Agnes finally reached the mountain where the sect was. That, though, was only half the battle—now he had to climb the entire thing. There were thousands of steps staring him in the face like an endless punishment for his misguided life choices.
When he took his first step, he saw a group of disciples carrying provisions up the mountain. They wore traditional robes, clearly members of the sect. Smelling an opportunity, he approached them.
"Are you guys from this sect?" he asked, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
The four disciples, two males and two females, stood before him. One of the girls, a girl with a warm personality, smiled and replied, "Yes, we are. This sect is called Red Lake of the Heaven. Do you need any help? Please ask!"
Agnes nodded, feigning confusion. "I'm joining the sect, but I have no idea how any of this is done. It'd be great if someone explained to me."
The disciples exchanged surprised glances at one another, for they had not anticipated such a young boy trying to enter the sect.
"Little brother, how old are you?" one of the male disciples asked, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. "Did you come here by yourself?"
That was when Agnes saw how terrible he looked. His clothes were torn, he was dirty, and his body was bruised everywhere. He was worse than exhausted, and his legs gave way beneath him before he could even answer.
He dropped with a thud.
The disciples were frantic. "Brothers, help him!" the girl cried.
The largest disciple, a hulking man with arms as wide as tree trunks, knelt next to Agnes and felt his pulse. "He's just exhausted," he said, picking up Agnes effortlessly and placing him on his back. "Let's bring him to the sect."
They resumed their ascent, but the journey lasted for hours. By the time Agnes regained consciousness, he was still on the man's back.
"Are you awake?" said the disciple. "Never mind, sleep. I will wake you up when we reach the entrance."
Agnes, half-awake, stammered, "Thank you, brother," and slept again.
When they reached the top, the sun had already gone down.
"Wake up, little brother," said the girl, shaking his shoulder.
Agnes opened his eyes sleepily and noticed a large wooden entrance with numerous soldiers guarding it.
"Are we here already?" he mumbled, still half-asleep.
The girl nodded. "Do you have a letter of recommendation? The guards won't let you in without one."
Agnes blinked and reached into his tattered clothes, pulling out a bundle of letters.
The disciples were stunned. Letters of recommendation from a number of sect leaders? They wanted to speak but didn't, and their faces spoke volumes.
The guard read the letter, verified its authenticity, and nodded. "You may enter."
The five of them went in. Since dorms were gender-separated, they said their goodbyes for the night.
The next day consisted of paperwork and interviews. Agnes groaned as he signed yet another form, wondering if cultivation was nothing but bureaucratic glorification.
He finally found himself in a room with the sect master.
"Hello, how are you?" The woman greeted him with a warm smile. "My name is Hina."
She was gorgeous. Agnes tensed up. "I-I'm fine. And you?"
She chuckled. "I'm good. So, let's talk about how sects work and what you can anticipate after you've joined.What kind of jobs opportunities you will have in future.There are different schools of cultivation, each with different methods."
While she talked, Agnes nodded along, pretending to understand.He was focused on something else.
She continued, "Branches dictate the use of Qi. Cultivators enhance their inner selves by controlling Qi, acquiring abilities based on their rank. Magic users convert Qi into elements like fire, water, or lightning. There are numerous sub-branches for each branch, and some even mix them to create hybrid techniques."
Agnes just kept nodding as though all of this made perfect sense.
Still pretending to understand, he asked, "I think you forgot about martial artists?" he asked it just to pass the time.
Hina explained, "Martial artists are experts in physical enhancement with Qi. Like I said it's complex, as there are hundreds of sub-branches, each with their own expertise in combat techniques and hybrids."
After the meeting, Agnes left the room, his head filled with branches. "Do people hate Martial Artist?" Agnes thought.
Deciding to study himself, he spent the rest of the day reading cultivation books. Unfortunately, the books were not helpful.
"Cultivation is the path to enlightenment, but the hardest part is that enlightenment itself is not something one should be attached to."
"The world is a delusion you and others have created. Look beyond it, and you can play with it."
Agnes looked at the pages, completely confused. "This is trash. Who writes this shit? Some mushroom-high spiritual master?"
Shaking his head, he went for a walk.
Despite everything, the sect was beautiful. The view from the mountain was breathtaking, with tiny villages one could see far away. The wind carried the sound of chimes, and the air was cold and refreshing.
For a time, he was in peace.
Then a bell rang.
His lesson was about to start.
He sighed and went to the training grounds, taking a seat on a circular woven mat, ready to start his cultivation journey—whatever that was meant to entail.
And so, he started daydreaming. As he sat on the wicker mat, the voice of the instructor was overridden. His mind wandered off, back to the beautiful experiences that had led him to where he was.
It started when he was crucified.
Yes, crucified.
There had been some crazed, flesh-eating monster horde who had tied him to a wooden cross, screaming in a voice like someone attempting to cough forcibly. The chief, a seven-foot monster with more teeth than anyone should have, brandished a rusty knife.
"Tonight! We feast on this weakling!"
The horde bayed. Agnes, though, had but a single thought:
"Weakling?! Let me tell you I survived being conned by a merchant three times. You think you can crack me?!"
The tribe, unfortunately, didn't listen to his mental soliloquy. The knife came down—
Then the entire left side of the tribe erupted.
BOOM!
A gigantic, angry rhinoceros had suddenly stormed into the village, stampeding over the monster folk like bowling pins. In the chaos, Agnes broke loose from his bondage, fled for his life, and never dared to look back.
Alas, his luck did not change.
For the next day, nature called.
He was well out in the jungle when he found a nice quiet spot to pee on a tree. It was peaceful. The birds were singing. The wind was soft. The air was just right.
Until he heard the low menacing buzzing.
Agnes looked up.
There, suspended from the tree, was a gigantic beehive.
And he had just peed on it.
"Oh no."
The hive shook.
"Oh no, no, no."
And then—hundreds of bees exploded from the hive, a storm cloud of buzzing fury.
"AHHHHHH!"
Agnes ran for her life like his life depended on it—which it did.
Over boulders, through shrubs, under grapevines—he ran, waving his arms wildly, bees closing in on him behind. But no matter how fast he ran, they ran faster. He had to come up with something. And fast.
Then he saw it—a river!
Salvation!
No moment's hesitation for him. Down he went, into the liquid death. He let the waves wash over his head, sending him tumbling along with their flow.
He smiled.
He was safe now.
And suddenly, he looked.
There was this huge scaly very-starving-looking monster staring back at him.
There were jagged teeth in the monster's jaws.
The monster was looking at him like it was a delicacy.
This was an animal called a crocodile.
"Oh, come on!"
Agnes paddled out of the water, flying like a maniac. The crocodile chomped, its jaws snapping inches behind him. He was on the beach, crawling out of the water, gasping for breath—
Only to see himself staring up at.
Gorillas.
Not one, not two. But a whole troop of bulging, intimidating gorillas, staring at him as if he'd just trashed their own private bash.
Agnes, dripping wet and wheezing, tentatively raised his hands.
"Uh… hey, guys."
The biggest gorilla—who had arms the size of tree trunks—grunted.
Then he raised his fist.
Agnes barely had time to scream before everything went black.
"Wake up, kid! Wake up!"
Agnes jolted awake, heart pounding.
He blinked.
Instead of gorillas, he saw his teacher—a stern, muscular man—looming over him.
"Oh," Agnes muttered, still half-dazed. "You're not a gorilla."
The teacher frowned. "What?"
"Nothing." Agnes shook his head. "Just a very vivid dream."
The instructor sighed. "If you're going to daydream in my class, at least don't drool all over yourself."
Agnes wiped his mouth.
Yup. He had been drooling.
The students around him snickered.
Agnes sighed.
This was going to be a long lesson.