Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 386: Myth

Chapter 386: Myth

A well-used five hours went by.

His breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, slowed until it matched the natural pulse of the Underground itself—subtle vibrations that hummed through the walls, the distant, almost imperceptible noises of the city above. He let his senses expand, reaching out beyond his skin, seeking to touch the invisible threads of Qi that wove through the air.

Yes, Qi was in the air. Qi was everywhere. Only deep during meditation could he touch and feel and consume it. Why else would Dasha not just meditate in the middle of battle and absorb Qi? It took twenty, hell, thirty minutes in order to do it. But now....

’Natural Qi can now be sensed at all times.’

He had levelled up his Qi Sense.

That meant he was one step closer to learning Tu Na Breathing.

His sensing was no longer just a crude map of his surroundings—it was becoming a detailed, three-dimensional understanding of everything around him. Previously, his brain filled in the blanks. Now, that was not the case. Now, the detail and dimensions were coming simultaneously.

His eyes opened. His breath quickened to normal.

The pulses still went out, albeit quietly.

"Although using this in battle will prove to be challenging."

Indeed, what Dasha did applied only when he stood still. Walking and running and bursting with Qi would blur the Qi Sense back to normal, back to when his brain did the heavy lifting.

But where Dasha was going, remaining in place was going to be important.

"Not to mention..." He clenched and unclenched his fist. "The ability to hide the fact that you are using Qi Sense. I may not be able to do it yet but I’m close."

The downside to Qi Sense was that unlike Magic Sensitivity, it could be detected. The more clumsy the Cultivator was, the easier the detection of Qi Sense became. Sandhya Chadha’s book dedicated a Chapter in the detection of Magic Sensitivity, Qi Sensing, and other like-minded skills. Those with massive, uncontrolled hoards of Qi/mana tended not to notice Qi Sense being used on them. However, fellow Cultivators noticed. Wizards and Sorcerers noticed. The book did not offer a solution as to how to hide it. Rather, it went on to interview Spectre 1, the strongest of the Sapphire Order, and other mighty figures and how they were able to sense their fellow sensors.

Spectre 1 relied on his senses. He listened to the twitches in muscle, in the anxiety within people. Through experience, he figured out the telltale muscles that caused Qi Sensing or Magic Sensitivity. He could tell which was which despite the tiny minute differences in every detail. He could just tell as if it were second nature. An instinct.

In this world, waves and particles of mana constantly flowed. Dasha’s brewing theory was that it was possible for Qi Sensors to disguise the sonar radar with those subtle waves. How he would accomplish that, he did not know. Where it was taught, he presumed only true masters of Cultivation were aware.

Time was not on his side. Masters were not his side. Dasha Pang was completely self-taught. He read, he experimented, and he pursued higher heights while stepping on the ashes of those he defeated.

Tonight, however, he had to return to Ares’ Symposium.

Exiting the secret room, he was met with the face of the Italian restaurant owner. More specifically, the owner of a pescheria, a fish shop. Dressed like a butcher, the twisted grey-moustached male personally caught fish from a special sea of water that took up the whole of the Underground’s north-east. Called the Scribe Sea, the waters were said to host fish and monster-fish of incomprehensible variety. The Scribe Sea was said to stretch on for hundreds of miles until it connected to the famed Current of Darkness.

Dasha met the owner, Savario, while he was searching for his second son during the disaster. Dasha found him, gave supplies to help rebuild the fish shop, and then offered to be his sponsor. No payment would be necessary until he got back on his two feet. With so much chaos and with few options, Savario accepted.

"Ah, boss." Savario crossed his arms upon seeing him. "Hope you had a good rest."

Dasha asked with the aura of a higher-up, "Did you have a good catch?"

"Yes, yes! Your people were amazing! My son was quite enthralled."

Sending the Pure Water Sect members to help out and establish connections was his best bet right now. Simply striking loyalty through fear was insufficient. If a greater fear came, then their loyalties would disappear. Until Dasha was in the position to overcome all other fears with his own, then loyalty through service was his only option.

"Anytime there is an issue, whether it is supplies or personal, you come to me." Dasha raised a finger. "I left behind a Magical Letter. Can you write?"

"A bit. I can write the alphabet."

Illiteracy. As anticipated. Not that it mattered.

"That is fine, as long as I can read the emotion in your words."

"I understand, boss." A big smile stretched across old Savario and his gaze flicked to the harp in his arms. "Going out again?"

"Yes. The repairs on your son’s shop will be complete by tonight."

Savario’s second shop, managed by his second son, had been at the heart of the Black Wolf Disaster. Dasha studied civil engineering in the past. Building another shop would not take him long. But personally going to fix was it not his job.

It would be of the sorcerer he hired later on.

******

Dasha sat as Myth in the corner of a room in Ares’ symposium, his long fingers plucking delicately at the strings of a new instrument—a lyre, its wood polished to a deep, lustrous sheen. His black opera mask concealed his face as he played and his posture was relaxed, confident. Around him, the new crowd of men lounged on silk cushions or milled about.

The room, as always, was an extravagant display of wealth and power. Xander sat with the most attention. He was not speaking much tonight, content to sip his wine and watch the proceedings with a half-lidded gaze and listening to Myth. The freshness of the music gave a sense of quiet anticipation, a hum of curiosity that seemed to pull the attendees closer to the corner where this Myth played.

Myth. Myth.

Such beauty. The man, the music, the instrument.

"Such beauty," they all murmured.

It wasn’t any instrument he had brought with him tonight. The lyre had been hand-crafted by a renowned artisan in the city of Aphaea during its prime, imbued with magical properties that allowed the sound to resonate more deeply than a mundane instrument. It was a prize he won from saving a collector among the rubble of the Black Wolf Incident. When Dasha played, the music seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the listeners, drawing them in like moths to a flame.

Dasha’s fingers danced over the strings and the notes danced. In this corner, in this ordinary room on the first floor, more and more renowned figures entered. Sucked in like a black hole, hearing of a lyre akin to a god.

Dasha was no god. He just was. This talent, this skill, these fingers, he had not only been born with them but he crafted them to what they were now.