Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

A group was gathered in space. A dozen white-dressed people, each more brooding than the last. Wreckage surrounded them. Parts of what used to be an Elder-level starship. The distant stars felt cold, and the universe was suddenly much less inviting.

“This is useless,” a man said. “The Hand will find and kill us. We’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“You need to believe, Borg,” a woman replied. “The Old Gods will arrive. The Arch Priestess depends on us. We cannot give up.”

The man named Borg raised his head. “I don’t want to give up! I believe in the Old Gods like all of us, and I hate the cruel Immortals with every fiber of my being, but this is just hopeless. We are sheep to the slaughter. We just barely managed to teleport away this time—the Hand will find us again, and they’ll kill more of us. We’ll die few by few until we’re all gone, and for what? A hope that will never bear fruit? A doomed war? Even if the cause is noble, dying in vain is not.”

“But the Arch Priestess—”

“I don’t give a shit about the Arch Priestess. She’s lying to us, Katie! Can’t you see this war is a lost cause? She has us holding the front lines, but the Hand of God is so much fucking stronger. They’ve got double the people. Stick it in your goddamn head, we cannot win! We have already lost!”

“The Old Gods will arrive,” an older man said. “The tide will turn. We must stay strong.”

“How can I stay strong, Father? How much longer do we have to wait? I feel scared and alone, and I fear we will all die in the darkness between the stars like we never existed. I… I cannot do this anymore.” He paused, all his energy leaving him. “I want to go home.”

The older man frowned but did not speak. A heavy silence spread between the gathered cultivators. It was hard to fight a losing war. Hard to watch your friends die beside you, one by one, as you persisted for an ideal that might or might not come to be.

The current state of the Second Crusade was worse than advertised. The Black Hole Church was pushed back on every front. They’d split their forces and hidden them in a Systemless galaxy, delaying their inevitable defeat, but it helped little. The Hand of God was searching, finding them piece by piece, killing them slowly. While the Church hid, their disadvantage only grew, and the mental pressure on their people was growing heavier.

Everyone felt like prisoners on the execution block, waiting for the blade to fall. They knew that any of these days could be their turn. Yes, the Old Gods were en route, or so the Arch Priestess said…but would they arrive in time? Or was everyone going to die first?

The army of the Black Hole Church had started the war by being ambushed, losing their headquarters—the Cathedral—and forced to flee as many of their hiding spots across System space were discovered. They had suffered serious losses before they could even fight back, and it had all gone downhill from there. They’d managed to delay their defeat by hiding and fighting a semblance of guerilla warfare, but morale was crumbling everywhere.

The cultivators of the Church were losing faith. They desperately needed a victory, to strike back, something. They needed hope. Except, with the state of war as it was, how could the Church achieve anything?

The dozen white-robed cultivators still stood silently in the darkness of space, surrounded by the wreckage of their starship. Many were injured. Their moods couldn’t be worse. Suddenly, a younger woman lifted her head. Her voice trembled with excitement.

“What!?” she exclaimed. “That’s… Are you sure?”

The others threw her questioning glances. Their heads drooped lower. “What is it this time?” asked the older man, the leader of this group. “Which of our comrades fell?”

“It’s not that. Not that at all!” the woman exclaimed. “I… I don’t know if I believe this, but I actually received good news. Great news!”

Their eyes shone. “What happened?”

“Do you remember Jack Rust? Who was about to break into the B-Grade?”

The cultivators nodded. Jack’s breakthrough hadn’t been broadcasted, for fear of revealing his position, but the Church had spread the news.

“Well, his breakthrough just finished. And he, he…” She hesitated, as if struggling to believe her own words.

“So it went well,” the man who’d had a meltdown before, Borg, spoke before she could. “I don’t think that really matters to us. How much did he get? Seven thousand miles? Eight?”

“Not even close!” the younger woman exclaimed, her face growing red with excitement. “I am receiving this news from multiple sources. Elders Boatman and Heavenstar have both confirmed this. It cannot be wrong!”

“Out with it, then!” the older man exclaimed.

“His inner world reached ten thousand miles across!”

The news fell like a nuke on a summer day. The other cultivators went silent. The older man’s face scrunched up. “Is that a joke?” he asked. “This is not the time, Matilda.”

“It’s true! I swear it on my mother’s grave! Everyone is saying the same, all my communications are lighting up! Jack Rust rewrote history! Nine thousand wasn’t the limit—it’s ten!”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The older man snorted. “That’s absurd.”

“And yet it’s true! Not just that, either—even his spiritual companion, the brorilla named Brock, reached 8800 miles! They’re an unprecedented duo! Even the Arch Priestess herself congratulates them, and she sent a faction-wide message confirming this. It is absolutely true!”

“Hmph!” the older man harrumphed. “Ludicrous. If you’re lying about this, Matilda, we will have a problem. Let me speak to them.”

He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she let him tap into the soul connections they used to communicate. Every squad of the Church had someone with this ability—that was how they could communicate efficiently even outside System space.

A moment later, the older man pulled back his hand, his aged eyes growing wide.

“Well?” the others asked him, desperately needing but not daring to believe.

“It’s true,” he said slowly. The trembling excitement of Matilda had also invaded his voice now. “I saw the Arch Priestess’s Dao signature. Elders Boatman and Heavenstar, too. This is not a joke. I have no idea how it happened, but Jack Rust really broke through the nine-thousand-mile limit.”

The cultivators exchanged bewildered looks. Their dead hope began to shimmer. They wouldn’t have believed this in regular times, but they were now neck-deep in war. They believed for dear life. It was the first good news they received in a long time—someone had achieved an impossible feat, and they were part of the same army!

It is incredible how much strength a desperate person can derive from a single piece of good news.

All of them felt like someone had taken a torch, reached into their chests, and lit up something in there. The darkness and despair dissipated.

Their hearts turned warm. They clenched their fists, shedding tears they didn’t even know they’d been holding back. Somehow, the pride they felt was overwhelming. The Church had achieved something. They hadn’t fought so long in vain. If miracles could still happen, not all was lost. Who knew how powerful Jack could become? This war wasn’t over yet. They had hope!

“There’s another message,” the communicator girl, Matilda, said. She gasped. “It’s another faction-wide message by the Arch Priestess. She says this is proof that fate hasn’t abandoned us. We are still here. We are still fighting. With such a heaven-defying genius amongst us, how could we possibly be destroyed? How could we lose? The enemy is fighting for power, but we are fighting for survival. We are fighting for what is right, for our friends and families and the weak people of the universe who need us. We may be fewer, but our hearts burn brighter. This is our war—and we will win!”

She’d gotten swept by her own words, and the surrounding cultivators, already vulnerable, raised their arms and roared into the void. The surrounding space lit up. The stars were no longer cold, the emptiness no longer scary.

They’d always believed in the Church, that’s why they were fighting in the first place. All it took to reignite their flames was a single spark.

Yes, things remained terrible for them. They knew they would probably die. They were scared. But dying meaninglessly and sacrificing yourself for a worthy, attainable cause were two wildly different things. These cultivators had hope again, and while they hoped, they would fight. They would endure the darkness.

Their battle was not in vain, but for freedom. They carried the hope of the universe on their shoulders. They were heroes.

“Fuck the Immortals!” the older man shouted, and the others echoed, their voices rising through the cosmos.

***

Reality was often negotiable. In war, each army’s commanders claimed they were winning. Each side painted themselves as heroes. The crowds back home were always filled with hope and heroism, while those at the frontlines always felt like they were in hell. They were the ones who came face-to-face with the reality of war. Killing others, fearing for your life, and watching your friends collapse had a way of dragging one to the present, shrouding the mind in darkness through which they could only trudge through, an endless march through the night, hoping for a sun that might never rise.

The Church could endure for a long time. Their scattered and hidden forces ensured that. The problem was that every month of survival required a blood price, the death of the least capable or the most unlucky. To those who participated in this massacre lottery, the wait was unbearable. Their morale was bottomed out, and many held thoughts of deserting. At the current state of war, the Church’s greatest problem was maintaining their army’s morale until the Old Gods arrived. They needed something to give their people hope. Something to recharge their faith.

Jack’s ten-thousand-mile, unprecedented breakthrough came like a gift from the gods.

Once the Church leadership recovered from the shock, they spread the word far and wide. This was proof that fate hadn’t abandoned them. It was hope—exactly what they needed.

The news spread like wildfire. Everyone in the Church army knew about Jack’s breakthrough within the hour. In the span of a single day, even the most clueless, non-combatant drunkard in the remotest pub of an Elder-level starship had heard the story at least three times. Through various communication channels, it spread even to System space, infiltrating all seventy-three galaxies. Before long, almost everyone in the universe knew about Jack’s breakthrough.

Such a legendary event had many consequences. The morale of the Church army was uplifted, at least temporarily. The dark despair gave way to burning, warm heroism. People set their jaws, determined to give their lives fighting if necessary. They’d always believed in the Church’s cause, hated the Immortals and their System with a passion—they just hadn’t thought there was hope. Brave roars and laughter filled the Church starships. The celebration of dying men. Of heroes.

On the other side, the Immortals posted a sky-high bounty on Jack and Brock’s heads, and they even sent an Archon to personally hunt them down. It was just how things worked.

The greatest impression, however, was made on the people in and around the Death Boat. They had witnessed everything with their own eyes. They had seen Jack’s inner world blow outward again and again, each time surpassing what they thought possible. They’d seen him charge into a tribulation which could even annihilate A-Grades, and they’d even watched Brock and Elder Boatman stand alongside Jack to face the tribulation together.

All these sights would forever remain carved in the hearts of everyone watching. They’d branded themselves indefinitely. Jack had become a god in their eyes—a universe-class hero. They desired to see how far he could go. His breakthrough had easily surpassed every Archon’s ever. Could he be the first person to take the final step beyond the A-Grade? Could they have witnessed the birth of an eternal legend?

Pubs and gathering places everywhere buzzed with discussion about Jack and Brock. It was the Death Boat’s favorite conversation subject.

As for Jack and Brock themselves, they’d gone into seclusion after their breakthrough to stabilize their cultivation. It was only three days later that they finally opened their eyes.

Their final—and greatest—adventure was just beginning.

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