The Last Paragon in the Apocalypse

Fruity and his Uncle Monk walked in silence toward the northern part of the monastery. This was where the training area was located—the most secure part of the monastery. The quiet between them felt heavy, each step filled with unspoken thoughts.

As they reached the edge of the training grounds, Fruity couldn’t hold back his worry any longer. “Uncle, do you think my presence here will put the monastery in danger?” He already knew the answer deep down, but he didn’t want to admit it.

Uncle Monk paused for a moment before replying, his voice calm but firm. “No, Fruity. You are part of this monastery. This is your home. No matter what happens, your uncles and everyone here will protect you. You just need to grow stronger and show the world you fear no one.”

Fruity nodded, though the knot in his stomach tightened. His uncle was trying to comfort him, but Fruity knew the truth. The monastery was on the brink of being dragged into something dangerous, all because of him.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Fruity said softly. He felt a mix of gratitude and guilt. The monastery could have easily sent him away, distancing themselves from whatever trouble was coming his way. But they didn’t. They chose to stand by him, even knowing the risks.

As they walked further into the training area, Fruity clenched his fists. He had to become stronger, and fast. He couldn’t let his uncles sacrifice their safety for him without doing his part. He couldn’t allow himself to be the reason they faced danger.

The weight of responsibility pressed on him. Every step he took from now on had to be toward growth, toward becoming someone capable of protecting not just himself but those he cared about.

Uncle Monk glanced at Fruity, sensing the storm of thoughts inside him. “Don’t carry this burden alone, Fruity. We’re all in this together.”

Fruity gave a small smile, though his heart was still heavy. He appreciated his uncle’s words, but he knew he couldn’t rely on others forever. He had to step up.

After passing the training ground, the Soul Temple came into view. It was a grand, majestic structure, standing proudly at the heart of the monastery. This temple housed all the most advanced techniques and skills that the monastery had accumulated over centuries.

Uncle Monk stopped and turned to Fruity. “Fruity, you need to choose the best technique that suits your abilities,” he said. “Inside are powerful defensive and offensive skills, but remember, everyone has something unique that sets them apart from others. It’s the same with techniques—some things can’t be learned unless you’re meant for them.”

Fruity listened carefully as his uncle continued. “What I’m trying to say is, don’t choose a technique just because of the trouble you’re facing. Relax and look for something that fits you. Some believe that when the right technique appears, you’ll know it instantly.”

The idea of picking a technique overwhelmed Fruity a bit, but he knew this was an important step. His future strength depended on it.

“Take your time,” Uncle Monk added. “Go through the scrolls and see what calls out to you. Once you’ve made your choice, I’ll take you to the Immortal Cave. The Spiritual Qi there is denser and more concentrated. It will help you cultivate faster.”

Fruity nodded, understanding the weight of this decision. Since his uncle could not enter, he approached the entrance, Fruity felt a strange energy emanating from the temple. It was as if the techniques themselves were alive, waiting to be chosen by the right person.

He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Uncle. I’ll choose wisely,” he promised.

Uncle Monk smiled warmly. “I know you will. Trust your instincts, Fruity. They’ve never led you astray.”

As soon as Fruity stepped inside the building, he felt like he had entered another dimension. The air was different, heavier yet filled with an almost ethereal energy. The space seemed vast and endless, yet when he looked around, he noticed something surprising—there were fewer than a hundred scrolls and tomes scattered around the room.

“I guess Uncle wasn’t exaggerating when he said I should look through them all,” Fruity muttered, scanning the room. “There are fewer than I expected.”

He began walking slowly, wanting to see the techniques first and hoping to feel some sort of connection. His eyes landed on a scroll, and curiosity got the better of him. He opened it and read the title aloud.

“Astra Projection Art.” The moment he gazed at the scroll, something unexpected happened. A strange sensation filled his mind. “Huh, I… I learned it. But how?”

He had merely glanced at the content, which was written in a series of diagrams, and yet he could now recall everything perfectly as if it had been embedded into his mind.

“Does this mean I can learn any skill or technique just by looking at it?” Fruity whispered, his mind racing with disbelief. The information had appeared in his head without any effort, as though he had spent weeks studying it.

“Maybe it’s just this one,” he thought, still baffled. He put down the Astra Projection scroll and moved to the next one.

“Divine Ascension: 419 Strikes,” he read aloud. As soon as the words left his mouth, the entire technique materialized in his mind, just like before.

“Well, this is weird,” Fruity muttered, though he couldn’t help but smile. The situation was strange, but the potential was thrilling. “It won’t hurt to learn them all, I guess.”

He glanced around the room again, counting about 73 scrolls and 14 tomes in total. His heart raced with excitement. If simply looking at these techniques allowed him to memorize them, why not learn everything? It was an opportunity too good to pass up.

Without hesitation, Fruity walked from scroll to scroll, tome to tome. Each time he opened one, the content would immediately flood into his mind. Defense techniques, offensive arts, even rare and forbidden skills—everything was now at his fingertips.

As he absorbed the knowledge, Fruity felt an overwhelming sense of power growing inside him. It was as if the techniques weren’t just being memorized—they were becoming a part of him.

After a while, Fruity stood still, his mind buzzing with countless techniques and strategies. He had learned them all, effortlessly.

“This… this is unbelievable,” Fruity said to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t sure what this strange ability was or why it worked, but he couldn’t deny its power.

Just like that, Fruity had learned all the techniques the Monastery had gathered over centuries, possibly even millennia. “I’m sorry, Uncles, but I couldn’t stop my brain from working,” he said, feeling guilty for absorbing all the skills and knowledge so quickly.

“Well, I guess there’s no special technique here for me,” Fruity muttered, disappointed. The connection his uncle had spoken of didn’t happen to him. He had already learned everything the Monastery had to offer, but the unique technique meant just for him still hadn’t appeared. With a sigh, he turned and started to leave the building.

As he approached the exit, something caught his eye. The door he had walked through earlier, which had closed behind him, now seemed different. He had been so focused on the strange space inside that he hadn’t looked back to check the door like most people would.

Now, as he looked more closely, he noticed intricate drawings of diagrams and runes etched into the door. Above them was a title written in strange, glowing runes.

“Nine Divine Soul Bead Art,” Fruity whispered as he read the name aloud.