Lamplighter Academy: A Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Adventure (Above the Drowning Light Book 1) by Kal Griffith

Author:Kal Griffith [Griffith, Kal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fantasy Unlimited Publishing Group
Published: 2026-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirty-three

Beacon Lessons

The new lamp sat heavy on my back.

It wasn’t just the physical weight, though the brass casing and reinforced reservoir certainly added pounds. It was the oil inside. Real monster oil, thick and green, sloshing with a viscosity that kerosene never had. It changed my center of gravity, shifted how I had to move, and demanded a constant, low-level awareness that hadn’t been there before.

I was a Wick now. Year Two. The training wheels were off.

I stood in the sparring ring, testing the balance of my pole. The morning air was cold, biting at my exposed skin, but the 「Fire Heart」 skill hummed in my chest, a steady furnace that kept the chill at bay.

"You're holding it like a broom."

I turned. A man stood at the edge of the ring, leaning against a stone pillar. He was older than Grant but younger than Harvey, with hair the color of rusted iron and a face that looked like it had been carved from driftwood—weathered, lined, and enduring.

He wore the long coat of a Lamplighter, but the insignia on the shoulder was different. Not the simple flame of a Wick or the lantern of a Lamplighter. It was a tower emitting rays of light.

A Beacon.

I straightened, adjusting my grip. There were only a handful of Beacons in the entire city. "It balances differently with the oil," I said.

"It does." The man pushed off the pillar and walked toward me. He didn't carry a training staff. He carried his actual lamp pole, a scarred piece of metal that looked like it had bludgeoned more monsters than I’d ever seen. "If you treat it like dead weight, it’ll kill you. You have to treat it like a dance partner. A heavy, uncooperative dance partner."

He stopped five feet away.

"Harvey tells me you're a prodigy. Says you burn hotter than students have any right to." His eyes were pale blue, sharp and assessing. "I hate prodigies. They rely on talent when they should rely on mechanics. Talent runs out. Mechanics keep you alive."

"I'm not relying on talent."

"Show me."

He didn't signal. He just moved.

One moment he was standing still; the next, the butt of his pole was driving toward my sternum.

I reacted. Firefighter reflexes mingled with the muscle memory I'd built over the last year. I brought my pole up, blocking the strike.

Metal rang against metal. The impact jarred my arms, rattling my teeth. He didn't stop. He used the recoil to spin, bringing the hook end of his lamp around in a vicious arc aimed at my legs.

I jumped, tucking my knees. The pole whistled beneath me.

I landed and thrust forward, aiming for his shoulder. A control strike.

He didn't even block. He just stepped inside my guard, twisting his body so my pole passed harmlessly by. He slammed his shoulder into my chest.

I stumbled back, gasping.

"Sloppy," he said. He hadn't broken a sweat. "You're strong. I can feel that. But you commit too hard. You throw your weight like a brawler."

He circled me.

"A Wick is a candle," he said.

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