mis-stepped—just slightly, weight shifting wrong as he tried to compensate for my assault. The opening was perfect, his face completely exposed as his guard dropped for a fraction of a second. I pulled back, ready to drive my fist straight through that gap and finally land a solid hit…
STOP.
Valor's warning wasn't a whisper or a suggestion. It was a full-throated scream directly into my soul, so loud and sudden that my strike stopped millimeters from Zachary's face. The force sent a shockwave past him that actually pushed trees over.
I barely had time to marvel at what I'd done when Zachary's roundhouse kick caught me in the ribs with the force of a speeding pickup truck, sending me cartwheeling across the arena. The spirit realm collapsed around us, dumping us back into the regular Striker's hall just in time for me to slide across the stone floor and collide with the far wall.
I lay there gasping, trying to convince my lungs that air was still a thing they could process. Every breath felt like someone was stabbing me with tiny, vindictive knives.
Zachary flopped down beside me, one hand pressed to his side where a spectacular bruise was already forming. Purple and green spread across his skin.
"Why did you stop?" he asked, genuine confusion in his voice.
I didn't have an answer. Something about that moment, about what would have happened if I'd followed through, had felt wrong. Valor had insisted I not cross that line.
"You are genuinely terrifying when you mana burn," Zachary continued, his formal speech pattern slipping slightly in his exhaustion. "That makes two new students who legitimately frighten me."
He gestured toward Cass, who was grinning from the sidelines. "She broke my arm three times before I finally conceded defeat."
"Only three?" Cass called out. "I distinctly remember four."
"The fourth was my wrist," Zachary corrected with the precision of someone who'd catalogued every injury. "Technically a different bone structure entirely. It is no question that you three are the top of the Grand Tournament's rankings."
Malcolm wandered over, looking between us with academic interest. "So what exactly happened there at the end? It looked like you just... stopped?"
I shook my head, still trying to process it myself. "Valor made me stop. I don't know why, but it was enough to make me abort completely."
"Interesting," Malcolm mused, then brightened. "Though I have to say, watching you fly through the air was remarkably educational. The arc was almost perfect—very geometric."
"Happy to contribute to your education," I wheezed, finally sitting up properly.
Francis approached with what looked like concern. "Cousin, must you break all the promising newcomers?"
"I break nothing!" Zachary protested, looking genuinely offended. "I merely test their limits with enthusiasm. There is a distinction."
The kitchens were in full swing when I arrived an hour later, my ribs still tender despite the healing pill I'd taken. The massive space buzzed with activity—easily a dozen Vildar darting between stations, their mouse-like features focused in concentration as they followed Katie around.
"Instructor Katie," one of them asked, holding up what looked like a measuring cup filled with clear oil, "is this the correct ratio?"
Katie beamed at the title, clearly enjoying her new role. She was surrounded by ingredients I recognized and several I didn't—cocoa powder in a large bowl, what smelled like coconut oil glistening in a pot, and several containers of white powder that could have been anything from sugar to flour to ground unicorn horn for all I knew.
"Perfect!" she told the Vildar, then noticed me hovering in the doorway. "Ben! You're just in time. I found this recipe in one of Dara's books and we're trying to scale it up. Did you know you can turn milk into a powder? It's amazing!"
She gestured to the massive pot where one of the Albinus Vildar was stirring with a spoon nearly as tall as they were. The glossy brown liquid inside was immediately recognizable, and my mouth started watering involuntarily.
Milk chocolate. Actual, honest-to-god milk chocolate.
Oh... No...
"Katie..." I said slowly, Valor tingling with something that wasn't quite danger but wasn't quite safe either. "How much of that are you making?"
"Oh, just a small batch to test!" She gestured to the pot that could easily have held fifty liters. "The Vildar were so excited when I explained what chocolate was. They've had cocoa before but never thought to sweeten it this way."
One of the Albinus Vildar leaned over the pot and inhaled deeply. Their whiskers twitched, pupils dilating.
"It smells of dreams," he whispered reverently.
Another Vildar approached with a small spoon. "May we taste it, Instructor Katie?"
"Of course! That's the whole point of…"
Valor's danger sense went from tingling to full air-raid siren. I lunged forward, grabbing Katie's arm. "Run!"
"What? Ben, what are you…"
The Vildar placed the milk chocolate coated spoon in their mouth. For a moment, nothing happened. Then their eye started twitching—rapid, erratic movements. A low growl built in their throat, rising in pitch until I could physically feel it.
Then all hell broke loose.
The Vildar erupted into motion, not violence exactly—these were chefs, not Monster Hunters—but something equally chaotic. They swarmed the chocolate pot, climbing over each other in their desperation to reach the contents. Spoons became weapons, ladles turned into shields, and what had been an organized kitchen transformed into a battlefield where the only aim was more milk chocolate.
"Mine!" screamed one Vildar, clutching a cup of the mixture to their chest while three others tried to pry it away.
"I stirred it!" another shrieked, diving across a table and scattering liquid chocolate everywhere.
One of them started speaking in a language I didn't recognize, babbling what sounded like poetry while chocolate dripped down their face.
Katie and I pressed ourselves against the wall, watching the chaos unfold with a mixture of horror and fascination.
"They said they'd restrain themselves!" Katie said with horror as we dodged a metal pan.
"The cake was nothing compared to this. Milk chocolate Katie? You had to know they were going to riot," I laughed, then yelped as a Vildar went sailing past us, still clutching a chocolate-covered spoon.
"I didn't even get to try it!" She pouted.
The head chef, a portly Russet, stood on a counter waving a rolling pin. "RESTORE ORDER! MAINTAIN DIGNITY! REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING! WE ARE HERE TO LEARN!"
He was immediately tackled by three of his subordinates, who had apparently decided dignity was less important than chocolate.
"Should we... do something?" Katie asked, wincing as a pot lid went flying and embedded itself in the wall where we'd been standing moments before.
"I think we should get the fuck out of here," I said, already pulling her toward the door. "Before they realize what it can be used for. Milk chocolate brownies, Katie? Milk Chocolate coated… anything?"
As if on cue, one of the Vildar—eyes wild, fur matted with chocolate—turned toward us. "The Instructor! She has the recipe book! She can make us MORE!"
The kitchen went silent for a heartbeat. Then every Vildar head swiveled toward us in perfect, terrifying synchronization.
"Run?" Katie suggested.
"Move!" I commanded, a smile on my face.
We burst through the kitchen door and sprinted down the hallway, the sound of tiny feet pattering behind us. Katie was laughing despite the imminent threat, her hand in mine as we careened around corners.
"Left!" I shouted, yanking her down a side passage as the yelling grew closer.
"They're not actually dangerous! They're just Vildar," she gasped between breaths.
"Define dangerous!" I replied, then pulled her into an alcove as a wave of chocolate-crazed Vildar went streaming past. "Because I've seen Alexander put a Striker through a thick stone wall over a toffee."
We held our breath, pressed against each other in the narrow space, trying not to laugh as the sounds of pursuit faded into the distance. Katie was warm against my chest, her hair smelling of vanilla and cocoa.
"You know," she whispered, looking up at me with those green eyes that made my brain stop working properly, "this is not how I imagined our first kitchen evening going."
"Really? Because this is the second chocolate-induced riot this week," I laughed back, very aware of how close we were standing.
"They used to just shove each other politely over my baking. But now? Now they really mean it," she giggled and smiled, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me softly. “All because of you.”
For a moment, the chaos, the Vildar, everything else just... disappeared.
Then a tiny voice piped up behind Katie: "Found them!"
We looked over to find a single Vildar, pointing at us with the determination of a tiny, adorable bounty hunter. The fucker had an aura? It was vague but definitely there.
"Shit," we said in unison.
The chase resumed with renewed vigor, though this time we were both laughing too hard to run properly. Eventually, we lost them by doubling back through the Striker halls, where Cass was still regaling anyone who would listen with the story of my aerial acrobatics during the fight with Zachary.
"And then he just went WHOOSH through the air—Ben? Gaia's tits, what are you covered in?"
I looked down. Sure enough, during the chaos, I'd been splattered with enough chocolate to look like I'd been in the splash zone at a factory.
"Long story," I panted. "If anyone asks, we were never here."
Cass raised an eyebrow. "Oh no... is that cocoa... Oh fuck, the Vildar?"
"The Vildar," Katie confirmed.
"We might have accidentally started a minor riot," I admitted.
"Oh, that's like the stuff from the cake," Malcolm guessed, noting the brown stains.
"It's our first fucking day!" Cass threw her hands up just as the battle song of the Vildar rang through the halls.
Zachary looked at Katie with the same look he gave Cass. "Add another genuinely scary person starting at the Academy today. Strikers scatter!"
We were all laughing as we sprinted through the halls of Sylvarus with the mob of chocolate-covered Vildar chasing us.
Given how the day started, I couldn't have asked for a better ending. School was fine when you had good friends, but Magic School?
This was a proper adventure.
[LitRPG] [Cultivation] [Crafting] [Smart MC]
Synopsis (Click to Expand)
To transcend the heavens, one must first forge the ladder.
Between his death on Earth and his rebirth in Aethelgard, Cato glimpsed the Truth: a Nexus of infinite worlds where a thought alone can spark creation. Now, trapped in a mortal body in a decaying kingdom, he has only one ambition—to return to that state of omnipotent freedom.
But the path to the Nexus is long. It begins not with star-shattering spells, but with a hammer and a piece of iron.
Armed with an adult mind, engineering principles, and the forbidden knowledge of internal cultivation, Cato becomes an anomaly. In a world where mages are mass-produced by corrupt academies to serve dying noble houses, he is a variable they cannot calculate.
He is a Blacksmith who treats Aether like metal.
He is a Cultivator who values volume over speed.
He is a Chronicler who will not stop at the sky.