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Chapter 48: Training Facilities
🕑 Added 2022-12-02 14:18:16 +0000 UTCA training room stretched before Jack and Brock.
The basement was large—almost as wide as the house above. Its walls held a blue metallic sheen, just subdued enough to force focus, and curved slightly outward, making the middle of the room wider than its top and bottom. When Jack touched a wall experimentally, it was soft, like the training mats people used for martial arts. The floor was made of the same material.
Moreover, the room had plenty of equipment. Jack saw weights, dumbbells, wires, and training tapes.
Brock saw them too and went bananas. He rushed to a small dumbbell and tried to lift it among cries of joy, only to be disappointed when it refused to budge. There was a "50kg" sign on its side.
While Brock was huffing and puffing at the dumbbell, Jack approached a heap of what looked like practice targets. When he touched one, it hummed and floated up.
“Woah!” he said, stepping back.
Practice Target
This target can repair itself after breaking, allowing for extended usage. Additionally, it is enchanted with floating powers. It can hover in place where the user indicates, making it suitable for complex training routines.
Enchanted by Horrificus Egen.
“Woah,” Jack repeated. The target was white and round, with a red ring drawn on it and a red dot dead-center. It was about the size of Jack’s head. However, though the description mentioned enchanting, which sounded magical, the target’s humming indicated mechanical components.
He had never seen anything like it.
It can repair itself? he wondered, then punched the target.
It was hard like wood. A pre-System human would have broken their hand on it. Jack, however, wasn’t a pre-System human, so his fist sailed smoothly through the wood, cleanly breaking the target into three parts that flew away.
There were no gears inside, only wood.
A moment later, the three parts floated towards each other and reconnected into a whole target. Jack blinked. He looked at the heap of practice targets; there were at least two dozen of them. He turned back to his target.
"So, you think you're tough."
He then punched the repaired target again—this time even harder. The pieces flew off to different parts of the room before slowly reforming. Jack punched it again. The pieces were slightly slower this time. He grinned.
It took five minutes and about thirty breaks before the target gave up and stayed fragmented.
“Yay for science,” he muttered. “Jack 1, targets 0.” Bullying these targets was a great way to let off steam.
Leaving the poor wood aside for now, he turned to explore the rest of the room. Most things were familiar, if completely out of whack compared to Earth. He spotted steel dumbbells weighing up to three hundred kilograms each. His waist hurt just looking at them.
However, what drew his attention the most was a mat placed in a corner. It wasn’t eye-catching by itself, but the way it had been given space drew him in. Approaching to take a closer look, he noticed it was made of thin silk, like the most treasured carpet of a desert family. It was small, the size of a shower towel, and depicted psychedelic patterns that made little sense but prodded Jack’s mind in especially peculiar ways. Just looking at the mat seemed to heighten his mind.
Meditation mat (F-Grade)
A meditation mat that can sharpen the focus of F-Grade cultivators. Its woven patterns resonate with the lesser Dao, making it more active around the mat and therefore easier to perceive. Moreover, gazing at these patterns is enough to put people in a meditative trance.
One part of Jack’s mind noticed the differences between this mat and the practice targets. It had a Grade, and its creator wasn’t mentioned. Moreover, it wasn’t enchanted, but rather woven with patterns of mystical significance.
Another part was intrigued. He sat down on it, some hidden instinct urging him to sit cross-legged.
Immediately, his thoughts sharpened. His Dao Root became more active, and his mind started to wander by itself, daydreaming about the Dao of the Fist. It felt like a half-dreaming half-awake state, where he had the imagination of dreams but also conscious control over it. Ideas popped into his mind.
It was a wondrous state.
A moment later, Jack realized this sensation resembled the ice waterfall back in his cave, but with a few key differences. One, it wasn’t torturous or dangerous to enter. Two, he was perfectly conscious, unlike the selfless state the waterfall thrust him into. And three…the mat was a bit weaker.
After all, for all its troubles, the Ice Pond was E-Grade.
However, the mat remained wondrous, and Jack quickly forgot himself in this Dao-seeking stage. Images and thought fragments paraded in his mind, appearing out of nowhere. It felt like someone was throwing ideas into his mind, but he knew it was his subconscious speaking. He let it. His eyes got lost in the woven patterns and closed by themselves. His breath evened, and his body relaxed.
He hadn’t had much progress in the Dao after escaping the dungeon. He didn’t have a direction to go forward, and the Dao Vision felt cloudy as if refusing to give him anything more.
Jack had realized the Dao of the Fist…but then what? Though he’d spent many hours pondering, he’d made virtually no progress. What he lacked wasn’t meditation, but experience.
That was how the Dao worked. First, you had to go out and experience the world; accumulate thoughts, questions, and realizations. Afterwards, you meditated, reflecting on them and trying to piece them apart. If you were lucky, nuggets of wisdom relative to your Dao would appear.
These were the two components of understanding—experience and introspection—and that was the way to progress one's Dao.
Jack hadn’t come up with these ideas himself, of course; they were written in the advanced information package they’d bought off Ar’Tazul.
So, he’d been stuck.
Until something happened.
After leaving the dungeon, Jack had experienced things. He’d dominated Henry’s Fang, organized his faction, took control of Valville, and fought Gan Salin, who possessed two Dao Roots. There were hints there. Tiny realizations would flicker in and out of his thoughts occasionally, like flies that quickly got lost in the background. There was something there, some insight he was close to but kept missing.
Then, the tournament came, and Jack appeared in a square filled with top elites from all ends of Earth. Something clicked in his mind, then. It was like his thoughts had reached an invisible threshold, and the insights that had constantly eluded him had solidified.
He couldn’t understand them yet, of course, but they were now an object he could touch at will. All he had to do was spend the time to unravel them.
And that’s what he set to do.
On the meditation mat, his thoughts flowed smoothly. He reviewed the battle with Henry’s Fang and contrasted it against the seed of realization he felt. Why had he dominated them? The answer came easy; because he was strong.
Why had he attacked them, to begin with? Because he was confident. Because they were in a collision course already, and he wouldn’t back down.
For the first time in a while, he felt himself making progress. These thoughts rang true but weren’t the same ones he always had. This wasn’t the Dao of the Fist; or, rather, it wasn’t exactly the Dao of the Fist.
He had organized his faction and taken control of a town. What had made that happen? It wasn’t luck, not at all. It was a mixture of strength, skill, confidence, initiative…and yeah, a little bit of luck.
And how had he solved the Gan Salin situation? He’d just punched the guy.
Jack frowned. Something wasn’t quite right. His thoughts had veered off the right path at some point, and the insight was tying itself into further knots instead of unraveling. Moreover, he felt tired. This wasn’t right. The mat relaxed his thoughts. If he was tired, how long had he been sitting here for?
His eyes opened slowly. The lighting had lowered while he was meditating—was the simple-looking light bulb above actually high-tech?
Jack stretched his legs and got up. He was a bit sore; his meditation felt quick, but it must have lasted at least half an hour, if not more.
Brock was lying next to the dumbbell, snoring with his belly up.
That long, huh? Well, no matter, Jack thought, smiling. He was finally making progress on his Dao. He was on a high.
With a final, appreciative look at the meditation mat, he walked away. Only one thing was left to check in this room; the unassuming door at its far end.
It was dark blue and made of metal. Jack turned the doorknob. The door swung open soundlessly, revealing a room similar to the previous one. It was the same size and had the same soft, metal-looking walls, but there was no equipment here. Instead, the room was completely empty, save for a humanoid robot at the other end.
Jack’s eyes widened. A robot! he repeated to himself.
It was made of gray steel. Various shades of the color decorated its body, painted to resemble martial arts clothing, and it stood with eyes closed, back straight, and hands clasped behind its back.
The moment Jack entered the room, its eyes snapped open, revealing white irises.
“Hello, Master,” it said in a smooth, un-robot-like, yet matter-of-factly voice. “I am your training partner. How can I be of assistance?”
Training Robot (E-Grade)
A robot made to be the perfect training partner. It is intelligent, obedient, can help with chores or exercise, and can spar at seven different levels of power.
Enchanted by Horroficus Egen.
Jack stared at the robot, which stared back, probably expecting a response.
“Are you really a robot?” he finally asked.
“Yes, Master.”
“And what can you do?”
“I am only limited by the ends of my power and my core directives, which constrain my functionalities to training-related tasks.”
“How do you work?"
“I have been enchanted by the Dao of Automation, Master. I do not know more details.”
Jack was launching questions in rapid-fire mode, but the robot was responding simply and accurately. Befitting a robot, its patience seemed infinite.
Eventually, Jack calmed down. This robot was a training partner. What did its description say again?
“You have seven levels of powers,” he said. “How strong are they?”
“They range from the early F-Grade to the middle E-Grade, Master. Unfortunately, controlling my strength in finer detail is beyond me. I am obligated to inform you that by using me, you accept sole responsibility for any injuries.”
“Injuries to me or you?”
“You, Master. It is unlikely you will be able to damage me.”
“Is that so?” Jack frowned. “Okay. Wanna spar?”
“Of course, Master. What level of power?”
“Which is closer to the early E-Grade?”
“The fifth.”
“Then, that.”
“Very well. You can begin whenever you want, Master.”
Jack cracked his knuckles, grinned, and charged.
He’d chosen the early E-Grade because, unlike what his bravado might indicate, he was careful. The F-Grade went up to Level 50, and the black wolf that Jack had beaten had been an Elite Level 49. He’d gotten significantly stronger since then, too. The early E-Grade felt like a good challenge.
It wasn’t.
The robot moved so fast it disappeared. The next moment, it was standing next to Jack, who was still mid-charge. He barely had time to lower his arm before a steel fist rammed into his elbow, planting it into his own ribs and sending him flying into a wall.
All air was knocked out of his chest. A rib must have cracked. Fortunately, the walls were soft, and they absorbed most of the momentum. The robot was still standing there, slowly retracting its extended fist. At some point, a first aid kit had appeared in its other hand.
“Should I provide medical care, Master?” it asked. Jack could swear its voice was mocking.
“I’m fine,” he groaned, pulling himself off the ground. He glared at the robot, which wasn’t the least bit intimidated. “Was that really the early E-Grade?” he asked. “How can the difference be that large? I’ve beaten an Elite Level 49 monster.”
“The transition from F to E-Grade is a large change, Master,” the robot explained. “The physical body is imbued with the Dao. All aspects rise, and the cultivator’s Dao becomes much stronger and easier to use. I cannot use any Dao, but my physical prowess is enhanced to overall resemble an opponent at the early E-Grade level of power.”
Jack grumbled.
At that point, a solid piece of poop flew through the door and smacked the robot in the chest. It seemed confused. Jack burst into laughter, then owed as his cracked rib sent a jolt of pain through him.
Brock flew in after his poop with a warcry, ready to protect Jack. His little fists were clenched, and he didn't seem to care about the obvious size difference.
"Wait, Brock," Jack said with mirth. "It's okay. Don't hurt it."
Brock listened, stopping his charge, but he still said something threatening in monkey-talk. He pointed two fingers to his eyes, then to the robot.
"I am terrified," the robot said. "I will be careful, as you say."
Jack nodded. The robot pulled a set of napkins from inside its forearm, made sure there was no dirt left on it, then grabbed the poop from the floor and tossed it into a trash can in the corner.
“I recommend the fourth level, Master,” it continued, turning back to Jack with a hint of annoyance in its voice. “It will make me equivalent to the peak of the F-Grade. Then, you will probably be able to win.”
“Probably my ass,” Jack grumbled again. “I will beat you at the fifth level. But not now. I have a cracked rib and a fight tomorrow.”
The tournament started in the morning, after all. As much as Jack wanted to play with this robot, he needed to be in top shape. After all, who knew how strong the opponents would be?
The medical kit, which had at some point disappeared, was suddenly at the robot’s hand again.
“I can provide medi—”
“I’m fine.” Jack waved it away. Not that he held a grudge against it, but his natural regeneration would handle the injury if he just slept well.
Plus, what would a first aid kit do about a cracked rib? Bandage it?
“Very well, Master.” The robot nodded, walking back to its original position and hiding the medical kit in a corner. “I wish you a speedy recovery. When your power is less lacking, I will be happy to fight you at my fifth level again.”
“Wh—” Jack was caught off guard. “Lacking? Your mother is lacking!”
“I have no mother, Master. I came out of an oven.”
Jack glared again. The robot stared back and he would swear it was gloating. Was irritability built into it? Was it payback for before?
“Is there anything else, Master?” it asked, weathering his stare like it was nothing.
“No,” he replied. “Rest well. I’m coming for you.”
“Of course, Master.”
Ignoring the irritable robot, Jack put Brock on his shoulder, walked away, and closed the door behind him. He then climbed the stairs that led up and re-entered his house. He spared a glance for the hot tub—as much as he would have liked to try, cracked ribs were painful.
Therefore, abandoning all thoughts of nightlife, Jack looked around until he found the bedroom, then fell on his king-sized bed with the clothes still on and Brock beside him. He expected pain. Instead, the mattress was so soft and comfortable that he drifted away in seconds.
When the sun rose, he woke up fully healed, filled with energy, and pumped up. The smug robot had ignited his fighting spirit. Whoever faced him in the arena today would be a very, very unlucky person.
Jack remembered that he actually had no idea how the tournament worked, but that was fine. The mystery was intriguing.
And, besides, he’d find out in a moment.
