Chapter 3: The Dao of Ragebait

By the time Charlie reached the manor, he was already breathing harder than he would have liked. Pushing a wooden cart with a full-grown pig inside it through crowded streets had seemed like a good idea when he was in a hurry. Now that he was standing in front of the house, he was beginning to reconsider several things about his decision-making.

Before he could open the door, shouting came from inside. Charlie paused with his hand on the latch.

Someone was angry.

Very angry.

The woman was standing near the center of the room with her hands clasped nervously in front of her while the master towered over her, or at least as much as a man of his particular proportions could tower over anyone. His face was red with anger, his expensive robes stretched tightly around his stomach, and every movement made the fabric look as though it was reconsidering whether it wanted to remain attached to him.

The woman noticed him first.

"Charlie!"

The master turned sharply.

"Where have you been?"

Charlie looked at him, then briefly at the woman.

"I was out."

"I can see that. Do you think you can simply come and go whenever you please?"

"I didn’t realize I had a curfew."

The master moved closer, his face already red from shouting.

"I gave you a place to stay, and this is how you repay me? You disappear all day and come back whenever you feel like it. I have guests arriving, and I’ve been waiting for you."

Charlie frowned.

"I wasn’t aware I was required for your guests."

The answer seemed to make the man’s temper flare even further.

"Required? You dare answer me like that?"

The woman stepped forward quickly.

"Master, please. He doesn’t mean—"

The master shoved her aside. Charlie watched her stumble and catch herself against the table. Something in his expression changed.

A door opened behind them, and a black servant stepped out carrying a small wooden container filled with rubbish. He looked toward the commotion, hesitated, then started toward the back entrance.

The woman straightened herself.

"Please, help me."

The servant looked at her and immediately set the container down.

Charlie barely noticed him at first.

His attention was still on the master.

Good lord.

Now that he was standing this close, Charlie got a proper look at the man.

He’s enormous.

His eyes dropped briefly toward the master’s stomach.

Actually, is he fatter than Biggie?

Charlie glanced toward the cart outside.

Biggie was already climbing out.

I should have named the pig something else.

The master continued shouting.

"I have guests coming tonight! Important guests! And you expect me to explain to them why someone staying under my roof can’t even be bothered to return when he is needed?"

Charlie looked at him again.

Then at his clothes.

The master’s robes were stretched so tightly across his stomach that Charlie genuinely wondered whether they had been made for him or whether he had simply continued eating until the original dimensions became irrelevant.

Those things look like they’re about to explode.

The black servant stepped closer and quietly gestured toward Charlie.

"Come. Please."

The servant barely had time to react before the master’s hand struck him across the face.

The sound made Charlie’s jaw tighten.

The servant staggered and lowered his head.

"You worthless Black dog!" the master spat before pointing toward the door. "Get out of my sight before I sell you back to the slave market myself."

Charlie stared at the man for a moment, then at the servant.

"Look fattie, I don’t particularly stand with Black Lives Matter or anything, but..." He paused, apparently realizing halfway through the sentence that there was no good way to finish it. "I mean, I don’t appreciate you hitting him."

Charlie pointed awkwardly toward the servant.

"He didn’t even do anything."

The woman looked at him nervously.

Charlie cleared his throat.

"So you should probably apologize."

The silence that followed was almost uncomfortable enough to make Charlie regret saying anything at all.

The master took a step toward him.

"You dare tell me to apologize?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Well, yes."

He glanced at the servant again.

"Unless there’s something I’m missing."

The master stared at him as though Charlie had become the most confusing person in the room.

Charlie turned toward the woman.

"Actually, why don’t you take him to the kitchen?"

She blinked.

"The kitchen?"

"Yeah."

Charlie nodded toward the servant.

"Help him up and get him something for his face. I’ll be there shortly."

The woman hesitated.

Charlie gave her a small nod.

"Go."

She immediately moved to the servant’s side and helped him to his feet. The servant seemed reluctant to move at first, but after another glance at Charlie, he allowed the woman to lead him toward the kitchen.

Charlie watched them disappear through the doorway. Only once they were gone did he turn back toward the master. The man’s face was still red. Charlie rubbed his jaw and let out a quiet breath. He had no idea what he was doing.

He had no idea who this man was, why the woman seemed so frightened of him, or why everyone in this house seemed to accept being shouted at and struck as though it were perfectly normal.

Before he could say anything, a familiar voice appeared inside his head.

[System Notification.]

[You have successfully provoked an individual through verbal agitation.]

Charlie stared ahead.

"What?"

[Dao of Ragebait has been activated.]

[Current Level: Beginner.]

Charlie frowned.

"Ragebait?"

[Yes.]

There was a brief pause.

[You have successfully agitated your target without the use of physical force.]

Charlie glanced at the master.

The man’s expression suggested the system was probably right.

"What exactly does that mean?"

[The Dao of Ragebait allows the host to cultivate power through the provocation and agitation of others.]

Charlie stared at the invisible text.

"So... I annoy people?"

[Incorrect.]

Charlie waited.

[You strategically annoy people.]

[First Technique Unlocked: Clothing Rupture.]

"Clothing Rupture?"

[By sufficiently agitating a target, the host may cause the target’s clothing to rupture from the physical strain of their anger.]

Charlie stared at the system notification for a few seconds before looking back at the master. The man’s face was still red, his breathing heavier than before, and there was something deeply unpleasant about the way he was glaring at Charlie. Under normal circumstances, Charlie probably would have tried to avoid making the situation worse. Unfortunately, the system had just informed him that making this particular man angry was apparently a supernatural ability.

"So, if I’m understanding this correctly," Charlie said, "I make someone angry and their clothes become structurally compromised?"

The master frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"That’s what I’m trying to determine."

"Are you mocking me?"

Charlie gave him a thoughtful look. "I don’t think that’s going to work. Thinking quietly would defeat the purpose of thinking, because if the thought is sufficiently complex, it requires some form of external articulation to determine whether the premise remains internally coherent."

The master stared at him.

Charlie continued before he could answer. "Besides, anger is an interesting expression of insecurity. When a person’s perception of themselves conflicts with an external reality they cannot immediately control, they become emotionally destabilized. It’s almost philosophical when you think about it."

"What are you even saying?"

"That depends entirely on whether you’re asking for the literal meaning or the philosophical implication."

"I am asking you to stop insulting me!"

"But I haven’t actually insulted you yet. I’ve merely described a psychological process that you’re currently demonstrating."

The man’s face twitched.

Charlie went on, his tone remaining almost conversational. "In fact, one could argue that rage is simply the ego attempting to defend a temporary interpretation of the self from an objective contradiction. The interesting part is that the more aggressively the ego tries to preserve itself, the more obvious the contradiction becomes."

The master took a step forward. "You arrogant little—"

His fist came toward Charlie’s face.

Charlie moved without thinking.

His body slipped to the side, and the man’s fist passed harmlessly beside his cheek. The master stumbled slightly from the momentum before turning around.

"Stand still!"

"I’d rather not."

The second attack came faster. Charlie leaned back, letting it pass in front of him, and the third followed almost immediately from the other side. Again, his body simply moved on its own, shifting out of the way with a precision that Charlie certainly hadn’t learned through any conscious training.

The master grew more frantic with every failed strike.

"You think this is funny?"

The master was breathing harder now. His movements had lost some of their earlier force, and sweat was beginning to collect along his forehead. Charlie could hear the man’s breathing from across the room, but the more exhausted he became, the more Charlie seemed to settle into the strange rhythm of avoiding him.

"You know," Charlie said, "there’s an old philosophical question about whether a person can truly be angry at another individual when the source of that anger is ultimately their own interpretation of reality. I suppose you’re conducting a practical demonstration."

"Shut your mouth!"

Charlie considered that while stepping away from another wild swing. "That’s an interesting request coming from someone who has spent the last several minutes attempting to solve a verbal disagreement with his fists."

The master roared and charged again.

Charlie moved aside, and the man nearly lost his balance.

"I would recommend conserving your energy," Charlie said. "Your breathing has become rather concerning."

"I’ll kill you!"

The man’s robes pulled tightly across his stomach as he took another furious breath.

Charlie noticed the fabric strain.

"Actually, your clothes don’t look very comfortable."

The master glanced down.

"They seem to be under considerable pressure."

"You bastard!"

"I’m only making an observation. Although, if we’re being philosophical about it, perhaps your clothes are experiencing an existential crisis. They were designed for one version of you, while the present version has evidently rejected the original parameters."

The master’s face had gone nearly purple.

Charlie continued, "There’s probably a lesson in there somewhere. Material objects cannot always accommodate personal growth."

A seam around the man’s waist gave a faint, ominous creak. The master let out a furious shout and suddenly lowered his body before launching himself forward.

Charlie barely had time to register what was happening before Biggie came charging from the hallway. The pig slammed into Charlie’s legs at precisely the wrong moment, and the three of them went down in a tremendous crash that shook the wooden floorboards.

The impact brought the entire manor to life. Doors opened along the corridor, servants hurried toward the room, and frightened voices called out over one another as everyone tried to figure out what had just happened.

Biggie was lying directly on top of Charlie, while the master had landed on top of Biggie, leaving him trapped beneath several hundred pounds of extremely unfortunate weight. Whatever air had remained in his lungs disappeared immediately, and he could barely force another breath into his chest.

"Biggie..."

The pig squealed and began frantically licking Charlie’s face.

Charlie tried to move an arm. It barely shifted. "That’s not helping."

The pig gave another desperate squeal.

Charlie’s vision was beginning to blur when a loud tearing sound suddenly cut through the room. The master had been struggling to push himself upright, and the strain had finally become too much for his robes. The fabric around his waist stretched to its absolute limit before the entire garment gave way with a violent RIIIP.

Pieces of cloth exploded outward in every direction.

One large section flew straight through the doorway and struck a servant in the face hard enough to knock him backward onto the floor.

The other servants froze, staring at the scene in stunned silence.

[Technique Activation Conditions Met.]

[First Technique: Clothing Rupture.]

[Successful.]

[Target has been sufficiently agitated.]

Charlie barely had time to read the notification before something strange gathered inside his stomach. A dense warmth formed beneath his ribs, spreading through his abdomen before concentrating into a single point at his core. It felt almost like a weight had appeared inside him, except the sensation wasn’t dragging him down. It was giving him something to push with.

Biggie was still squealing and licking his face, while the master struggled above them.

Charlie drew in what little air remained in his lungs and reached one hand toward the weight pressing down on him.

Something inside his abdomen answered.

The strange pressure that had gathered in his core surged through his body and into his arm. Charlie’s palm rose, and the floorboards beneath his back gave a long, strained creak.

The master lifted.

At first, only slightly. His body shifted off Biggie’s back, leaving a narrow gap between them. Then Charlie pushed harder, and the enormous man rose another few inches.

Biggie rose with him.

The master hung above Charlie with the bewildered expression of a man who had just discovered that gravity was no longer something he could rely on. Biggie dangled beneath him, legs kicking uselessly in the air, while Charlie remained flat on his back with one arm extended, his hand trembling beneath a strength he didn’t understand.

The servants gathered in the doorway could only stare.

Charlie took another shallow breath and slowly pushed upward.

The master and Biggie rose higher.

Whatever this new power was, it was coming from him. He could feel it concentrated deep within his abdomen, dense and strangely warm, flowing through his arm with every bit of effort he made.

Charlie shifted his other hand beneath the master and gave a cautious push.

It was supposed to be just enough to move him away. Instead, the force erupted through his arm.

The master shot sideways.

He crashed straight through the open doorway, disappearing from the room before a heavy impact sounded somewhere in the corridor. Several servants flinched and stepped back, staring at the doorway as though they had just witnessed someone throw a mountain.

Charlie remained on the floor for several seconds, breathing slowly while he tried to understand what his hands had just done.

Biggie dropped beside him with a heavy thump and immediately began sniffing around his face.

"I’m fine," Charlie managed, though his voice was still strained. He pushed himself onto one elbow and looked toward the servants. "Someone should probably help your master."

Charlie glanced toward the doorway.

"Preferably before he decides to remain there."

Two servants hurried into the corridor while another helped Biggie out of the way. Charlie slowly rolled onto his side, then pushed himself upright. His entire body felt exhausted, but beneath the fatigue there was still that strange warmth in his abdomen, quietly pulsing as though it had always belonged there.

He wasn’t sure what he’d just awakened.

He was even less sure how he was supposed to control it. Still, there was one thing he was sure about. He was hungry. Charlie dusted himself off and started toward the kitchen.

He had only taken a few steps when a weak voice came from the corridor.

"Get... out..."

Charlie stopped.

The master was sitting against the wall where he had landed, his robes torn, his face bruised, and his breathing shallow. Several servants were crouched around him, trying to help him sit properly.

"Get... out of my manor..."

Charlie was quiet for a moment, looking down at his own hand.

"I’d be careful with what you say."

The master’s expression tightened.

Charlie lifted his hand slightly, almost as if reminding both of them what had just happened.

"I’ve only just discovered that I can apparently throw you through a door with one hand. I’d rather not discover what happens if I use both."

He let the implication sit for a moment before lowering his hand.

"Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to the kitchen."

Charlie turned and continued down the corridor, leaving the servants to deal with their battered master while he finally went in search of dinner.