Starred Tower: System Misinterpret Book One - A Post Apocalyptic Cultivation LitRPG

by Ryan DeBruyn

  “Master, may we make a book suggestion?” Crash interrupts my meditation once I finish with the circulation exercise.

  “Yes?” I say distractedly, trying to figure out what to do with the final drop of extra qi pressure.

  “Buy The Human Cardiovascular System today! Enjoy a primer on how blood flows through the body. Learn the crucial difference between veins and arteries and that everything always begins or ends with the heart.”

  “Crash, can you start keeping track of these suggestions for when I buy a shop?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Okay, so blood is centered around the heart, sure, but cultivation is centered around the Dantian. . .” I start to respond but slowly fade off as I realize what Crash just insinuated. “More reading material, Crash.”

  “Take home The Sea of Qi isn’t the Center of the Universe. This fantastic satire helps to illustrate that the organ is one of many within your body’s complex workings. Don’t be a fool; learn to use them all.”

  “Did you just call me a fool?”

  “No, Master, that’s the blurb for the book.” I squint at the AI for a heartbeat.

  “Are you telling me to loop my heart into my circulation and use my arteries, arterioles, and capillaries to distribute qi to other organs?” I ask, my meditation completely forgotten for the moment as the scope of the reveal takes hold.

  “We’re not directing you in any way,” Crash responds, his voice very monotone. “All we can do is suggest reading material to help you with your problems. May we suggest you buy a cultivation manual so we can give further direction?”

  “Arghh,” I growl and ask straight out, “Is the reading material you’re suggesting not a method of cultivation, Crash?”

  “I cannot answer that question, Master,” Crash says, his voice pleading.

  I nod, thankful for the slight change in tone. With it, Crash has revealed what it can’t say. I know that the River artery connects through the smaller pathways to the River vein in the cardiovascular system, which returns blood to the heart. Still, usually at this point in cultivation, Alrick said the Church teaches pupils to pull the energy back into their God Organ. If the Dantian is full, then you use leftovers to force breakthroughs.

  Instead of following that method, I use the one extra drop not currently circulating in my River artery and pull two more to join it from inside my Dantian. I don’t want to send a lone drop of qi into the uncleansed vein. As soon as I send the qi into it, I begin to sweat. A stench of corruption reaches my nose, similar to the time I broke through and cleansed my River artery with the help of Alrick. This time I am not trying to root out the corruption, though. Instead, I allow the energy to flow around it, like a rocky river.

  The Dantian is just below the heart, and I feel what little pressure I have vanish as the River vein enters into a larger structure. Is this the Inferior Vena Cava? I think that’s one of the major veins Alrick tried to teach me about. I do my best to continue to track the energy as it enters the heart. I feel it enter through an opening and closing valve, and then I lose it in the vastness of the organ. The Dantian is only a quarter of the heart’s size, and throwing three drops into the heart feels like I just lobbed a toothpick into a volcano.

  Mentally, I feel dejected as the loss of precious qi begins to hit me. Then my heart thumps loudly in my own ears, transmitted not through the air but through my very bones. I feel the energy fly out of the heart and enter the lungs before cycling back and disappearing again. *Thump.* The energy flows from the heart into the aorta. It turns back toward the lower body, where it changes course again to return to the River.

  I swallow dryly as a single drop of circulating energy returns to my Dantian. Something about it feels different, and I touch it with my mind’s eye. I can almost taste the fresh, dewy grass of a morning out in the wilds, smell the damp earth and the life it holds.

  “What do I do with it now?” I ask, reveling in the sensation of being outside while trapped in a concrete box.

  “Master, this qi is now activated. You can experiment with it to discover more, or read books to learn about it. Would you like our suggestions again?”

  “Umm, I can’t buy any of those books until I have a shop,” I retort dreamily. I remember that Crash’s book suggestion claimed Earth qi is good for healing and physical combining.

  “Then you can store it within your Sea of Qi until you know,” Crash suggests, and I shrug.

  I replace the two drops from my Dantian with this single one, and I can instantly see it floating there in my mind: green spiritual Earth qi. The loss of two drops for a trip through the heart is astronomical, but I have a feeling that Crash has hinted at something else. The pathway to my heart is filled with corruption and obstructions. The smell is a second hint! These areas may purify by circulating qi. If the whole body acts like the Dantian’s surrounding vessels, then cleansing them may ensure that I lose less qi in the future. Right? Boy, do I wish I could perform this exercise while sitting under the sun or moon. I could have an endless supply of qi to cleanse with!

  I take all the energy currently flowing in my Dantian and River artery, sending it on the same journey. All twenty drops still can’t fill the vein and heart fully, but I do get a much better sense of it moving. I follow its path and enjoy the sensations as it leaves and returns to my heart. What floats back to my Dantian is fourteen drops of yellow Sun qi, meaning I lost six full drops of qi. My brow wrinkles. I should definitely have had Earth and Fire qi in that bunch thanks to the meals. So why is Sun qi all I got back? I recall Crash’s claim about Sun and Moon being the best for cleansing.

  “Crash, is Sun the best for cleansing because it doesn’t break up as quickly when it hits an abscess?” I ask, trying to understand a feeling I am having.

  “Sire, you will need to purchase the book we suggested on Qi Types to learn more,” Crash states. Knowing the AI a bit better, I think it just confirmed my thought. At least, last time it suggested a book for the second time, the answer to my question was basically a yes.

  The mental touch on this new qi provides me with a feeling of warmth, of what I imagine lying out under the lifegiving orb and soaking in its rays would feel like. I relish that feeling, not having felt it before. It’s something so indescribable that I feel my chest tighten. For a time, I sit there and bask in that, but then accidentally catch a whiff of myself. Gross!

  I place twelve drops of the fourteen into my Dantian and circulate the final two in the River artery. With my ability to gain qi daily, I should slowly erode spiritual abscesses and make this process more efficient. With nothing left to do, I open my eyes and notice the clock says it’s late. This exercise and my distraction took more time than I originally thought it would.

  “Thank you, Crash,” I whisper as I stand and move to the locker room. No response comes, but inside the locker today, there is a scented soap. I think my AI might also have a thing about bad smells. Wait—can an AI even smell?

  Chapter 10

  August 27th, 151 AR

  Jeff Smith

  A few days go by, and I follow the same routine. Unfortunately, I have to redo the workout quest on two of those days, but both are because I couldn’t get the movement of an exercise correct, and that leads to me not being credited reps.

  My Dantian now holds three drops of Sun, six drops of Fire, and four drops of Earth qi. The Gallus Eggs give Air qi, but strangely I haven’t gotten a single drop of it back from the activation process. Additionally, I now have nine drops of Sun qi circulating through my River artery, down my one open arteriole, and into the other seven inlets.

  Based on the Subcutavian arteriole’s feeling, I can guess that the healing is complete, which is on schedule with what Crash estimated. I sit down at the table with my plate and take a spoonful of breakfast as I consider. I know Crash has implied that my previous breakthrough method caused the injury. Still, by breaking through another blockage, I would be working to cleanse new areas faster and raising my ran
k.

  “Crash, has my injury healed?” I ask the blue head in the middle of the table. As soon as I glance up from my plate, I realize that Crash is in one of his moods, and I know why.

  “Eggs again, I see, sire,” Crash deadpans. I can hear his disappointment with each monotone syllable. Here is the brunt of Crash’s issue. I am sticking to the two meals I know how to cook. I consider this an intelligent strategy since I can reach the great rank for each dish now and haven’t burned the risotto again. Crash believes I am unadventurous and ‘lame.’

  “Crash, you clearly have never travelled or camped out in the wilderness. There isn’t a lot of variety or options. Believe me!”

  “Master, please point us to the campfire application in the Training Room,” Crash retorts dryly. I feel my eyebrows rise and a puff of air exits my lips before I can help it. That was actually kind of funny.

  “Crash, you know that campfires add a truly unique flavor to food that you can’t get in a kitchen, right?”

  “Yes, sire. I imagine all the top chefs around the world will be making a move from their pristine kitchens, to the damp dirt of the wilds soon,” he responds, still staring at my plate, or what I imagine is staring.

  The monotone statement paired with Crash’s mood finally does it and I smile. He is clearly still upset and conveying his disdain through the stare, tone and response choice. And for some reason that’s amusing to me. I choose not to point out that the AI can’t eat food anyway. I feel like that might be crossing an imaginary line. After a long pause between responses to let his further disdain over my meal choices sink in, Crash stops looking at my plate and turns his faceless head toward me.

  “Master, from your earlier question can we infer that you mean to attempt another breakthrough today?”

  “You guessed it,” I respond dryly, trying to counteract his demeanor toward my food choices. It doesn’t work. The blue head doesn’t seem to understand sarcasm. Over the last few days, I have built a bizarre relationship with Crash. I would even say I am comfortable in his presence. It sure would be nice if I could feel this way with humans. . .

  “We would advise against your previous method, sire,” Crash says, not going into a sales pitch for once. “The injuries your Sea of Qi sustained weren’t threatening, but that was because they happened at the artery-to-arteriole level. Still, just a bit more pressure or a tiny mistake, and you may have caused more permanent damage.”

  I open my mouth to refute Crash’s cautionary warning; this is how all humans do it, after all, and I have seen how powerful S-rankers are. Then I wonder. Leah did say that humans in the Northern Territory cultivated improperly. I thought she was speaking her usual nonsense, but what if she wasn’t?

  Crash continues when I don’t respond. “The previous owner also performed his breakthroughs this way, Master. The risk of permanent damage at the arteriole level may not be high, but it still exists. You need a copy of Why Brute Force Is Never the Answer. In this book, author Xand Boyne, known for his grumpy demeanor, explains to extremely careless cultivators that damage at the capillary level is all but assured while using the brute force method.” My jaw clenches, and I raise my chin to stretch my neck muscles that feel overly tight thanks to being involved in Crash’s antics for the last few days. He clearly has a habit of suggesting books with vaguely insulting titles.

  “What would that sort of damage lead to?” I say while stretching my neck. Is Crash only arguing against the speed of growth for safety? Or is he making a different point?

  “You need the reading material Building Your Cultivation like a House. Treat your Sea of Qi and your early ranks as the foundation for your growth as a cultivator. Avoid crippling your growth at later stages by reading today!” Crash says, again assuming the salesman tones I know to pay close attention to.

  My jaw falls open as I stutter in the air. The sheer scope of the problem, if Crash is right, is absurd. Are people out there already aware of this? Why would the Church continue to teach a method that can cause problems later?

  “Crash, there was a small journal in a pocket of my clothes, the ones you absorbed. Do you still have it?” I ask, wanting to check the notes I made with Alrick. They were by no means perfect, but we did spend many hours chatting about the processes that Alrick understood as someone in the C-ranks.

  The air crackles in the Training Room, and I look up to see Crash’s face morphing into something less featureless. The blue takes on the contours of a face, and its eyelids open to reveal dark blue pupils on the light blue cornea of Crash’s eyes.

  “We did read that book as we absorbed it,” Crash states, its tone neutral. I squint at the transformation of the talking head and feel odd—the relative comfort with the AI I felt moments ago vanishes. Crash blinks its eerie blue eyes, and the moment stretches, becoming awkward. At least for me. Why is this more human version of the same entity suddenly more disturbing? I begin rubbing my ears through my hair.

  “Master, we are worried that the notes in your journal held dangerous cultivation information. The previous owner of this room followed that method and died because of it.”

  “Wait, he died because he cultivated improperly?” I nervously clarify, squeezing my ear tips in fear. If I am honest, this version of Crash scares me, especially paired with the message it delivers. The high cheekbones, piercing eyes, and thin lips paired with the blue skin make the creature seem alien—maybe monstrous.

  “We apologize, Master. Let us clarify. He died while trying to undo the damage he did to himself in his earliest ranks of cultivation,” Crash responds. “We can give you back the journal if you desire, but the contents are hazardous.”

  Part of me wants all the information I can get on cultivation, but Crash hasn’t lied to me yet. Or it hasn’t tried to sell me wrong . . . those sales pitches have given me small tips that I suspect form a much larger picture. I think I trust Crash, but obviously, something is bothering me.

  “Crash, why do you look different?” I ask, somehow more fixated on his change of appearance than anything else going on.

  “Master, during repair and cleaning, the Training Room is using almost all of the processing power to complete that task. Normally, we can create an actual body and appear anywhere within the space. Unfortunately, we are confined to the holo-pucks until the task is complete.” I continue to massage my ears, unsure how to react to that information. What if this whole room is just a dungeon, and Crash is only attempting to fatten me up so he can feed me to monsters? The idea seems so fantastical and strange, but a shiver runs down my spine all the same.

  “Give me the journal back, please,” I say, testing the waters. The blue head nods, and the same opening in the center of the concrete table pops up. I reach in to find a near-identical journal to the one I had in my pocket a few weeks ago. The new smell of the leather and paper is a bit odd, but I suppose if Crash had to reconstitute it, it would be impossible to make it old again. I flip through the pages and don’t see my terrible handwriting. Instead, the words are typed as if in a bound book. Reading the page I randomly flipped to does confirm it’s mine, though. The fact that Crash gave it back so willingly convinces me.

  “I will let you keep the journal if you promise to give it back to me at higher ranks.” I stare at the pages in the book that contain detailed information about how to move from E to D ranks, which involves some sort of whirlpool inside your God Organ.

  “Of course, Master,” Crash says quickly, and I nod. I have had enough information suppression to last a lifetime. Still, if nothing else, Crash has again proven that isn’t its goal. I place the book into the nook again, and it closes up. It seems I have a pretty good direction for the F-ranks thanks to Crash’s very odd tips.

  “If the methods in that book are so wrong, why would someone teach it?”

  “Master, if humans still use that cultivation method, they have chosen speed. We cannot say that the method is wrong, just that the previous owner believed it was an inferior trade-off in
the end.” Rubbing my ears, I sit down in a chair at the table and just let the information digest. After several minutes of this, I turn to Crash again.

  “How then do you perform a breakthrough properly, Crash?”

  “Would you like me to read the list of books I am currently keeping for you, sire?” Crash says while the corners of its new blue lips turn up. I guess the way I am already doing it is the method that it suggests.

  I sit down and direct my mind’s eye inward toward the River artery. Cumulae is the second arteriole, and I want to check my progress. I study the blockage and see what the AI is referring to right away. Where the flow is rebounding to the River, there is wear on the blackness of the jam. It almost looks like something is boring a hole through the abscess.

  “Over time, the blockages are just going to wear away?” I ask curiously.

  “We cannot say, Master.”

  I sigh. I guess I’ll just have to blindly trust the much more human-like blue head. If there is one thing that I took from all the information today, it’s that taking it slow isn’t a bad thing. I still have another way to gain strength as well: the workouts and cooking quests. Which reminds me, it’s time to put in some work.

  Chapter 11

  August 27th, 151 AR

  Leanne Turle

  “Leanne! Stop that!” the imposter scolds. “I want to let your grandchildren see you, but the last four times I’ve been in here, you’ve headbutted me.”

  He claims to be my son, Graydon, but I find that hard to believe. First off, my ‘son’ never would have attacked me. I’m eighty percent sure the elves have come to Earth and are now holding me prisoner. They must think I’m a complete idiot, if they think their deception will fool me. They’ve never liked a half-breed. So, my escape after being a pillow servant must’ve been driving them crazy. I don’t listen to the imposter and attempt to charge at it instead. He dodges out of the way.