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Chapter 162: The Village
🕑 Added 2023-04-11 17:36:00 +0000 UTCThroughout Jack’s week-long journey through the desert, he didn’t forget about the Dao Soul.
Every second night, he entered his soul world instead of sleeping. The Dao Soul waited there, a mute copy of Jack that took childlike joy in fighting.
Here, the Dao came easy, but the System was cut-off. He had changed the terrain from a grassland to a desert, to better resemble his current environment. The only other difference from last time was the shining green beacon in the sky—the Life Drop—though Jack discovered he couldn’t draw on its four-armed power here.
Every time he arrived in this soul world, he found himself enjoying it even more. His soul yearned for battle. For the thrill of the fight. He itched to pit himself against someone who could match him, to punch against a skilled opponent.
Copy-Jack used the real Jack’s Dao and fighting skills, but gave its own twist to them. Sometimes, it uncorked combinations that Jack had never considered. It utilized the Dao in novel ways.
There was inventiveness in the way it thought. The Dao Soul wasn’t a machine, but a nascent soul, a real living being. It wasn’t as complete as an actual person, which was why it needed to leech off Jack, but the seed was there.
There was a time, far into the pre-System days, when Jack would play fighting videogames with a friend from high school. That was exactly how this felt. He pitted himself against the copy again and again, each trying to sharpen their skills while learning the other’s patterns. They had to mix things up, try new maneuvers, new combinations. Most of the time, it failed horribly. But, sometimes, it worked, and Jack learned something new.
Of course, the greatest benefits had come from the very first time Jack arrived here, when many of his then-weaknesses were revealed. In the week through the desert, no skill notification arose from this training, but Jack felt his strength increase noticeably. Since he was unable to rely on the System in his soul world, he gradually developed his own understanding of fistfighting, which he then confirmed with the System’s assistance in the outside world.
Many of his skills felt on the cusp of evolving once more.
His Dao was also improving by the day. Unlike the outside world, his soul allowed him to use the Dao freely. He could even manipulate it outside his body, which was usually a domain reserved for D-Grades. As a result, he came into contact with insights that most people of his level never had access to. Through constant battling against the copy, he discovered new, more efficient ways to implement his Dao, slowly but surely approaching the skill with which the System guided his Dao when using Dao skills. He was still very, very far away, of course—but he was moving in the right direction.
This process, too, put many of his skills on the cusp of evolving.
The Dao Soul wasn’t the best tool to expand one’s abilities, since it included no real danger or pressure, but it was perfect for stabilizing what he already knew. It could greatly accelerate the twin cycle of cultivation—expansion and stabilization.
Given Jack’s deadline of one year, it was the best thing he could ask for. After the third night, he stopped sleeping altogether and spent every resting moment in his soul world, practicing against the Dao Soul. Copy-Jack welcomed the challenge.
As a result, Jack was tired towards the end of the trip. His eyes had black bags under them, his body felt sore, and only his indomitable will kept him from dozing off. He was slowly turning into a training maniac.
But he was improving fast.
Only at the last night, just before they reached the village, did Nauja convince him to sleep. They didn’t know what they’d meet there; they had to be at their peak.
***
The oasis colored the heart of the desert, a splash of life in a wasteland.
Palm trees rose from verdant grass, swaying in the breeze. A small lake was in the middle, its waters crystal clear and inviting. Birds and little animals darted around between the trees, and cultivators, for once, weren’t trying to kill each other.
The village itself was sprawled around the lake, surrounding it, roughly fifty little houses, all picturesque and identical. They were made of light wood and resembled forest cabins, with logs sticking out at the end of walls and a flat roof above—unlike normal forest cabins, these ones didn’t have to fear the rain.
People of all species walked or rested in their midst. There were roughly forty of them, each moving with the confidence of an elite. None of these people were simple. They had the status and strength to be granted a Trial Token, and they had made it through the second and third rings, crossed the desert, and reached to the village.
Each of them was a prodigy of a B-Grade faction, on the level of the Integration Tournament’s scions—or higher.
Jack saw feshkurs, a kovan, lycans, treants, insectoid people, creatures made of stone, others of wood. Some had wings, skin in all colors of the rainbow, or random assortments of limbs. They carried halberds, spears, swords, bows, maces, mallets, daggers, knives, machetes, staves, even guns. Many didn’t wield weapons but instead radiated peculiar auras, like their mere visage struck Jack’s brain oddly. Others wore odd garments and held artifacts that screamed magic. One person was completely naked.
Their levels ranged from the late seventies all the way to 119. Undoubtedly, they had the strength to match.
Jack, Nauja, and Brock watched all that from a distant sand dune, crouching on its surface so as to not be seen.
“Look at all those people,” Jack said. “They’re so different.”
“All delvers,” Nauja replied with distaste. “Their exterior doesn’t matter if they’re rotten on the inside.”
“Look. Our friends are there, too.”
One of the people walking around was an easily distinguishable treant, like the one they’d been chased by in the Forbidden Cave. There was no way to tell if it was the same treant from this distance, since all of them looked similar to Jack, but the woman who walked beside it sealed the deal. She was bald and clad in purple robes.
The minotaur’s forces were here.
“We can’t enter the village,” Nauja said. “They’d chase us again.”
“I’m stronger now.”
“Stronger than all of them? And their allies?” Nauja raised a brow. “The minotaur wasn’t even the top of the pack. He mentioned that he worked under someone, remember? A Lord Longsword. If they spot us, we’re done for—or, at least, I am.”
Jack grumbled. She was right, of course, but they were tired and starving after a week in the desert. Poor Brock was the worst; he was wobbling and had trouble concentrating. Jack had carried him for the last half a day. Even the hat they’d fashioned out of a dead scaled lizard wasn’t enough to spare him the scorching sun. Moreover, they sadly discovered that these lizards weren’t edible.
Brock might have been a level 45 elite beast, but even he had his limits, and they were fast approaching.
“We have to get some food,” Jack said. “For Brock, and for us. Who knows what will be in the next ring?”
“Well, it’s the Space Ring. I know some things, but…not if it has food.” She narrowed her brows. “I never thought to ask.”
“You know who has food? That place.” He pointed at a specific building in the village. It was a cabin larger than the others, with smoke wafting off a little chimney. Tables were arranged at the front for cultivators to eat, with two lycan waiters shuffling between them and the kitchen, where a single kovan used its four arms to cook three meals at once.
Many groups of cultivators were clustered around the tables, chatting merrily and gorging themselves on drinks and food that looked delicious even from this distance.
Then again, everything looked delicious after a week in the desert.
“There’s still your friend, right?” Nauja asked. “That Gan Salin person. We can’t enter the village, but he can. Maybe he can buy food for everyone.”
“Not a bad idea,” Jack replied. “The problem is, I don’t see him.”
Despite the colorful assortment of cultivators, Gan Salin was missing. Jack hoped he was just inside a cabin, out of sight.
“We are well ahead of schedule,” he said. “We’d agreed on a two-month deadline to reach here. It has only been like, what, two weeks? He’s probably still touring the second ring.”
“Or dead.”
“Not helping.”
“Not trying.”
Jack chuckled. “Let’s wait a bit. Maybe he’ll show up from one of the houses. If not… Well, good luck, Gan Salin.”
“Na’ste’kala.”
“What’s that?”
“An expression my tribe uses. It’s slang for goodbye. Similar to the sound a triceratops makes when sad.”
“Aren’t you guys too few to have slang?”
She gave him a weird look. “What does our population have to do with anything?”
“Well, size matt— You know what? Nevermind.”
“Can we get back to our starving?”
“Sure. So, if Salin doesn’t show up soon, we could try other things. Maybe disguises? No, that wouldn’t work. We could steal some food in the night, I guess, or pay someone to buy it for us.”
“That last one sounds like a good idea. Even if the minotaur’s told people to look out for us, I doubt any delver will care if we pay them enough.”
“Okay. Let’s wait a bit, and then we proceed with that plan. Afterwards… Where’s the exit again?”
“Inside the village.” She pointed at a small island in the middle of the lake, where a stone shrine stood out.
“Right. Perfect.”
“We can try sneaking through. If we get as close as possible and then make a run for it, I doubt anyone will be able to stop us in time.”
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. So, we wait a bit for Salin to appear from inside a cabin, then get someone to buy food for us, then try to reach the exit tunnel.”
Brock counted as an individual, thankfully—as had been revealed in the Barbarian Ring—so they matched the “at least three individuals” requirement for the Ring Quest.
“What are all these people waiting for, anyway?” Jack wondered. “Why aren’t they going to the next ring?”
“There’s an annual event sometime soon. The Garden Assault, when everyone works together to reach the depths of Trial Planet. I think they’re waiting for that.”
“Hmm… I guess none of them are in a hurry.”
Jack looked at the village again. Those were a lot of people. A lot of potential enemies.
Of course, they could also try another village, but… There was no time for that. Jack was on the clock. Even with his recent bonuses, his goal of defeating the C-Grade planetary overseer within a year remained near-impossible.
The Integration had taken a month, his space trip two weeks, and his Trial Planet run so far another two weeks. Ten months remained until Earth’s grace period was over…and Jack was still in the E-Grade. There were plenty of letters left to go.
Damn the alphabet.
At least, they had a plan now. Wait, pay, run. Simple and clean.
From between Jack and Nauja, Brock made monkey sounds and pointed at something.
“Hmm? What’s that, bro?” Jack said, squinting.
A trio of cultivators had just thrown the scraps of their food at something behind the tavern. It wasn’t visible from where Jack watched. A stray? he thought, then considered it better. No. Those people are laughing. Why would they be laughing? Are they making fun of strays?
Brock made monkey sounds again.
Jack shrugged. “We can take a look.”
The three of them slid down the sand dune and made a wide circle around the tribe, taking in everything from a second viewpoint. A few minutes later, the area where the cultivators had laughingly thrown scraps at was slowly revealed.
Thick iron bars. A metal cage in the mud. And, inside it, munching on the bone of a chicken, was Gan Salin.
Jack groaned. “Oh, come on. You have got to be kidding me.”
“Is that your friend?” Nauja asked, eyes wide.
“Yeah.”
“Why is he in there?”
“I don’t know,” Jack replied, frowning. He was getting angry now. He and Gan Salin had their differences once, but the canine had helped him escape the Animal Kingdom bounty hunters. They’d entered Trial Planet together. Maybe they weren’t exactly friends, but they were a team.
And somebody was treating Gan Salin like trash.
Perhaps the canine had done something stupid and brought this upon himself—Jack wouldn’t be surprised. But something told him this wasn’t the case. Gan Salin was slightly insane, but he didn’t feel suicidal. So, why?
Why was Gan Salin trapped in a cage and fed scraps while people laughed at him? Who did it? Why?
And what could Jack do about it?
“Change of plans,” he said, frowning. “Night is falling soon. We’ll sneak in and talk to Gan Salin. Rescue him if he’s bullied. In the process, maybe we’ll steal some food, too. I doubt the big guns will come after us over a couple of cold meals.”
“Okay,” Nauja agreed immediately. She hated the delvers on principle. Seeing them mistreat someone, she instantly identified with that person. Gan Salin being her potential ally only fanned the flames.
They lay on the sand as time passed. Eventually, the sun mushrooms above dimmed. They went from suns to stars, showering the desert in silver light. Day gave way to night.
Most of the cultivators withdrew to their cabins. They didn’t need to sleep every night, but they had no need to stay awake, either. A few remained outside, positioning themselves in key spots and scanning the desert. They were careless, though. Some even sipped drinks from clay mugs. They weren’t guarding against an assault from other cultivators, only the rare desert monster stupid enough to attack an oasis.
Jack, Brock, and Nauja slipped in like shadows. They crossed the sand dunes, not climbing over them, but following the valleys in between. The cold sand was their ally now, muffling their steps.
Before long, they were walking on grass, and the cabins loomed before them. Some were illuminated from the inside, firelight spilling from open windows. The palm trees rustled above them, their leaves whistling slightly in the night wind, while the birds and little animals had returned to their nests to hide from the cold. Impressively, the lake’s surface was gradually freezing over.
The tavern was still open, but only a couple of tables were occupied. They weren’t serving food now, just drinks, and the raucous laughter of drunk cultivators filled the front of the building. They tried to keep it low, though; might made right in the cultivator world. If their noise annoyed someone strong, they could end up beaten, or, even worse, like Gan Salin.
The three of them crossed the cabins silently, darting from one to the other, always staying out of sight of the few look-outs. Before long, they made it behind the tavern, spying on the hardworking kovan bartender through a window. From there, Gan Salin was only a few steps away.
Canine, Level 61
Faction: Animal Kingdom
Title: Planetary Frontrunner (10)
Up close, he looked bad. His hair was messy and soiled, his clothes were dirty, torn in places. The remains of food lay at the side of his cage, stripped of every scrap of nutrition they ever had, while the mud under his wooden cage stank of piss. He was thinner than Jack remembered, looking weak and tired, and he was huddled against a corner of his cage, tucking his head into his chest and trying to sleep.
The sight struck a chord in Jack’s chest.
“Psst,” he said, crawling close to avoid being seen. Salin didn’t respond. “Psst!” Jack tried again, and this time, the canine raised his head. The hardness of his eyes gave way to confusion when he saw nobody. “Down here. On the ground,” Jack whispered.
Gan Salin looked down. His eyes shone. “Oh, hey Jackie,” he whispered back with a smile. “Long time no see, huh?”
Comments
Valerios
Hahah, that scene was very different before your comment ;) thanks!
IndyBart
Love it!
Valerios
Ask, and you shall receive :)
IndyBart
Just once I’d like to see somebody walk up to Jack and him one-punch-man explode them and watch everyone else back up with their hands up.
Turns out that Gan Salin actually put himself in there purely because he's insane and it made sense at the time!
