A week had passed since they left Evernight Pavilion.

The jungle had grown thicker, louder, and somehow more restless each night. Tonight, though, the trees stood still. Not calm—watchful.

Dharun raised a hand, and the group halted.

They were nearing one of the old rest clearings. It was an open patch between two stone ridges, long since flattened by hundreds of boots over the years. A river whispered nearby. The kind of place sect disciples used for temporary camp during long marches. Familiar. Safe enough.

But not empty.

Lantern light flickered between the trees. Voices. Laughter.

Cloud Pillar Sect.

Their colours were obvious—crisp whites and sky-blues, the kind of robes that were never meant to touch dirt. Their tents were already raised in a clean grid, with a proper cooking station going. A few disciples leaned back, trading jokes, surrounded by the smell of cooked beast meat and spiced tea.

"Great," muttered one of Evernight's outer disciples behind Aaryan. "Didn't think we'd bump into those peacocks already."

"Don't call them that," whispered another.

Rudra stepped forward first. His black robes bore silver trim, marking him as inner sect. Calm face, always unreadable. His hair was tied tight. Not a strand out of place.

From the Cloud Pillar side, Yashan stood to greet him.

Their robes contrasted—sky and shadow—but their smiles matched.

"Didn't expect to see Evernight this early," Yashan said, his voice smooth, practiced. "I figured your group would be limping a few days behind. Jungle paths can be cruel."

Rudra gave a polite nod. "Our steps may be slower, but we don't wander."

That got a few laughs from Cloud Pillar's outer disciples. Yashan chuckled and gestured toward the fire.

"Plenty of room. We're not savages. Share the camp. You've got the better cook anyway."

Dharun gave a subtle nod. One signal, and Evernight disciples began setting up on the opposite side of the clearing. No mixing, not yet. The jungle wasn't the only thing thick with tension.

Aaryan rolled his shoulders and dropped his pack. They'd marched all day, and his legs felt like tree roots. He didn't speak, just watched.

The two groups didn't exactly glare at each other, but there were looks.

Glances that said: We're better. You'll see.

The juniors from both sides began warming up their own fires, keeping close to their groups. It wasn't open hostility. But it wasn't comfort either. Cloud Pillar's juniors moved like dancers—refined footwork, perfect posture, talking too loud when they mentioned their sword techniques. Evernight's outer disciples were rougher, quieter, but not intimidated.

A few of Cloud Pillar's boys approached, offering fruits and conversation.

"Friendly, aren't they?" muttered Veer, another Evernight outer.

"Yeah," said Rishi, seated beside him. "Until someone mentions a duel. Then they'll turn sharp."

Aaryan stayed back, leaning against his pack. He wasn't in the mood to talk, and no one seemed particularly interested in talking to him. Fine. He liked watching better anyway. You learned more when you listened than when you flapped your mouth.

Still, the outer disciples from both sects began mingling, just a little. Surface-level politeness. A few stories swapped, a few jokes tossed out.

But every word had an edge.

Every smile dared someone to take it the wrong way.

Near the fire, Rudra and Yashan sat together on raised stones, steam rising from their cups. Their voices were quiet now, too low for the juniors to hear. But their posture spoke volumes. Yashan leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. Rudra stayed straight-backed, his fingers tapping once against the cup.

Rivals with history, maybe.

Maybe more.

The fires burned lower. Shadows stretched long across the clearing, flickering against tents and tired limbs.

A few Cloud Pillar juniors had started showing off—nothing blatant. Just wide, easy blade swings that caught the firelight too perfectly. One of them even balanced his sword on a fingertip, laughing at some joke no one else seemed to get.

Rudra didn't glance over. But he noticed.

Yashan sipped from his cup, then leaned forward slightly. "It's been a while since our two sects crossed blades."

Rudra didn't answer right away. He stared into the fire, silent long enough to make it unclear whether he hadn't heard—or simply didn't care.

Yashan continued anyway, voice light. "Sparring among juniors keeps the blood sharp."

Rudra gave a faint nod. "Let them learn while their pride still heals fast."

Yashan stood. His tone remained friendly, but his posture changed—too casual to be casual.

"Care to let the outer disciples stretch their legs?" he asked the gathering. "Ours have been dying to move—though I imagine yours could use the practice. Just a friendly best-of-five. No killing intent. A clash of styles."

Conversation thinned. Even the jungle sounded quieter for a moment.

At the far edge of the camp, Dharun sat beside Cloud Pillar's inner elder. Neither had said much since Evernight arrived. They hadn't needed to. Their eyes did enough.

Now, the elder offered Dharun a mild smile. Polite, maybe. Mocking, definitely.

Dharun didn't return it. He glanced at the formation of Cloud Pillar's tents—too tidy. Too ready. This wasn't off-the-cuff. The match had been planned before a single step hit the jungle floor.

Still, he said nothing. Just leaned back and watched.

Rudra didn't hesitate. "Agreed."

Yashan gestured toward a patch near the fire pit. "We'll take turns. First sect to three wins calls it. And perhaps"—he shrugged—"a small wager?"

Rudra raised an eyebrow. "The wager being?"

"Nothing heavy," Yashan replied, smooth as ever. "Bragging rights. And the losing sect serves tea to the winning inner disciples."

A few Cloud Pillar juniors chuckled. Some of Evernight's didn't.

"I'll drink mud before I serve those roosters tea," muttered Rishi under his breath.

Aaryan, still leaning on his pack, smirked. He said nothing, but he caught the way Rudra's fingers flexed once at his side, then went still.

Cloud Pillar's elder finally spoke. "Let the juniors enjoy themselves, no?" the elder said, voice smooth as lacquer—and just as artificial.

Dharun's nod came slow. Whether it was permission or warning, nobody could tell.

A match ring was drawn with chalk and crushed leaves. Outer disciples circled it—stretching, muttering, watching each other without really looking.

Cloud Pillar's juniors stood tall. Polished movements, quiet confidence, smiles that looked rehearsed.

Evernight's group was quieter. Not as sharp, maybe. But steady. The kind of quiet that didn't mind pain.

Rudra began calling names. The first match was set.

Cloud Pillar's pick stepped forward: a lean boy with silver-threaded hair and a reed-thin blade. He didn't look strong, but his eyes gleamed like someone used to applause.

Evernight's side answered with Bhushan—thick wrists, dusty robes, and a face like someone who split stones for fun. He scratched at his jaw and stepped into the ring like he didn't care much for ceremonies.

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The signal came.

The Cloud Pillar boy struck first—fast, fluid. His blade flicked out in perfect patterns. Textbook moves. Precise spacing.

Bhushan didn't block them all.

He took the first two glancing blows and closed the distance in three heavy steps.

One shoulder slammed into the boy's chest. Then came the sweep—low, brutal.

The Cloud Pillar disciple stumbled. Bhushan's sword came down flat across the thigh with a dull smack.

Point made.

Bhushan stepped back, breathing hard, both arms raised.

Clean. Controlled. No blood spilled.

Cheers broke out on Evernight's side. Even Cloud Pillar clapped—though some of their juniors wore tight smiles.

Bhushan walked off, grinning as one of his squadmates handed him a water pouch. Another slapped his back.

Across the ring, the Cloud Pillar boy sat down with a clenched jaw and stiff shoulders.

"One to Evernight," Yashan said. His smile didn't shift.

Rudra nodded once.

The sect elders watched in silence as the first match ended—Evernight victorious. Cheers rippled through their side of the courtyard.

Before the second match could begin, Yashan, dressed in white with blue trim, stepped forward, his expression polite.

"For friendly contests, this is already quite lively," he said, smile light as falling snow. "But since our two sects are heading into the ancient tomb together… why not make this a little more meaningful?"

The courtyard stilled. Even the outer disciples stopped murmuring.

Yashan's eyes flicked toward Rudra, all warmth and grace. "Since we'll be cooperating in the tomb's early parts, it's only natural that one group take the lead. Fewer voices. Fewer disputes. The winner of this exchange should act as the leader, don't you think?"

A few murmurs broke out among the younger disciples. Some sounded excited. Others wary.

Rudra's jaw tightened slightly. "That would place too much weight on a friendly match," he said cautiously. "The tomb is not a game. And once the treasures appear, cooperation will likely break down."

Yashan nodded, eyes thoughtful. "Of course. When we find the real treasures—it'll come down to individual strength. Naturally. But until then… wouldn't it be better to have a clear voice guiding us? Through traps, puzzles… or even when we cross paths with disciples from other sects."

He turned, addressing both sides now. "It's not about dominance. Just… efficiency. Safety."

The words were too well-crafted to object to directly. Behind the veneer of cooperation, the truth lingered—one sect would guide, and the other would trail behind.

Dharun said nothing, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Rudra hesitated. He glanced toward the Evernight side. Some nodded, trusting. Others hesitated.

Yashan gave a slight, respectful bow. "Of course, if Senior Brother Rudra feels it would be too much pressure—"

Rudra's gaze sharpened at that. Yashan's tone hadn't changed. Still soft. Still polite. But the meaning was there, just beneath the surface.

"—we would be happy to withdraw the offer. No shame in caution, after all."

Rudra straightened slowly. "Very well," he said. "We'll accept."

Yashan's smile deepened, just enough to show satisfaction. "Excellent. Then let the juniors decide who leads us into the tomb."

He turned back toward the ring, and the second match began.

For the second match, the Evernight side sent up Megh—slim, dark-eyed, with a steady grip and sharp footwork. Not flashy, but dependable. The kind of fighter who wore you down and didn't flinch.

Cloud Pillar's pick was taller, broad in the chest, with wind-swept hair and that same casual arrogance his sect seemed to breathe. He spun his blade once before stepping into the ring, eyes gleaming.

The signal came.

They clashed in tight arcs, swords snapping and feet sliding across the dirt. Megh parried cleanly, pivoted under a thrust, then retaliated with a low sweep. The Cloud Pillar boy blocked it, but he was sweating already. Mouth tight. Breathing off.

He was losing.

Then he grinned—and with no attempt to hide it, popped a small pill into his mouth.

The effect was immediate. A faint shimmer swept through his veins. His muscles flexed, tendons tightening like drawn bowstrings. When he moved again, it was different. Each strike hit harder. Faster. Less precise—but backed by brute strength that tore through defence like storm winds snapping branches."

Megh staggered. His guard broke under a shoulder slam, and the next blow knocked his sword spinning from his grip.

Match over.

A beat of silence followed.

Then murmurs. Some of Evernight's juniors stood, confused. Others stared at Rudra.

His expression was stone—but he took a step forward.

Yashan raised his hand lightly, all calm grace. "Ah—Senior Brother Rudra," he said, voice soft, "I'm sure you're not about to accuse us of cheating over a simple strengthening pill, are you? There were no restrictions placed on consumables before the match."

Rudra's eyes flicked toward the defeated Cloud Pillar disciple—still shaking slightly, jaw clenched.

"That was a Qi-burst stim," Rudra said flatly. "Toxic to the meridians in larger doses. If he keeps using that, he won't hold a blade past twenty-five."

Yashan smiled, unfazed. "You're correct. In its raw form, the side effects would be catastrophic."

He stepped forward, folding his arms behind his back.

"But the dose he took was refined. Weakened. Harmless in small amounts. At worst, he'll be sore for a day or two."

Then he turned slightly, gesturing toward Evernight's gathered juniors.

"But considering how many of yours will be hauling debris and solving tomb mechanisms soon… surely a few bruised limbs are worth the efficiency."

A few Cloud Pillar disciples chuckled. Rishi muttered something too low to hear.

Rudra didn't respond. Not yet. But his jaw tightened.

Two matches in.

One win each.

And the tone of the night had shifted—subtly, but undeniably.

This wasn't just a contest anymore.

It was pressure, masked as politeness. Coercion, wrapped in smiles.

And Evernight Pavilion had just been warned: Cloud Pillar plays to win.

Next two matches?

Similar story.

Evernight fought clean. Cloud Pillar fought to win.

A clever feint here. A burst of strength there. Nothing so blatant that it could be called out—but enough that the crowd knew. These weren't fair matches anymore. They were games of advantage, pushed just short of accusation.

The score crept forward.

1–3. Then 1–4.

Evernight's side was starting to stir. Whispers. Tight fists. One junior kicked at the dirt, face flushed with quiet rage. Another turned to Rudra, half-rising, as if begging to be next, to prove something. To hit back.

"Shameless bastards," someone muttered.

"They're walking right past the rules—"

"And we're just standing here?"

Rudra heard all of it. Didn't respond. His arms were folded tight across his chest, the set of his jaw rigid.

He wanted to act. Gods, he did. But he couldn't force fairness into a rigged game—not without making it worse.

So he scanned the line.

Measured. Weighed.

Opened his mouth to call the next name—

"Send Aaryan," Dharun said.

The voice was quiet. Calm. It didn't need volume.

It stopped everything.

Heads turned. Even the Cloud Pillar side stilled, just for a beat.

Rudra blinked once.

He didn't protest. Just looked across the row and gave a sharp nod.

"Aaryan."

No inflection. No weight. Just the name.

But it dropped like a stone in water.

On the Evernight side, confusion flickered. A few of the juniors glanced around. One of them frowned. Another scoffed—low, disbelieving. Aaryan? Now?

And as for the inner disciples?

Rudra's gaze flicked over to them. His own inner circle, the ones who had trained under his watch for years, were just as bewildered. They exchanged questioning looks, eyebrows arched. Some seemed to genuinely not recognize Aaryan, while others simply couldn't figure out what role he had played in all of this. Was he really the one to take up the mantle in a moment like this?

The crowd shifted, every eye now on Aaryan as he lay sprawled out on the ground, leaning against a rock. His arms were thrown behind his head, legs stretched out lazily. His eyes were half-lidded, a deep sigh escaping him as though he'd been napping for hours. If anyone didn't know better, they might've thought he was fast asleep.

But even the more observant of Evernight's disciples could tell that wasn't the case. They watched in disbelief, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused. A few of them muttered under their breath, while others simply stared at the strange display.

Dharun gaped, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in Aaryan's unusual behaviour. The master of the inner disciples, a figure often feared for his cold, strict demeanour, looked as though he didn't quite know how to process this.

He muttered something under his breath, barely audible—"What in the name of—"

Then, with a sharp movement, Dharun strode forward. Aaryan, still pretending to sleep, didn't even flinch.

Dharun reached down, hand raised, and slapped at Aaryan's shoulder. But just before his hand made contact, Aaryan's body shifted in a fluid motion, and the slap landed harmlessly in the air.

"Woah, there," Aaryan drawled, not even opening his eyes. "What's with the aggression? Trying to wake me up with a slap? Tsk, tsk."

Dharun's hand froze mid-air. He blinked, shocked by the dodge. "Aaryan… weren't you just sleeping?"

Aaryan opened one eye, looking up at him lazily. His lips curled into a half-smile. "Sleeping?" he repeated with exaggerated confusion. "Ah, well, you know, I do tend to doze off in moments of extreme stress. Really exhausting watching everyone else bicker over… something so trivial."

Dharun's eyes narrowed. His gaze swept over the Evernight side, and then the Cloud Pillar disciples, all watching with stunned expressions. Aaryan's nonchalance was making even the battle-hardened seniors twitch with discomfort.

"Enough pretending," Dharun said in a low, clipped voice. "Say what you want."

Aaryan stretched, rolling his shoulders and sighing as though waking from a long nap. "Well," he began, voice far too casual, "since I'll be fighting for my life in there"—he pointed vaguely to the ring, where his opponent stood waiting—"I think it would be only fair to ask for some kind of reward for my efforts."

Dharun's eyes twitched, his patience fraying at the edges. He opened his mouth to protest but held himself back.

Aaryan smirked. "Oh, nothing huge. Maybe a little reward for each match I win, something to keep me motivated… and if I somehow beat all of them? Well, a mega prize would be nice. You know, for the effort of surviving this lovely contest."

Dharun stared at him in disbelief. Aaryan's carefree attitude was grating against his nerves, but he held his ground. He was already making enough of a spectacle by even allowing Aaryan into the ring. What was the harm in a little bargaining?

"Fine," Dharun said through clenched teeth. "If you win… per match. But you—you better win, or this joke of yours is going to backfire."

Aaryan gave a lazy grin. "Ah, yes, of course. I'll try my best. You wouldn't want me to just walk through this, would you?"

Dharun's gaze flicked toward the other disciples, who were watching with varying degrees of disbelief and confusion. Even the Cloud Pillar elders were stunned. The once-feared, ice-cold Dharun, now negotiating amiably with a junior? This wasn't the ruthless leader they had heard stories of.

Yashan's eyes narrowed, a knowing glint in them. He glanced at the outer disciple waiting in the ring, and without speaking, passed a message. "Be careful," he murmured, a silent warning.

The disciple nodded solemnly, understanding the unspoken message.

Dharun, for his part, was already past his limits of tolerance, but his agreement stood. "Alright, Aaryan. You get your prize if you win. But if you fail—"

"Yeah, yeah," Aaryan interrupted, waving him off. "No need to make threats. You'll see."

With that, Aaryan rose lazily from the ground, his eyes barely open, as if he were stumbling out of a nap rather than preparing to fight. His lazy stride took him to the ring. His opponent, a Cloud Pillar disciple, smirked at the relaxed figure approaching, clearly not intimidated by his nonchalance. But there was something in Aaryan's eyes—a flicker of intent—that suggested the fight was far from what it seemed.

"Alright, then," Aaryan muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the faces around him. "Guess it's time to earn some resources."

As he entered the ring, the crowd fell silent. Even the Cloud Pillar disciples shifted uneasily. No one knew what to expect now. And the tension, thick as smoke, hung heavy in the air.

But if there was one thing certain now, it was that Aaryan was about to turn this fight into something unexpected.

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