The crack rang out like a branch snapping in winter—sharp, sudden, and unmistakable. A heartbeat later, Ghoran's scream tore through the air. His right hand dangled uselessly at his side, bent at a sickening angle. He stumbled back, clutching it with the other, face twisted in rage and disbelief.

Silence followed, thick and stunned.

The villagers gaped, too shocked to cheer. Most didn't know who Ghoran truly is—although they had seen him crush Ramy's head with bare hands, still they didn't know how strong he really was. But the bandits did. Especially those in violet Flamejaw robes. Their expressions shifted from smug arrogance to wide-eyed disbelief. Some took a step back. Others just stared, mouths ajar.

He wasn't just a thug.

He was their leader.

A brute who'd broken bones for fun. A man who'd once killed a wandering cultivator by slamming his head into his knee until it stopped twitching. Ghoran had never lost in a physical confrontation. Until now.

And not to a trap.

Not to poison.

To a barefoot boy in blue.

Someone from the Iron Wolf gang let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Ha! So much for your Flamejaw beast. Looks like the pup's got sharper fangs."

A few chuckles broke out, bitter and sharp, mostly from the Iron Wolf gang. The Flamejaw group glared, but none spoke up. What could they say?

Inside the cart, the three watching hadn't moved. At first, they'd been impressed—a boy who had barely stepped into Qi Condensation? Even then, they dismissed him as a lucky insect who caught Unit Three off guard. But now, watching Ghoran writhing on the ground like a beaten dog, those assumptions crumbled.

Karek's jaw tightened. He glanced at Drenval.

Varen's smirk had vanished.

Out of their group, Ghoran had the broadest frame, the most brute strength—even among third-stage cultivators, his raw power stood out. And yet, that strength had amounted to nothing in front of this boy.

Fear crept in. Quiet. Inevitable.

Outside, Binay's eyes never left the boy. The figure in azure robes stood still amid blood and broken bodies, as if untouched by it all. Not triumphant. Not boastful. Just… steady.

Like he belonged here.

Binay's hand loosened its grip on Chottu's shoulder. The child trembled, but he no longer looked terrified. Just curious. Binay gave a slow breath. So long as he stands… nothing will touch my grandson.

On the ground, Ghoran spat and howled, still clutching his arm. "You three still not coming out? You think this is gonna end easy for you later? You're fools if you think this is just some fluke!"

A pause.

Inside the cart, Karek clicked his tongue. "This kid's too strange. We settle this now."

Varen's lips thinned. "Quickly. Before he does more damage."

Even Drenval, silent till now, muttered, "Agreed."

The curtain parted.

Three figures stepped into the morning light.

Aaryan's gaze sharpened instantly. The qi around them shifted—the weight of stronger cultivators stepping onto the field. He scanned them one by one.

Drenval, in white robes, moved like a shadow. Still. Watchful. His presence cold and measured.

Varen stepped ahead with a sneer, crimson robes rippling around him. His arrogance showed in every step.

Karek followed last, calm and composed, but his eyes didn't blink. He was watching Aaryan too closely.

Fourth stage. Fifth. Fifth.

Trouble.

The villagers, who had just begun to breathe again, felt their chests seize up. Hope faltered.

A few gasped. One woman even gripped her husband's arm, whispering a desperate prayer. The elders exchanged looks of dread. This wasn't over. Not yet.

But the bandits?

They came alive.

Roars rang out like fire catching dry grass. The fear they'd tasted moments ago evaporated as the trio emerged. Some pounded their blades into the dirt. Others howled Ghoran's name like a battle cry, trying to rally what's left of their pride.

Aaryan didn't move.

Didn't flinch.

His hands were relaxed at his sides, but his eyes never left the three stepping forward.

The air changed again—thicker now.

The trio walked across the bloodstained clearing. Ghoran limped over, clutching his broken arm to his chest, and joined the others. His face was twisted with pain and fury as he glared at Aaryan like a rabid dog.

Drenval was the first to speak. His voice was low, almost whisper-like, but it carried. "A young calf really doesn't fear tigers, huh…"

Aaryan tilted his head. "Well, it's hard to be scared when the tigers keep limping back like beaten cats."

Varen stepped forward with a scowl. "Don't get too cocky. Talent or not, you've just broken into Qi Condensation. Do you even know how many like you we've buried already?"

"Must be tough, dragging those corpses around," Aaryan said. "No wonder you look tired."

Varen's qi flared. Karek raised a hand.

"Enough." His tone was even, almost courteous. "Pardon my companions. They don't always know how to appreciate talent. But I do."

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He looked Aaryan in the eye.

"You're strong. Smarter than most. So here's my offer: step aside. Let this matter end here. We'll forget everything that happened. No need for more blood."

Varen glanced at him in disbelief. "Karek, what are you—"

Karek didn't take his eyes off Aaryan. "I'm handling this."

Aaryan didn't answer right away. He looked at the villagers, then back at Karek.

"If I don't meddle," he said slowly, "what exactly do you plan to do? Let the villagers walk free?"

"They'll be unharmed," Karek said. "No one else has to die. We only need the item."

Aaryan's lips curled. "That's cute. But I don't think they'd hand it over even if you tore their limbs off. These people would sooner die than give up that item."

Karek's gaze hardened. "So you won't step aside."

Aaryan shrugged. "Would've been boring if I did."

Karek sighed and reached for the hilt of his blade. "Then it's a shame."

He stepped forward, his qi bursting out from his body.

"Let's not drag this out. I hate wasting energy on the inevitable."

Aaryan didn't shift his footing. His eyes flicked to Vedik, then back to Karek's face. He smiled faintly.

The ground cracked beneath Karek's step, but he didn't charge. Not yet.

Varen moved first.

A blur of brown , he lunged straight in, fist already coated in hardened earth. The ground trembled with each step—his qi pressing outward like a slow, suffocating wave.

Aaryan didn't retreat.

He sidestepped the blow and pivoted, slamming his foot into Varen's ribs. The impact rang hollow. Varen barely flinched.

Qi-hardened skin.

Aaryan's eyes narrowed. Varen was slower—but he could take hits.

Another punch came, heavier, wider. He felt the air bend just before the strike—too slow, he ducked, planted both hands on the ground, and swept his leg low. Qi surged through his limb, coating it in a colourless shimmer. His kick connected with Varen's shin.

The bigger man staggered.

Before he could recover, Aaryan drove a knee into his gut and slipped past him.

He didn't follow up.

Because Ghoran was already coming—left arm blazing with crimson fire.

Aaryan twisted, raising his forearm just in time. The flames licked at his qi-wrapped skin, but didn't penetrate. Still, the force of the charge sent him skidding back a step.

"Didn't get enough last time?" Aaryan muttered.

Ghoran roared and swung again, clumsy with his broken arm held close, but his rage made up for it. Flames surged from his feet, launching him forward in short, explosive bursts.

Aaryan ducked under a wild strike and countered with a sharp elbow to Ghoran's throat. The man gagged and staggered back.

Varen came in again, this time slamming his foot down.

The earth between them cracked. A ripple of stone jutted upward—a rising wall.

Aaryan barely leapt aside as the stone slab grazed his shoulder.

He landed crouched, but didn't stay still. He moved.

Faster now. He struck Varen's knee, then twisted around a wild flame lash from Ghoran. He weaved, ducked, rolled—

But then came Drenval.

Cold.

He said nothing. He simply stepped forward, and the air bent around him. A blade of condensed water spun toward Aaryan's head.

Aaryan tilted back. The blade missed by a hair, carving a line into the dirt behind him that steamed with cold.

Drenval didn't blink. Another shard formed on his palm. This one longer. Thinner. And aimed for the chest.

Aaryan caught it mid-air.

His hand sizzled where the chill bit through his qi—but he didn't let go. Instead, he yanked the ice weapon sideways, sending it flying toward Varen.

The brute cursed and ducked.

"Watch it, idiot!" Varen snapped.

They surrounded him again. Flames to the left, stone to the right, cold to the front. A triangle of death.

Perfect.

Aaryan smiled and darted toward Ghoran. The Flamejaw gang leader swung, but Aaryan didn't aim to dodge. He crashed low into Ghoran's knees, then kicked upward with both legs. Ghoran's already-unstable stance gave way.

The crash sent them both flying.

They hit a wooden fence. Splinters flew. Aaryan rolled out of it, breath quick but steady. Behind him, a thatched roof collapsed with a whoosh of dust and ash.

Binay's house.

A heavy silence followed as now it lay in ruins behind Aaryan.

Varen cursed and charged again, but Karek raised a hand. "Enough."

The words weren't loud, but they carried. Varen skidded to a halt, breathing hard. Ghoran spat blood and muttered something under his breath. Drenval stayed still, eyes sharp but unreadable.

Only Karek moved forward.

He walked with unhurried steps, sword still sheathed at his hip, and stopped a few paces from Aaryan. Dust swirled between them.

"You're quick," Karek said. "Too quick for them."

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't posture.

"But you're not untouchable."

Aaryan watched him carefully. The pressure Karek gave off wasn't loud or wild like the others. It was… surgical. Cold. Like a knife you didn't notice until it was already through your ribs.

Karek vanished.

No shout. No flare of qi.

Just movement.

Aaryan blocked on instinct—arms crossed, qi-coated—and barely caught the knee aimed for his temple. His feet scraped back. The impact rattled through his bones.

Karek's foot hit the ground—lightning cracked beneath it. The ground erupted, stone splintering upward in sharp, uneven bursts, like shrapnel from a blast. Aaryan leapt, twisting midair to avoid the worst of it, but one shard clipped his thigh. A thin line of red bloomed.

The moment he landed, Karek was there.

Sword drawn. Blade gleaming with pure, silver qi.

Aaryan shifted aside just as the strike carved a clean arc through the air. It didn't whistle. It didn't glow. But a nearby post split clean in two a second later—no sound, just silent severance.

Aaryan's eyes widened. Lightning Qi

Karek pressed forward—each step economical, each swing clean. His blade didn't crash. It hummed. A whisper of death.

He blocked once. Twice. Then dropped low to avoid a thrust aimed at his gut. He twisted, rolled under another, and drove his palm into Karek's ribs.

Nothing.

Karek took the hit, turned with it, and elbowed Aaryan in the back. The breath shot from his lungs. He stumbled.

Then Drenval struck again.

A freezing mist whipped across the square, followed by three quick blades of ice.

Aaryan dodged two.

The third grazed his shoulder, and the skin went numb instantly. He gritted his teeth and kept moving, but the pain flared.

Ghoran howled and charged, flames trailing behind him. Varen followed, fists encased in cracked stone.

The fight moved again—through a narrowing path, past the winding trail that led to the shrine.

And then, the ridge came into view.

Aaryan skidded to a stop near the shrine. He was breathing harder now. Not tired—yet—but the edge was thinning. The broken path curved upward ahead. A breeze stirred the scorched ground.

Karek closed the distance, launching his next attack.

A distant roar echoed up the trail.

The villagers.

They had seen where the fight was headed. Dozens of them now surged up the slope, howling not in fear, but fury. Clubs, axes, farming tools gripped tight in calloused fists. They weren't charging to save their saviour—they were running to protect the shrine.

But the bandits met them head-on. Thugs from all three groups reacted, and the slope erupted into madness.

Steel clashed. Bodies slammed. Dirt flew.

On the ridge, Aaryan was still moving. Barely.

Each strike drove him back—step by step—toward the shrine's black stone wall. He was panting now, muscles coiled tight, wounds searing from Drenval's ice and Ghoran's flame.

His eyes flicked to the black stone wall behind him.

A pair of guards burst from near the shrine, weapons drawn.

"Stop!" one shouted.

They didn't even reach Karek. The moment they entered the fray, a shockwave blasted between Aaryan and the four. Dust flew. Their bodies crumpled mid-stride.

Aaryan staggered, hit the shrine wall hard, and didn't bounce back.

He stayed there, chest heaving.

Ghoran's flames crackled.

Varen's fists gleamed with stone.

Drenval's water blade shimmered, razor-thin.

Karek's sword hummed like a promise.

They came all at once.

Aaryan moved at the last possible moment—low, sideways, into the dirt.

Their strikes hit the shrine behind him.

The ground jumped.

A sound like a thunderclap split the air—and then the shrine burst apart.

The black stone wall cracked through the centre. Cracks spidered outward—then the front collapsed inward, dragging the ceiling down in a deafening roar. Stone crushed stone. Dust roared out like a wave.

Inside, the pedestal shattered.

The old, unmarked box was flung against the far wall. It split in two.

A silver flame swept through—silent, searing. The broken box never touched the ground. It disintegrated mid-air, reduced to glittering ash.

Just ruin. The shrine, reduced to rubble and memory. Not even a shape remained—just jagged black stone strewn across the ridge.

On the trail, the villagers froze. The charge died in their throats.

Then came the sound. A wail. Deep and raw.

Not of rage, but something worse.

The kind of grief that only comes when something sacred dies.

Some dropped to their knees. Others screamed and rushed forward with renewed fury. But none of them saw the boy who'd just dodged the blow.

None of them saw the faint curl at the corner of his lips.

Just a whisper of a smile, and then it was gone. A thread of satisfaction woven through the dust and screams.

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