The Greatest Fight [progression cultivation isekai]

Spilled Tea

Blood splattered on the cracked walls of the inn, as the rusty radiator clanked and gurgled in the room. The wooden floor boards creaked, as if they were complaining about Vesper's heavy footsteps pounding on them.

"I am sick of you stalling," screamed the old man, grabbing the billionaire by the shirt, yanking him with force.

Tied to the radiator, the captive's hands shot open in pain as his arms were forced straight. The man jolted his torso to break free and spat in his captor's face, covering it with blood and saliva. The teacher's eyes bulged, and he was sent into yet another fit of rage.

"Did you hurt my granddaughter?" he thundered, without receiving an answer, "did you?" he screamed louder, slamming the hostage repeatedly.

"Stop it! We need him alive, old man," Rosso intervened, wrapping his arms to pull him back.

Vesper kicked his leg, forcing him to lose his balance. With the grace that comes from years of martial arts training, he broke free from his student's hold, sending him to the floor. His heavy steps made the floor vibrate as he stormed out.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked with gentle kindness in the other room, as Mattina shook her head. He repeated the same question to the other women. Rosso glanced at them, who, without answering, looked down at the floor.

The red-cloaked man's blood began to boil. He found himself against the wall as Vesper shoved him out of the way, charging back toward the captive like a bull ready to strike. It took both Jumpers to restrain him and avoid killing the only person who might have the answers they were seeking. Theya let out a very long sigh as she walked to the stove. She placed the boiling kettle on the table, filling the tea cups as steam rose, the smell of black tea flooding the cold room.

"Have some damn tea and relax—before you drive me insane," she said.

"You will all pay for this," laughed the enemy on his knees, glancing up with a smug face.

"I asked you a simple question," Vesper stared back with an insane look in his eyes.

His chest heaved with each sharp breath, rising and falling, the muscles tight with barely-contained fury. The captive scoffed, revealing a smile full of blood, sending the old man into rage-mode, once again.

"He's in your head; don't you get it?" Theya screamed, lunging back into the fray.

Another struggle began, when the door slammed open, bouncing off of the wall, forcing the three to freeze and look back.

"Who the hell are you?" Rosso asked, eyeing a girl clutching a chainsaw. Behind her, several riot leaders peeked into the room, their heads bobbing in and out as they whispered among themselves, their curious eyes scanning the space.

"C-Saw is the name. You must be the white-haired boy's friends," she slammed the door closed and the lock clanked in place.

"How'd you find us?" Rosso asked with a suspicious gaze.

"How the hell did you get through everyone downstairs—is what I want to know," Theya said as she released the old man, his breath now slowing down.

"Easy—I picked up a faint aura from here. Plus, a bunch of locals got nothing on someone like me," she closed one eye and stuck a thumb up in the air, manifesting the Compass. "Wanted to say 'you're welcomed' for taking over the governor's office—and see what you guys were up to," she explained.

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"We don't need any help. We got it covered here—thanks. Go ahead and, uhm—" Madame Waters waved her hand out, dismissively.

"Wait, she's seen the oligarch," said Rosso.

"Oligarch?" the orange-haired Jumper smiled. "You managed to capture one of the fat cats from the party? Interesting..."

Theya shot an angry look Rosso's way, "alright, sit your ass down on the couch and don't cause any trouble."

The girl slammed her chainsaw on the table, causing it to wobble and finally collapse, sending the kettle and cups flying unto the floor.

"Oops!" C-Saw plopped herself down on the dusty cushions, crossed her legs, and beamed.

"This ain't a show," Theya crossed her arms.

"I didn't say it was," she responded playfully, grabbing some nuts on the coffee table, loudly crunching on them.

Several hours passed. On his knees, the reluctant captive hung his head in exhaustion. His face was a mess of dried blood, swollen cheeks, and broken teeth. The beatings began to have their effects, however. When asked where the kidnapped women were from, the man finally answered.

"We got them from lots of places—like the Slums of Moriah."

"Who's—'we,' exactly?" asked the owner of the bathhouse.

"We," he paused and looked up, panting, "we Heavenly Nobles."

The interrogators glanced at each other. Their foreheads, covered in sweat, wrinkled, as their eyebrows raised.

"Keep talking. When you talk, we stop. When you stop—we continue," said Vesper, his eyes narrowing.

The billionaire lifted his heavy head up, resting it on the top of the radiator.

"We are the greatest few—the authors of history," a smirk appeared on his face.

"Spare us the propaganda, man. Who are these nobles?" Rosso butted in.

"We are the benefactors of the Order of the Worlds."

"Shadows?" asked the elderly teacher.

"Yes. We Heavenly Ones have righteously inherited the system from our fathers, and theirs, for generations. We are the greatest among the Shadows. We have earned the right not get our hands dirty with the operations of our societies," the oligarch answered, smugly.

"So, the masked ones do the dirty work, and you get paid? Why would they do that?" asked Rosso.

"Because they work for us—because we have what they want. Money—and lots of it. They were once regular people—nobodies—until they too yearned for a slice of the wealth and greatness that comes from the system we built. They gave up a part of themselves—for a rightful place at our feet."

"You blasted—enemies of Humanity. You are the enemies of Nature. That's what you are. The whole lot of you," shouted Vesper, standing up, pacing around and clenching his fists.

"So, they're the foot soldiers of the Old Order, which makes you the kings and queens of the status quo?" Theya's eyes narrowed.

The oligarch smiled, shaking his head.

"Keep talking," said Rosso.

"We are not the ones at the very top, here in the Basements of the Palace," revealed the captive.

"The one who guards the chokepoint?"

"Sure," he smiled, closing his eyes.

Someone pounded on the door with great force, startling the group.

"Who do you have in there?" asked one of the local leaders, screaming from the other side. "We have a right to know."

The doorhandle rattled, but the Jumpers did not answer, turning back to the captive instead.

"What's the guy's name?" asked Rosso, his eyes narrowing.

"His real name does not matter. Your kind disrespects the Gate by calling him Lord Smog."

"Lord Smog?"

"He is the protector of Ardor's Forge—the Throat of the Palace that leads out of the Basements. He is the righteous ruler of many worlds, and everything in the Palace below that bottleneck. Nothing runs without his say. You—terrorists would not understand what he has done for countless societies. He has brought wealth. He has brought progress."

"The wealth he brought was mostly to your pockets, and his own—and progress? You call this progress? You destroyed Nature, the very foundations of Humanity. You have ruined the weather, collapsed ecosystems, poisoned the water, the earth, and the air." Vesper's tone began to grow louder. "You even fricking burned my beautiful home." The old man lunged at him again, his tone now revealing a hint of desperation. "Why did you destroy it? I spent my life building that place. You killed all the animals—all my plants are gone—my livelihood! Why? To build another damn pipeline, and suck more black blood out of the ground?" he shouted, furious, raising his voice with each word, "to stuff your already stuffed pockets?"

The others yanked him again, pushing him into the adjacent room.

"Cool down, old man," said Rosso. "Go meditate a bit."

"Fuck you," he screamed as he slammed the door closed, causing a picture on the wall to fall and shatter.

Theya turned to the oligarch, and kneeled down next to him.

"The greatest few—the authors of history. Boy, you must think of yourselves as a light onto the world. You know what I think?" she put her face in his, "I think you're just monsters in denial."

The noble laughed out loud with an arrogant tone.

"It doesn't matter what you think." He looked at her in the eye and whispered, "you're nobody."