Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 367: Outside the Tower

Chapter 367: Outside the Tower

Hours passed. Scarlett never gave up. She fought and fought. She won. She gained levels. Dasha could not see but he estimated her level was in the late 30s.

Scarlett limped away from the arena after the night. A broken elbow and a sprained ankle pained her from two separate battles. Her red hair turned in a shriek-ish mess as she sought a quiet space to catch her breath. Nowhere in the Dark Tower could she find that. Many stayed even when it closed to keep the heart-thumping adrenaline going. Scarlett was not a netizen of the Underground. She was a modern woman. She wanted peace. She walked, she walked, and she exited.

Far away from the Dark Tower, Scarlett leaned against a cold stone wall. A small figure approached her. It was a young boy, no more than eight years old, with jet-black hair and almond-shaped eyes.

"Excuse me, miss," the boy said. "I am Mùchén of Realize. I saw your fight, Lady Scarlett. You were amazing!"

Scarlett eyed the child warily. "Thank you."

Mùchén inched closed. "I want to help, Lady Scarlett! I have something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid. "It’s a healing potion. Please, take it. It’s a gift."

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. In this realm of death and rebirth, kindness was rare and often came with hidden motives. She hesitated, her gaze flicking between the earnest face of the boy and the enticing vial in his hand. She suddenly winced when the pain in her elbow echoed.

Out of survival, she reached out and took the vial, careful not to touch Mùchén’s hand. "Thanks," Scarlett muttered, tucking the potion away without drinking it. "That’s... kind of you."

Mùchén beamed at her, seemingly oblivious to her skepticism. "I hope it helps! Good luck in your next fight, Lady Scarlett!" With a small wave, the turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Scarlett watched him go, her brow furrowed. Confusion, distrust, all those emotions crossed her. She fingered the vial in her pocket, wondering about its contents. The Underground was of homeless suspicious people and age did not change that.

Dasha Pang understood her hesitancy.

High above in the shadows of the building hanging above her, Dasha observed the entire exchange. The pieces of his plan were falling into place, and neither Scarlett nor Mùchén were aware of the role they were about to play in his grand design.

Scarlett pushed herself off the wall, hearing a gang come nearby. Dasha’s gaze followed her. The seed he planted could grow into something far more potent than any poison.

"Mmmmphhh! Mmmmmhh!"

Behind him were the bearded scouts. Working for the Imperial Sect, their garbs were mighty and inconspicuous. Intended for stealth and imbued with magic worthy of the Imperial Sect.

"Gūniáng! G-Gūniáng! That’s his name!"

Their limbs were torn from their body. One had their tongue from their throat and screamed. The second, therefore, became willing to give him information.

Dasha did not look back at them. "Gūniáng, you say? What is he like?"

"He serves Princess Liuying above all else! H-he won’t—" Gasp, pant. "He won’t die until you’re dead! Killing us means killing—"

Dasha turned around and the scout bit down his on his tongue. He wanted to die. He wanted to stop himself. He couldn’t. Dasha Pang did not need any equipment to instill great fear into these people. To make them forget their rational train of thought and their loyalty. Casually, calmly, he approached the scout with the torn tongue and then stepped on his head.

His skull was slowly being crushed.

"W-wait! Wait, wait!"

The longer the speakable scout protested, the more of his weight he pressed down on the unspoken one. The scout could not understand why and how this was happening. He couldn’t understand that he wasn’t that much weaker than Dasha, that their cultivation levels were the same.

The fear originated from the swagger in which the scouts walked. It lay in how they believed they were invincible. If they had strengthened their Qi Sense, then Dasha wouldn’t have ripped that tongue from the beginning and torn away the arm. The second scout wouldn’t have been caught in slackjaw shock at the sight and swept off with his leg.

None of this would have happened if they had simply been like Dasha. Always alert, always living with the avoidance of death. But because they were not like him, because they were fundamentally different from him, they suffered. They lay on this rooftop without anyone else knowing.

"He has formed his Core!" the scout screamed. "He has learned a second cleansing skill! H-he has learned to manifest a Qi Blade from the princess herself!"

The scouts worked under a man by the name of Gūniáng, who in turn worked for Princess Liuying. Dasha stopped crushing the tongueless man and went over to the heaving betraying scout.

"I appreciate your help. Now then—"

He kneeled down, grabbed his skull, ignoring the desperate pleas, and burned his life away with an Inferno Palm. His other finger went over and drove into the tongueless man’s temple. A sharp, pointed burst of Qi erupted. A prototype of the Qi Blade he was attempting to learn.

Infant as the Qi Blade may have been, it killed the man.

After that, it was a matter of slicing up the corpses into neat pieces and putting them into his inventory.

***

The Underground was a labyrinth to foreigners and ambitious merchants. To those that lived here, it was home. It was named. There were neighborhoods and gangs and people. History existed. People existed. The complex relations of those above and those below. Trade, exchanged crime and cultures. A facet of the symbiotic relationship that everyone refused to fully acknowledge.

The narrow alleyways of Old Blood and Guts were tainted with blood and flesh; of battle between the ones that held the desire to climb the Dark Tower. In a grimy clearing, surrounded by crumbling brick walls with graffiti, a group of young fighters were engaged in a battle. One versus four. Alone, at the center of this maelstrom, was Dürr, a lanky teenager with a mop of unkempt brown hair and eyes that raged with determination.

Dürr’s lean frame raised its feeble arms as he desperately tried to block the barrage of kicks coming his way. His four opponents, up-and-coming brawlers, showed no mercy. Block, block, block. He funnelled an impressive amount of Qi. It was not impressive enough and a particularly vicious roundhouse caught Dürr in the ribs, smacking him against the brick wall.

Dasha Pang watched from above. He did not interfere. These alleyways held curious fighters. Behind him were some of those fighters who did not notice him from his invisibility cloak.

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