The Trial of the Drunken Master

Asher's journey had been one of nothing but struggle up to this point. His muscles hurt from fatigue, and his belly rumbled with hunger. He had been walking for what seemed like days, living on leftovers and sheer willpower. He didn't care about hunger—he didn't care about pain. The only thing that concerned him was Liora.

She was alive. She had to be.

But he was tired.

And weakness wouldn't get her back.

The issue was… he had no clue where to begin. He needed power—actual power—but up until this point, all he had managed to find were empty roads and a group of useless bandits who believed they could steal from him.

Spoiler: They couldn't.

Asher cracked his knuckles, grinning as he recalled how those bums wept when he almost broke their bones. His Echo Core was strengthening. But not yet.

That's when he came to the next town—a town that stank of cheap beer, smoldering meat, and bad life decisions.

And in the center of the street, face-first in the ground, was an old, intoxicated man.

---

The Old Drunk

Asher walked around the bizarre man, not caring. The last thing he wanted to do was handle some washed-up moron who likely drank his brains out.

"Oi, kid…"

Asher stopped. The old man's voice was croaky, sluggish—like he couldn't even be bothered to complete his own sentences correctly.

"You… smell like trouble."

Asher scrunched up his face. "And you smell like vomit."

The old man snorted and sat up, tottering like he was going to roll back over. His clothes were disheveled, his beard hadn't been trimmed in years, and his eyes…

His eyes weren't normal.

They were too sharp.

For a split second, Asher felt something scurry up his spine. It was just a flash—an instant of something huge and uncomprehensible—before it melted away into the old man's silly grin.

"Heh… I like ya, brat." The guy grabbed a bottle on the ground and downed a huge, over-the-top swig. "Name's Darius. Remember it, 'cause I might be the last thing keepin' you from gettin' your ass kicked."

Asher snorted. "Yeah? And why would I need help from a drunk?"

Darius arched an eyebrow. "Oh, I dunno… maybe 'cause you're weaker than a toddler with noodle arms?"

Asher's eye flickered. "What was that?"

Darius gestured at him, belching between words. "I said—ya got noodle arms. Hell, my left foot might be able to take you down."

Asher balled up his fists. "Oh yeah? How about I break your foot and shove it up your—"

BOOM.

Air detonated all around them.

One moment, Asher had been there, poised to punch this old fuck in the face. The next? He was in mid-air, crashing into a wooden wagon like a ragdoll.

A jolt of pain had ripped through his back as he moaned. What. the fuck. just happened?

He gazed up.

Darius remained sitting there, bottle still clutched in his hand. He hadn't even flinched.

No. Wait. He had flinched.

There was a deep crater in the ground where Asher had been standing.

And realization hit him like a thunderstorm.

This guy wasn't just strong. He was an absolute monster.

Darius yawned, rubbing his belly. "Eh, you're not dead. That's a good start."

Asher pulled himself up, coughing. "What the hell… was that?!"

Darius took a drink. "Lesson one, brat. Power ain't all about how hard ya hit. It's about how much reality listens to you when you do."

Asher dabbed blood from his lip, eyes burning with determination. "Then teach me."

Darius smiled. "Sure. But first…"

He produced another bottle.

"…you gotta drink with me."

---

The Trials of a Pervy Master

Asher had encountered lots of different sorts of people previously. But nothing prepared him for Darius.

The guy was a walking contradiction. One minute, he was dishing out god-tier tips on combat. The next? He was attempting to snoop through the women's bathhouse.

Asher had to restrain him by force.

"WHAT KIND OF MASTER ARE YOU?!"

"THE KIND THAT VALUES ART, BRAT! LET ME GO!"

"THIS ISN'T ART, IT'S A FELONY!"

Darius may have been a total degenerate, but one could not deny his physical prowess.

For the next few weeks, Asher suffered in hell.

He was being dodged at lightning speed by beer bottles being thrown at him.

He was running up a mountain with Darius on his back, complaining that he was moving too slowly.

He was sent into a bar brawl by himself, just to learn 'how to take a punch like a man.'

And the worst of all?

He was being subjected to Darius' endless, terrible, perverse jokes.

But something horrific occurred during this crazy training.

Asher was getting better.

Initially, he could hardly even hit Darius. But then? He began keeping pace. His Echo Core honed. His instincts refined.

And finally, after weeks of torture, abuse, and hearing this old man prattle on about his 'golden years of stealing women's hearts'…

Asher threw a punch.

A legitimate one.

Darius staggered.

He blinked. Then he smiled.

Heh… guess ya might actually live out there, kid."

---

The Way Forward

Finally, Darius offered Asher his last lesson. A caution.

"Brat, pay attention. The universe? It isn't stars and nice planets. It's kingdoms. Empires. And the empires. they don't give two good damns about people like you."

Asher scrunched up his face. "What do you mean?"

Darius took a very long, sober drink of his beverage before speaking.

"Boy… planets get bought and sold like cows.".

Darius nodded. "Yeah. This little planet we call home? To them, it's nothing. And if the wrong individuals know about Earth…"

He looked Asher in the eye. For the first time, he wasn't joking.

"…then we're already dead."

Asher folded his fists.

He had begun this venture to rescue one individual.

Now? He may have to rescue a whole world.

But that was okay.

He grinned, cracking his neck.

Because for the first time in his life…

He really did have a chance.

And if the universe thought it could trample on him?

It was going to find out how hard he could strike back.... To be continued