Road to Mastery: A LitRPG Apocalypse

Chapter 452: Late B-Grade

Chapter 452: Late B-Grade

The universe smelled of blood and power. Two different forces warred between the stars—a Fist and a divine spear of supremacy.

Jack didn’t dare hold back. Not only was he facing an extremely powerful opponent, but he was also struggling against time—if this took too long, more enemies would arrive.

His aura flared. Purple flames licked the void, just the aftereffects of Jack’s Dao, while he’d already entered the Life Drop battle form. Each of his four fists shone a dark purple—each carried the power to annihilate planets.

He smashed out. The old man facing him, Travelus Lonihor, met Jack’s fist with the tip of his spear. None of the two gave way. From their clash, cracks spread through the void for hundreds of miles as if the universe was a giant glass window shattering under their tremendous power.

The Dao in that area of space had already gone wild. It flickered everywhere, caught in the raging streams of their collision, gathering in massive waves that blasted outward. The planet of Hell wasn’t too far away—the shockwaves of each clash crashed into the planet, manifesting as powerful gales from the sky. Trees bent, small animals were lifted and thrown around, tornadoes formed. Every living being on Hell bowed their heads and sought shelter against the battle of gods occurring far above their heads.

Of course, Jack and the old man were almost a hundred thousands miles away. If not, the planet itself would be suffering under the shockwaves, not just its surface.

“You’re strong!” the old man exclaimed, drawing back. His old eyes shone beneath the helmet—his spear was steady despite the shakiness of the hands holding it.

“I could say the same!” Jack replied, laughing out loud. His cloak fluttered in the wild astral winds. “You are about to become the strongest person I have defeated!”

The old man laughed back. He had been a stunning talent in his youth, a battle fanatic obsessed with reaching the peak of martial arts. How could this battle not light his blood on fire? How could he not be excited to fight the single greatest talent this galaxy had ever seen? Leonines worshiped strength above all!

He had awakened one last time to fight Jack Rust. Even if he were to die here, it would still be worth it.

“The young will surpass the old! Show me your best, Jack Rust!”

They flew towards each other again. Jack drove his fist forward. It contained his desire to reach the peak, his need to protect himself and the people he cared about. Life and Death intertwined. All seven of his fruits pulsed in tandem—seven different streams of Dao merged as one in his soul, blasting outward with the might of a supernova.

The world shattered. The spear shook. The old man flew a few steps backward, but so did Jack. In that collision just now, they were evenly matched.

A hint of disbelief entered the old man’s eyes. Jack was, after all, an entire Grade lower than him. To match him even momentarily was a tremendous feat. It was good that he had awakened—even if he and the other Supreme Ancestor both had to die, killing such an opponent in the crib was worth it!

Jack charged again, but this time, Travelus Lonihor calmly blocked and retreated. He was old, after all. As excited as he was, he was way past the age when he’d let burning blood cloud his vision. Reinforcements would arrive soon; he didn’t need to win, just stall for time. Even if losing to someone an entire Grade lower seemed impossible, he wouldn’t take the slightest risk. This involved the future of all his descendants!

As the old man retreated, a group of winged warriors stepped forward to take his place. They were twelve, each emanating the power of an early B-Grade—phantoms he’d conjured through the Art of Divine Providence. Unlike those conjured by weaker versions of this skill, however, these phantoms were absolutely real. Each possessed the soul of a high-level cultivator Travelus had slain in his youth, and so they possessed intelligence.

The twelve of them surrounded Jack, trapping him in a diamond-shaped formation. Twelve variations of divine power rained down on him. Jack was forced to defend. His body was blasted from all directions—his Dao shields cracked and splintered, the spatial barriers shattered, and finally, a small portion of the attacking energy smashed squarely into his body.

He growled. Each of these phantoms was far weaker than him, but not only were they twelve and perfectly coordinating, they had also attacked at the moment right after his clash with Travelus, when he’d yet to regather his power. Finger-wide holes appeared in his skin—blood flowed out, then gradually stopped as he regenerated.

Jack’s eyes sharpened. “Fuck off!” A tremendous aura erupted from his body, shattering the phantoms’ formation and sending them flying away. Yet, they were uninjured—they’d distributed the force equally and easily survived it.

If Jack pressed the assault now, he could eliminate a few of the phantoms. He could hold off the old man while gradually killing off all twelve of them until he could face Travelus alone. However, that battle plan required time he did not have.

Instead, he ignored the phantoms to charge Travelus Lonihor.

The old man drew back again. He brought his spear in a horizontal position, absorbing the momentum of Jack’s punch and using it to fly away unharmed.

“Fight me if you dare!” Jack roared, but the old man only smirked.

“Fight me if you can,” he taunted in response.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The phantoms converged again. Jack withstood another assault, then broke out of their encirclement and charged the old man, who only defended. This was getting nowhere. Jack was making no progress.

Anger rose inside him. He had not come this far, he had not sacrificed everything just to be toyed with by a living fossil. He stepped forward. His aura emanated in waves, shaking the surrounding space and bending it to his will. He roared, “When I tell you to fight, you fucking fight!”

Space warped around them. Colors emerged from the vastness of space, the endless starlight warping into the vision of a busy colosseum. It was dozens of miles wide; its stands were full of roaring, cheering people of all species, shouting at the top of their lungs.

“JACK RUST! JACK RUST! JACK RUST!”

The air itself shook by their cheers. The sand was dirty, the wind was dry, and the entire atmosphere reeked of slaughter.

The old man looked around in befuddlement. “What domain is this?” he asked. “An illusion? No… Spatial encapsulation!?”

Jack didn’t have time to respond. The twelve phantoms had been dragged into the arena alongside the old man. They were already attacking.

Ripples crossed Jack’s eyes. His body seemed to grow ethereal, an odd existence merging into his surroundings. His hands flashed with a thousand seals representing his understandings. He reached into spacetime and directly twisted it, forming twelve prisons where time and space stagnated. The phantoms of divine warriors froze mid-air—as if they existed in a separate, timeless dimension.

The old man looked on with incredulity. “How can you have such understandings?!” he asked. “You are so young, so weak! This is ridiculous!”

Jack forced himself to smile. “Just because you can’t do it, doesn’t mean I can’t either.”

“Hah! Trying to taunt me? You’re a million years too young, boy!”

“I’m not trying,” Jack replied. His smile turned into a single, hard line. “This is my battlefield. This is what I have been living through ever since your Animal Kingdom invaded my planet. In here, there is no third choice—you either fight me or die on your knees!”

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Then bring it on.”

Jack clenched his teeth and threw himself forward. Right now, he was nowhere near his strongest state. Battling inside this arena enhanced him while he had the momentum, but forming twelve spatial prisons to trap the phantoms was already skirting the limits of what his Dao of Spacetime could achieve. Maintaining them while fighting a high-intensity battle would be a challenge.

But, he had no choice. If he wanted to win this quickly, this was the only path he could take.

And the old man knew it.

He did not fall back this time. He charged with his spear extended, knowing that Jack was in a weakened state. They clashed in the center of the arena—powerful shockwaves washed over the stands, heightening the spectators’ thrill. Cheers echoed, overshadowed only by the sounds of collision.

Fist met spear a dozen times. Jack galvanized everything he had but still fell short—too much of his energy and attention was diverted towards the twelve warriors. He was flung backward, smashed into the walls of his own arena. The audience roared, and Travelus Lonihor flew high, raising his spear to the sky. The audience changed its tune.

“TRAVELUS! TRAVELUS!”

He grinned. “What’s the matter, boy? Getting bested in your own arena?”

Jack spat out a mouthful of blood, then rose from the sand. He dusted himself off. “I have faced things that make you seem like a kitty. The only thing scary about you is your age.”

As Jack spoke calmly, he was calculating on the inside. This old man lived up to his age. He hadn’t been intimidated by the colosseum—instead, he’d seen right through it and realized that it didn’t favor Jack, but the strongest warrior. That was why he’d invested heavily in a show-offish strike and then spent his momentum to earn the crowd’s favor. He’d snagged that little advantage for himself, making Jack’s uphill challenge even more difficult.

Unlike other opponents Jack had faced, this was a calm and methodical one. He never overextended, instead opting for consistent, small advantages which would eventually win him the fight. Moreover, despite Jack’s repeated taunting, he remained of a mind to stall.

Reaching this point, Jack realized there was no meaning in thinking further. He’d already set the conditions as best as he could. All he could do was his best. He had ten seconds remaining—he had to make them count.

Which made things simpler. He didn’t need to calculate too far—he would spend all his remaining energy in these next ten seconds, and he’d either win or lose.

Power streamed into his limbs. His short hair rose like spikes—purple sparks flew over his body, cladding him in an electrified aura.

“Hmm?” Travelus Lonihor was surprised. “The Thunder Body? Where did you learn that!?”

“Same place you did,” Jack replied, not explaining further. He hadn’t mastered this technique yet—forcefully using it placed a tremendous burden on his body. The only reason he could stand it was his extreme physicality, and he couldn’t keep it up for long.

However, he got a burst of power in return. It might be enough.

“Let’s go,” Jack muttered, then flashed forward. He all but disappeared. Travelus Lonihor only had time to widen his eyes before a powerful force slammed into his back, throwing him forward. He turned around, but Jack was no longer there. He was everywhere. He combined his enhanced physical speed and understandings into spacetime to achieve impossible velocities and angles. For a moment, he was a force of nature.

The old man saw a dozen Jacks assault him at once. He braced himself.

Strikes landed everywhere. A fist met his chest, another his leg, a third his chin. Jack was flying all over, pummeling Travelus with a flurry of blows so rapid they seemed simultaneous. His body shook inside the armor. The impacts were so many and so omnidirectional that he remained still in mid-air, just trying to shield his vitals.

A powerful punch landed on the old man’s face, smashing him back into a wall. Jack remained in mid-air, oozing lightning and panting heavily. The crowd roared his name. The arena shook. The twelve frozen phantoms glistened in the sky like living stars.

The old man rose to his feet. A line of blood dripped down his wrinkled lips, but he smiled. “You’re running out of juice,” he said. “I don’t know how you got your hands on the Thunder Body technique, but you haven’t mastered it yet. It’s too much for you. You’ll collapse before I do!”

“Let’s find out,” Jack replied. He shot forward again, a lightning bolt from the skies. He was noticeably slower than before—his energy was depleting at a rapid pace. He barely had five more seconds in him. The old man faced him head-on, also going all out. Divine providence emanated from his skin—he no longer resembled an old man but a bright angel, a symbol of the heavens.

They met on the sands of the arena. Blows rained from either side. Every spear was sharp, every punch devastating. Their clashes shook the world. Blood wet the sand. Both warriors accumulated injuries.