Grand Master of Fist

After Soren packed his luggage, the mysterious mistress of the caravan had already left. He glanced at the mysterious woman walking away, then crouched down and said softly, "Vivian."

"What did she say to you?"

The little girl held nothing back from him. Tilting her head, she answered, "She didn't say much. She just asked how old I was this year."

"Then she asked whether I could read."

"Don't worry."

"I didn't tell her that I can cast spells."

Soren nodded in relief. It was best not to let others know that Vivian was a natural Sorcerer, because she was simply too young. Soren bore no ill will toward the mysterious mistress of the caravan, but he could not say that he trusted her either. Wizards were all strange people, and the conflict between Rogues and spellcasters had not begun just yesterday.

None of the native Wizards in the story were simple characters!

The caravan soon set off again.

Perhaps because of her conversation with the mysterious woman, the little girl suddenly developed an interest in reading. Soren also felt that she should learn more words, because not all of a Sorcerer's abilities awakened automatically. They could not awaken knowledge like Dragons did. Sorcerers still had to learn languages and writing themselves, while Dragons automatically mastered quite a few languages and scripts. Vivian had learned some words from him before, but her vocabulary numbered fewer than a few hundred words. The little girl was actually very smart, and she learned faster than Soren did. It was just that she still preferred keeping busy with things she liked doing!

Whenever she faced something filled with too many words, she would get sleepy, and before long her little face would be full of yawns.

The caravan slowed down a little today.

The little girl still did not like things with too many words. After learning dozens of new words from Soren, she looked drowsy. So she muttered a few words under her breath, then grinned and told Soren they would study again next time. After that, she began fiddling with the little odds and ends others had given her. In just one day, the little girl had become quite popular in the caravan. Some of that pile of trinkets had been given to her by the caravan hands, while others were toys from the mysterious woman, such as an exquisite deck of Tarot cards.

Vivian liked things with patterns on them.

Half a day passed like that. They saw some Gnolls and Goblins moving about along the road, but none dared attack such a large caravan.

The caravan only halted temporarily after some commotion broke out ahead.

Since Soren wanted to earn a little more Slaughter Experience, he went over to take a look as well, but this time, he had no chance to act.

The caravan had encountered someone.

An Adventurer traveling alone through the wilderness! He was an ordinary-looking middle-aged man with a square face, thick brows, and large eyes. He wore plain gray cloth clothes, bandages wrapped around his arms, and leggings tied around his calves. His hair was short, and his neck was much thicker than most people's. That suggested he might have trained in a special combat method, such as War Howl, a special ability somewhat similar to Lion's Roar. When Soren saw him, the caravan guards were speaking with him from a distance. Nearby lay three dead Gnolls, all killed barehanded.

"Grand Master of Fist?!"

Soren gave the middle-aged man a surprised look, then dismounted and pressed his palms together. "Master, are you traveling alone?"

The middle-aged man returned the greeting steadily, bending at the waist with his hands together and lowering his head. He appeared very humble.

Seeing Soren's actions, the caravan guards relaxed a little. The guard captain rode over and asked quietly, "Who is he?"

"Someone just saw him dealing with Gnolls. He killed three with his bare hands in no time."

"The other Gnolls all ran away."

Soren nodded slightly, then explained, "This gentleman should be a Grand Master of Fist."...

"A practitioner of the Monk's path."

"They like wandering the wilderness alone, seeking chances to temper their will and strength. This one looks like an Ascetic."

A Monk?

An Ascetic?

The guard captain relaxed a little more, because most Ascetics were not evil people.

Grand Master of Fist was an advanced class for Monks. They completely abandoned weapons and instead specialized in unarmed attacks. This powerful Feat could only be mastered by Grand Masters of Fist and Sacred Fists. Monks were among the professions most fond of traveling alone in the wild, because they needed to temper their will in the wilderness while sensing the power of ethereality, stillness, and primal unity. If they chose the path of an Ascetic, they also had a special sacred ritual: donating all their wealth to the poor.

Ascetics donated the vast majority of their wealth, retaining only a small amount of material possessions in order to temper their willpower!

This was one of the professions with the highest Will attribute.

They were nearly immune to most Charm Spells and mind-affecting spells. At the same time, abandoning material pleasures made their beliefs even firmer.

Very few people advanced into Ascetics!

Because they had to make special vows, and breaking them could even leave flaws in their minds.

In other words, "deceiving oneself."

If a powerful professional fell into such a state, obvious flaws would appear in their mental will, and their strength would also be greatly affected.

Only one out of every ten Monks became an Ascetic.

Only one out of every ten Ascetics advanced into an Ascetic Monk. It was one of the hardest special professions to advance into.

Because Ascetic Monks did not keep wealth overnight, many of them completely gave up weapons and Supernatural Equipment, reaching the highest achievement of a Grand Master of Fist.

—One-Inch Punch!

They used no weapons and wore no equipment, relying solely on powerful intuition, perception, and their hands to fight.

These people had astonishing Spell Resistance, as well as some very special abilities.

They were abilities gradually comprehended through long years of training. Many relied on their own powerful will, forged in harsh conditions, to ultimately interfere directly with the Elemental Energy of the material world.

Many Ascetics gave up in the end, because not everyone could resist material desire!

Once the practice was abandoned.

An Ascetic became an ordinary Monk, and might never again find the courage to try for the rest of their life.

The caravan soon gained another companion.

That Grand Master of Fist was extremely taciturn and almost never spoke to anyone of his own accord. This was not particularly strange. Some Ascetics even pretended to be mute and did not say a single word for years.

At noon.

He would beg the others in the caravan for only water and simple food. He refused most meat, eating only coarse Blackie bread.

Ascetics did not abstain from meat entirely.

But when they began a period of training, unless there were special circumstances, they ate only the simplest and roughest food.

This kind of training could last several years, and completing it often brought a noticeable increase in strength.

Many people had tried this kind of practice before.

Unfortunately, they all failed in the end. Players simply could not endure such a life. They would rather challenge powerful monsters and directly use Slaughter Experience to raise their levels.

Monks were not rare in this world!

Their training methods had been accepted by more and more people, and they had even incorporated some Swordmaster training methods, eventually giving rise to the current Weapon Master profession.

The only difference was that they shifted from unarmed combat to specializing in a particular weapon!

These people all had very strong willpower.

Some Priests also tried to train in ways similar to theirs, strengthening the power of their faith.

This Grand Master of Fist had very little presence.

Until dusk, he had not spoken a single word to anyone on his own initiative. He merely followed the caravan forward in silence.

He did not ride a horse, even refusing the mounts offered by kind-hearted people. He had walked all the way, but he walked very quickly, and his endurance far surpassed that of ordinary people. He could be said to move as swiftly as if flying, easily keeping pace with them. When they made camp in the evening, he did not need a tent to rest. He did not even need to approach the campfire, merely finding a rock and sitting cross-legged upon it.

Then he did not move at all.

The next day's journey was very peaceful. Apart from the appearance of this Grand Master of Fist, they encountered almost no trouble along the way.

When Soren woke on the third day.

The Grand Master of Fist was still sitting on the rock. Nearby, caravan guards pointed at him, clear surprise and shock on their faces. The Warrior training they had received was also harsh, but it had not reached such an extreme degree. Only the guard captain wore a thoughtful expression, because his Northerner Barbarian training had also been extreme. He had needed to immerse his entire body in ice water below freezing, using it to suppress the power of Rage. It had nearly cost him half his life.

He had not moved for an entire night. By the next day, the Grand Master of Fist was even covered in dew, and a faint layer of white frost clung to his brows because of the cold weather.

At this moment.

Everyone finally understood why Soren showed him a trace of respect.

This truly was not a training method ordinary people could endure.

In fact, normal Monk training was not all that different from Warrior training. It was only that the advanced profession of Ascetic was rather special. Their methods of tempering themselves were also more extreme, completely using the harshest means to uncover their own potential.

There was a Succubus Queen in the Abyss.

Even many Deities could not withstand her Charm Spells, yet Legendary Monks could ignore them directly.

One could imagine just how astonishing these people's willpower was!

This Grand Master of Fist left on the afternoon of the third day.

Because Soren and the others had already approached a small town. They were nearly within the territory of White Horse City, with at most two days of travel remaining.

Ascetics did not often go near crowded places during training. They preferred tempering themselves in remote, uninhabited regions.

He planned to head to a great waterfall in the northwest and train there for a year, seeking a chance to comprehend the Ethereal Body. He also sought an opportunity to become a Legendary Monk and eventually master the legendary Transcendence.

Until he left.

No one knew his name, as though he had merely been a passing traveler encountered on the road.

However.

For some reason, he gave Vivian a scroll.

It was not some martial arts manual.

This world did not even have the concept of martial arts manuals. It was simply a scroll titled Mastery of Unarmed Techniques and One-Inch Punch, like a Warrior's <Advanced Cleaving Techniques and Finding an Enemy's Weak Points>, a Wizard's <On Strengthening and Flexible Use of Evocation Spells>, a Priest's On the Effect of Faith's Strength on Divine Magic, a Paladin's The Sacred Power Brought by Conviction, and so on.

They were all insights and realizations written down by others. If one trained according to the methods described, one could master some additional Feats.

For example, a Rogue's Special Techniques for ** Use and Lockpicking. If one carefully finished reading that book, one could improve Lockpicking a little. With luck, one might even develop a Feat through training.

If one trained according to the methods in the book given by the Grand Master of Fist and met its requirements, one could gain the Feat of "Unarmed Attack," thereby fulfilling the requirements to become a Monk. In the end, one could try using the methods in the book to train the Feats one had mastered.

But.

How could Soren possibly let Vivian advance into such a miserable profession as Monk?

The training methods of this profession were far too grueling.

So he simply kept it for himself and tossed it into his Bag of Holding. Vivian should just quietly remain a "rich, beautiful" Sorcerer among spellcasters.

Besides, he could never feel at ease letting the little girl train alone in the wilderness.

Nor could he bear to let her suffer.