Strongest Among the Heavens-Chapter 368: Dürr

Manipulation of Qi was commonplace here, albeit in stranger, weaker methods. They did not cycle Qi throughout their bodies. It was limited. Arms and legs or the head, specific increments. Dasha was able to garner a guess as to how Heidi developed her kicking abilities here.

"Is that all you got, string bean?" taunted a muscular youth with a shaved head. "I thought you said you trained with Heidi herself!"

Laughter erupted from the small ring of spectators as Dürr struggled to regain his footing. He raised his fists, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his side.

"Yeah, right," sneered a girl with multiple piercings on her ears and lips. "As if the ’Bloody Kicker’ would waste her time on a weakling like you. Let me guess: you saw her fight at the Dark Tower and made up some story to sound tough. Next, you’ll say Shadow Blade is your uncle!"

Dürr’s face flushed red. "It’s true!" he protested. "Heidi taught me her special kick. I only... I only need more practice."

This declaration was met with even more derision. A tall, lanky fighter walked up to him, laughing. "Oh yeah? Why don’t you show us this ’special kick’ then? Come on, Dürr the Dud, give us a demonstration! Let’s do a one on one."

A one-on-one? Gritting his teeth, Dürr got up. He was more than happy to. Instantly, catching the fighter off-guard, he went for a punch. Being lanky meant having long arms, however. Dürr’s punch failed to land and instead he was punched. He nearly dropped. His nose was broken. Growling, he charged and his feet swept up sand and struck it in the lanky man’s face.

There! He had time!

Dürr planted his feet and began to spin. He was attempting to recreate the devastating cyclone kick he had seen Heidi perform countless times. But as he rotated, his balance faltered. His foot connected with nothing but air and the momentum sent him crashing to the ground.

The alley erupted in cruel laughter as Dürr lay there, dirt and grime clinging to his sweat-soaked clothes. Tears of frustration stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He got up and was promptly kicked into the ground by the lanky man. "This! My! Friend!" He delivered three kicks to his ribs. "Is! How! You!"

Snap!

A rib broke.

"Kick!"

Dürr lay there, gasping, while the lanky fighter cackled and pulled his leg up. There was raw Qi at the ends of his feet. An instinctive flash, not fully controlled like a Cultivator’s or a magic user’s.

"Face it, kid," the shaved-head youth said, looming over him. "You’re nothing but a joke. Heidi wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, let alone teach you anything."

They didn’t bother finishing him off. The group continued to mock and jeer at him as they walked out of the alley. They were talking about setting up a tournament and joked about excluding only Dürr because he was so weak. The weak, broken Dürr pushed himself up. His body ached and his pride was shattered. Bruised and bloodied, he staggered back towards a dilapidated building.

The laughter followed when some others noticed he was up. Those that weren’t even apart of the attacking group.

The hate built up.

"I hate them," Dürr muttered. "I fucking hate them..."

Like a child muttering after being reprimanded by their parents, he walked away, sulking and fueled with rage.

The building he entered was not his. It was a shared reserve for the meek. Streams of people flowed through its cramped entrance, returning from their daily struggles to the only sanctuary they knew.

Dasha Pang slipped into the crowd effortlessly. His presence was not noticed among the throng of weary workers, hustlers, and fighters. The interior was a maze of makeshift partitions, narrow corridors, and shared living spaces. Sweat, cooking, and desperation lay everywhere. None were as desperate and pathetic as Dürr, who sat alone in a corner of a communal area, his lanky frame hunched over as he nursed his wounds.

Dasha saw what happened. Dasha saw the state of Heidi’s home. He wanted to see where she learned her kicks from. There was nothing worthwhile, however. She was a prodigy, through and through. Everyone else was not. They were weak, pathetic lifeforms whose only purpose was to eat and feed on desperation.

Everybody in this world had a role. This was theirs. The people of Old Blood and Guts were to live like snails. No true strength, no awareness, and no sense of going beyond. They would stay where they were, moving slowly to trick themselves into believing they were making progress.

Dasha settled down next to the battered teenager as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them.

"You seem afraid."

Dürr’s head snapped up, startled by the sudden voice. He winced as the movement aggravated his broken rib. "What’s it to you, masked man?" he muttered, eyeing Dasha warily. "And I’m not afraid."

"So a fighter then. That’s good. I thought perhaps you had lost blood from being a coward."

"I’m no coward," Dürr replied sharply.

"So will you go back?"

Dürr stiffened. "What?"

"Will you go back and fight them? Or will you give up?"

"I...I’m not giving up. I made a promise not to."

"I see. A promise." Dasha stared up at the ceiling. "The ambition of wanting to keep a promise...that is a good ideal. Do not be compromised."

"Is there something you want?"

The Venetian mask did not invite trust. Dasha did not intend for it to. He turned to look at him. "I am a retired fighter. The logic of us fighters is only as true as our strength. Nothing more, nothing less."

Those at the bottom would remain the strongest. Even with nothing to lose, they clammered and stayed and did everything they could to keep what little they did have.

But with the hand of temptation, they could be pushed.

They could soar to higher grounds.