The Greatest Fight [progression cultivation isekai]

Team Humanity

After sleeping through most of the night and much of the day, the Jumpers were greeted by cheers as they walked down the stairs, and into the dining hall of the inn. Many of the leaders of the revolt were now free, back on the streets—and it was all thanks to them. Word quickly spread of the two brave strangers.

"Thirteen years! I'm finally free after thirteen years! Mama, I'm free. My heart—it feels like it is about to explode," said a young man, as he sobbed on his knees, his family holding him in a loving embrace.

"My dad is finally home. I never thought I'd see this day," said another.

"Now that the political prisoners are out, we must act quickly. We must strike," declared one more, slamming her fist on the table.

Hopeless words were now starting to be replaced by ideas, plans, and the desire for revenge against the oppressors. The spark was lit and the fire began to take hold in the hearts of the oppressed.

Hoping to escape the chaos of the crowd, they made their way back to their humble room. They stared at a small, round object with a tiny rotor at its top, as they sat on the floor.

"I think this is the machine that lady was talking about. I grabbed it on the way out of the warden's office. Look," said Rosso as he touched the device, causing it to activate. It floated gently into the air, its propeller spinning quietly with a whirr. The sphere had a glass dome where a flickering light danced inside, changing colors and shapes with each passing second.

"It looks like the same stuff that comes out when we use our Gifts," said Roa, sticking his nose in front of the floating object, inspecting it.

"Looks like aura in there. I'm not sure what this thing is exactly. More importantly—check out what I also took," said Rosso with a proud smile.

He pulled out several yellow folders stuffed with loose pages, and the two spent hours combing through them, scanning for critical information. The process was slow, tedious, but necessary, as each piece seemed to hold a potential clue.

"It looks like the executives of several oil firms, including Oilworxx's, are doing some yearly conference a few weeks from now—to coordinate their efforts and fix the price of oil."

"Yeah, it's like some giant—oil mafia get-together," said the Sunflower.

"A world-destroying business marathon," joked his friend.

"A—convention on how to kill Nature and get rich while doing it," added Roa, smirking as he shook his head. "Anyways—after their meetings, they like to throw a fancy party to celebrate the mayhem they accomplished. Turns out the ball this year will be on the water, out there—on what the locals call Tar Lake, on the coast of Grayshroud, where we woke up after the jump. Those fat cats will gather on their mega yachts and party through the night, as if the world outside doesn't exist."

Rosso shot him a devious glance.

"Too bad we don't have an invitation," he grinned.

"Oh—but we do. We got two," Roa said, lifting his two fists in the air. "They're called 'Mister Left' and 'Mister Right.' We'll happily present them when we show up in our tuxedos."

"You think they will let us just waltz in there?" Rosso's grin disappeared, his brow frowning. "This isn't some outpost lost in the desert. I get that we're all pumped for getting the old man out of that prison—but we're not punching our way through this one, Roa," he explained in a serious tone, as the boy nodded, his smirk also vanishing.

They sat there in silence, as a million thoughts ran through their minds.

"That's the place and time when we must strike, though. There's no other way around it. When else will we get the chance to have so many big shots in one place?" explained the boy.

"Never."

"Then, when they come together, we must hit them—and hit them hard. The harder, the better—send them a message—one that is loud and clear." Roa paused. "We can't go in there swinging—so, we'll need to sneak into those boats, instead."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"There will be a whole army of security waiting for us," Rosso pointed out.

"Right. Those kinds of people always hide behind layers of guns—guns, laws, money and power. It's how they make sure they never lose their positions of privilege. They're cowards. They don't fight fairly," explained the Sunflower, his eyes burning with resolve.

"They write all the rules in their favor. You will have to make your own as you go," Rosso looked at his friend, his eyes narrowing, "the old man said that about Default World during our training."

"Then we won't play fair either. We'll sneak in—like thieves in the night—and take as many of these oil barons as hostages," said Roa as his friend nodded.

"Question is—what's the connection between the Shadows and these fat cats?" Rosso asked, as Vesper groaned on his bed.

"They probably work with the Shadows," said the old man, his voice feeble as the two stared at him. "They're part of the Old Order, of this, I am sure. How, exactly—I don't know."

When asked about his granddaughter, Mattina, the teacher shook his head.

"They took her before I could protect her. I don't know where she is," the old man's eyes began to tear up, and his fist began to shake. They attempted to calm him down, and told him to rest.

"We will find her, old man, don't worry," said Rosso, placing his hand on the teacher's bruised arm.

"The rich folk at that boat party—they are well connected. They might know where she is. Please—please help me find my granddaughter. They might know where your girl and home are too, boy," he said, staring at the Sunflower. "They must know. They help run this trainwreck called society," said the master as he closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep again.

Several nights passed at the inn. The freed leaders of the revolt were huddled around a large table, passionately arguing on what to do next. The Jumpers did not say a word, opting to listen instead of opening their mouths—Roa's eyes followed every conversation, studying their body language and choice of words. Inevitably, the Sunflower was asked for his opinion. He looked around and took a deep breath.

"Whatever we are going to do, we must move as One, as a single, unified force—or no plan, no matter how great, will work. Our opponent is stronger, more organized, has all of the resources and knowledge. What we have on our side is the fact that we are everywhere—we are many. We can overwhelm them, but—only if we work as One. The enemy has not been truly challenged for centuries. I'm sure the place will be sealed tighter than a vault, but they won't expect an overwhelming attack. This is the best moment to strike. We have the element of surprise on our side."

"So, what are you suggesting we do?" asked a young woman at the table, as she sipped on some liquor.

"We need to synchronize our efforts. Strike at the neck and the head will fall; but first, we must get the eyes' attention, so that the neck turns, giving us an opening," explained the young man, as his eyes glanced around the table.

Hours turned to nights—very long nights. The smoke from cigarettes filled the cramped room as arguments gave way to compromises. The group could not decide on a leader for the operation, each member too proud and selfish to give the role to another—until someone pointed at the boy.

"How about him?" she said as the room went quiet.

"He's the outsider. The neutral party," added one more, nodding.

"Plus, he got your asses out of the Hole," continued another letting out a chuckle.

After a long pause, the first said, "well—what do you say?"

The Sunflower thought about it for a moment as everyone stared. He agreed.

"On one condition," Roa said. "That until the operation is complete, I am in charge of the execution of the plan, completely—which means that we are all under one house—Team Humanity—until the mission is complete. There are no more gangs, no neighborhoods, no races, no titles, no classes, no religions, no differences. We—are—One. Understood?"

The others nodded.

"I will lead. You just make sure to convince your people. Do not share the plan until the day of the party. We don't want it getting to the wrong ears," warned the Sunflower.

For the next few days, the local leaders, along with the Jumpers, immersed themselves in the riots, seizing the chance to fan the flames of revolution. They worked tirelessly to rally the belligerent protesters and warring factions of Grayshroud, urging them to unite and join the fight. The Sunflower climbed atop a light post to speak to the sea of people before him. His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest. He was scared, unsure whether he could lead the others and convince the crowd in front of him. However, as he climbed, his fears were consumed by a fire within, and the words came to him, as if he had known them in his heart all along.

"Destiny brings forth the winds of change, my brothers and my sisters. Can you feel it? The storm of storms is here; but—hope is last to die, for the winds speak of you and the others, who will create a better world, yet to come. Fight as One—Heroes of Humanity—and the rest will come with each one of your valiant efforts. Find the others like you among the masses of the lost, the sleeping, and the slaves. Synchronize your energies into one, sacred revolution—awaken, to free Humanity from its chains, and heal Nature—from destruction."

The Sunflower could not hear the cheers of the crowd for his mind was too fixed upon the many eyes that stared back at him, reflecting the dim light of the moon. He saw hope in them for the first time, and he smiled. He had never felt so alive before, his aura burning fiercely in his heart. What was once a flicker had become a raging flame, consuming his fears in the process.

"A candle loses nothing when it lights another candle." The old man's words echoed in his mind. "Do not fight them. Free them."

He turned his head and gazed out into the dark expanse of the lake of tar. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Tomorrow—tomorrow belongs to us," he murmured, as the cheers of the crowd drowned his whisper.