Strongest Among the Heavens
Chapter 512: The Solution

Chapter 512: The Solution

The Solution.

A new identity to add the batch. The capable warrior who fell Igor the Skilled. Dasha was very careful in how he left and switched masks. He walked out of the Dark Tower, white Venetian mask on.

At this point, the area surrounding the Dark Tower was fully repaired. Nothing left of the Black Wolves Disaster except for Dasha’s secret influence. As he walked, he received waves from certain stall owners. There were less stalls than previously, in fear of what might spill out of the Dark Tower. However, these periods of peace around the Dark Tower were normal according to the locals.

"Wolves aren’t the first things to come out of the Dark Tower. Once, a curse overtook a man and transformed him into a spider. Thirty men died and he was put down right here, right in front of me, by Shadowblade. The people get scared and leave while others see it as an opportunity. Rinse and repeat."

And more famously, there was the eating giant that, unbeknownst to anyone, terrorized and annihilated the Whispers.

Dasha’s walk was calm. He took his time. He rather enjoyed seeing the smiles or the fear in those that saw him and recognized him. He was their saviour or their land shark. Their hero or their demon. Dasha took on whatever role was necessary for him to gain power.

He received a tug on the waist. A child with a note. No words, only a small smile.

"Thank you."

He took the note and in turn handed a gold coin. The child thanked him, grinning, and ran off.

"Mr. Jongyeol talked to the bomb shop owner about the Professor! He wants to spread the word and warn others!"

Ah, was that right? Dasha was going to have to sort it out then. He did not figure Mr. Jongyeol would overcome his cowardice.

***

Dasha owned and conquered a smoke bomb factory. That owned factory sold their bombs to merchants and stalls and shop owners. One shop owner who dealt in all sorts of bombs and who Dasha owned. His supply was utterly destroyed and Dasha swooped in to buy everything.

He well and truly owned him.

Even as he spilled blood on his floor, the bomb owner did not nothing. The store was closed. He closed his eyes and just looked away.

Mr. Jongyeol lay on the floor, his eyes pleading and his arms tied behind him. His wife and two daughters watched, on their knees, tears streaking down their cheeks. They were free to move if they wanted to. They did not. They cried. They could only cry.

Dasha Pang’s Qi was too overbearing. The weight and the malice within almost painted their emotions of sorrow and sadness into fear.

Dasha lightly nudged and kicked Mr. Jongyeol so that he could stand on his knees. He vomited out blood. "W-wait...waitt..."

"I’m willing to forgive him—" He gestured politely to the bomb shop owner— "since all he did was talk to you. I don’t see talking as treason. I see action as treason. Stepping out into the world, and telling people about me. Not wise. Now..."

Dasha turned to his family.

"Tell me, has he talked to anyone else about this? About me?"

Desperate shakes and responded, "N-no!"

"He didn’t! My father would never!"

"How old are you two?" Dasha asked, specifically referring to the daughters.

"F-fourteen..."

"Twelve, My Lord."

"No need for titles. I am simply the Professor. I teach and enforce the rules of what I know and see, that is all. As I mentioned before, speaking ill of me is not treason. Not everyone can be flawless." Dasha put his arms behind him. "If there is an issue, you speak to me, simple as that. But...you didn’t speak to me, did you?" He walked up to the family and lowered himself to their level. "Did he?"

The wife and daughters slowly, weakly nodded. Dasha was a tall, dark shadow with a white mask that was beautiful and rich. The disparity in power, in wealth, and in the world was as obvious as it was between an ant and a lion.

"Even your own family agrees, Mr. Jongyeol." He reached forward to cup the youngest daughter’s cheek. "Treason means to stand up and say that your king, your saviour, is wrong. That the people who made you what you were were wrong."

"Y-y-yes."

"Say it with me."

"T-that the kings a-a-are wrong. That’s treason."

"Do you want to commit treason like your father did?"

"N-n-no. B-but..."

The young daughter trailed off, her stammers leading to hiccups and tears.

"I know, I know." His finger stroked her cheek and wiped her tears away. "I know. Don’t worry, only one of you will die. Your family and your shop means a lot to you, doesn’t it?"

A nod from the youngest daughter. Dasha’s hand went up and stroked her scalp, before moving on to the older daughter.

"What do you think? Like I said, speak freely."

"I-I..."

The white mask Dasha’s hid his lips and his expressions. "Who do you think should get punished? Your father did a bad thing. Rules have to be set. You’ve had thieves, haven’t you? What do you do to them? Fend them with a stick, yes?"

"Y-yes."

"How many times?"

"T-two, maybe," the older daughter mumbled.

"They run off fast, don’t they?"

A feeble nod from the oldest daughter.

"Two times then. Excellent." Dasha stood up and turned to the father, who was hardly conscious or capable of understanding what his punishment was going to be. "Your daughter has decided, Mr. Jongyeol. Two hits. If you survive two hits from you, you live. Is that understood?"

"Y-yessh...gghkkk..."

"I already hit you once, didn’t I? When I dragged you here." Dasha intentionally looked over his shoulder at the daughter. "I told you, I’m a fair man. I’ll only hit him once then."

He raised an arm. Electricity swelled, black and rotating and gaining immense power. The black lightning licking the floor and nearly nicked the bombs protected by glass. This was a bomb shop. Dasha could not go all out.

The eyes on his mask darkened.

Lightning struck and Mr. Jongyeol slammed over.

"APPA!"

The mother cupped her youngest daughter’s mouth and eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut. The daughter screamed.

The image was burned in her head.

Dasha did what he did before. He politely lowered himself and spoke to him. "Your brain got caved in. Can you speak?" He then grabbed his shoulder and put him back to stand on his knees.

"Sshorry...so...shoorry..."

There were no words, only that it was a disgusting sight.

"You don’t have long to live, it seems. Do not worry, your wife will take better care of your stall." Dasha addressed the bomb shop owner. "Would you mind lending me a tissue? Thank you."

He wiped his gauntlets clean of his blood. As he did, he looked at the family.

"Come on then. Go. Talk to him before he passes."

The mother did not. The oldest daughter did, tripping over herself and running on all fours like an animal.

"Appa! APPA! C-can you hear me!? Appa!?"

"Shoory...shoooryy..."

"Appa! D-don’t be sorry! Don’t be! I-it was my fault! I-I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have..." She was sobbing. She wanted to hug him but he...he stank of blood and brains. Cupping her mouth, she withdrew from him. Crying, she couldn’t bear to look at him. "A-Appa... Appaaa...!"

"Shool..."

His jaw fell from his face.

The oldest daughter turned her face away, sobbing and trying to find comfort, only to find Dasha. Him and his dark robes and his unnerving white mask. Dasha peered down at the daughter’s animalistic swell of rage and sorrow.

"Y-y-you—"

What an ugly little thing.

"Killed him? That I did." Dasha lowered himself to her level. "I merely punished him the same way you punished thieves. I punished him like the bomb owner and your parents punished you. It’s simply how the world works. Your mother knows. That’s why she hasn’t moved. She loves your father far more than you ever did and she knows what he did was wrong."

"H-he...you made him! You were telling us you’d help a-and he said he didn’t! H-he said...he said..."

She sobbed when she heard another splatter. Her father was right there. Her father was decomposing right behind her. He was surprised she hadn’t lost her willpower. Children of the Underground were truly impressive.

"What is it that your father sold?"

The daughter wiped her face and did not look at him. "T-t-tomatoes and cucumbers a-and pills."

"Do you have a home?"

More sobs and tears.

"You live for your work. You and your father, all you do is travel up north to the blips, buy what little you can, go back and then work and sell. That is your life. Every day, since you could walk. I think you can do more."

Her eyes were beet red. She did not want to reply, not with her dead father here. She sniffled. "..."

"You have a good head on your shoulder. Do you want a home?"

That brought a flicker of life in the oldest daughter’s pupils. "Home...?"

"I will give you a home," Dasha said. "Down in the Complex Demonic Red. You can have a bed, a table. You can have dinner everyday. You won’t have to starve and scavenge for food. You can have all the things your father could have had if he merely asked."

Her head tilted up. She did not understand. Her emotions were too wild to be controlled by words. She wanted to cry and attack and run away from him all at the same time. Dasha Pang had worked in hospitals and experimented on hundreds of thousands of humans. At the end of the day, they were all the same in one regard. Their reactions and tears and anger came from one singular place.

The instinct to live.

"You want to eat. Find warmth. Have a roof to laugh under." Dasha extended a hand. "All you have to do is walk with me."

The instinct to live superseded all other functions, even the human heart.

On Earth, in the heavens, or in hell, Dasha was the solution to that instinct.