Dawn broke over the island—golden rays spilling across the ruined clearing, illuminating destruction that had been three weeks in the making. The light caught the edges of shattered trees, turned the scattered earth to gold and shadow, painted the scene in hues that were almost beautiful, almost peaceful.
"What a mess this brat created."
Nadrima surveyed the chaos with open disdain. Her voice carried across the clearing, her eyes moving across the earth chunks, the fallen leaves, the splintered trunks that lay scattered like the bones of something that had been alive and was now only waiting to be forgotten. The ground looked like a battlefield before the battle had even begun.
And at the center of it all, the perpetrator sat cross-legged, utterly still, utterly gone—deep in sadhana, oblivious to her arrival.
"Arashen Ashan." Acarya Errick's voice was soft, almost gentle. "The three weeks are up."
Ashan's eyes opened.
Damn you, old man. It was nighttime when you gave me this deadline. Couldn't you wait until evening?
He rose. Produced his upper garments from the storage ring. Dressed with calm, deliberate motions. "Praise the Lord of Greed." "Praise the Lord of Greed." "Praise the Lord of Greed."
The salutation complete, Nadrima and Ashan faced each other across ten meters of ruined ground.
"Before we begin." Errick's voice carried authority. "Rules." He looked at Nadrima. "You are restricted to [Svarp Vadivu] only. No other kiriyas. You will not cripple him."
Nadrima's lip curled. "I won't need even that to win." Her gaze raked over Ashan—dismissive, amused, and hungry.
Ho. I'm fucked. The way she's looking at me... under different circumstances, I might not mind.
Errick turned to Ashan. "You may use any kiriya, any mantra, your siddhi, even charms."
"Understood."
A pause. The silence stretched—heavy, expectant, final. "Begin."
Ashan's hands moved. Five parchment papers flew—tearing, igniting, becoming. Five orange-red fireballs hurled toward Nadrima.
"Petty tricks." She kicked. One motion. A single strike through empty air. The resulting gust crashed into the fireballs—extinguishing them like candles in a storm.
Ashan did not wait. He turned and ran—into the dense trees, into cover, into anywhere that was not open ground.
How long can prey run from a predator?
Nadrima smiled. And followed.
Ashan leaped from tree to tree, branches bending beneath his weight, leaves scattering in his wake. Grey-white whirlpools spun in his eyes.
[Life Sense]. The world sharpened. Every rustle, every shift, every presence became visible.
Where is she?
"Running already?" The voice came as a cold hiss—directly behind him.
[Fang Stance]. Her strike was almost invisible. Speed beyond comprehension.
Not good!
Ashan crossed his elbows—barely—deflecting, not blocking. The force still sent him flying backward through the air.
[Elemental Bolt: Prithvi]. He sculpted the beam mid-flight—a rough wall forming beneath him, catching him, letting him land atop it.
"Is that all?" The hiss came again. Closer. She was on him.
I can barely track her.
[Earth Armament]. A dark earthen spike materialized in his hand. He threw—blind, desperate—and jumped back, raising an earth wall behind him.
Rumble. Crack. The wall shattered. Nadrima stood amid the rubble, holding his spike in one hand. She squeezed. It crumbled.
"Too fragile."
Her strength is insane. Arohan-ranked—I knew it. But this?
"Stop thinking." She shifted—flowing, liquid, serpentine. "[Shedding Stance]." Ashan matched her stance. Added [Broken Stone Fist]. Their strikes collided.
It hurts. It HURTS.
Every impact sent cold vibrations through his body. His bones sang with pain. But he circulated prana as the kiriya taught—healing key areas mid-battle. Arms. Knees. Shoulders. Keeping himself functional.
Nadrima was a viper. Stances shifted mid-flow. Strikes came from impossible angles. Every motion was perfect.
Even with [Foresee]—micro-bursts, just to see her attacks—it doesn't change the outcome. I need to break her pattern.
[Viksana: Analyse]. The whirlpools spun faster—dangerously fast. He was not analyzing her as a whole. He was comparing prana flows.The difference.
Strange. Nadrima felt it too. The faint shift. His stance is improving. His flow is adapting. A dark smile crept across her face.
Should I increase the pressure?
Ashan was already at his limit. Pain vibrated through every nerve. The strain of analyzing a higher-ranked sadhaka burned. A strike sent him flying.
Slpurt. Blood sprayed from his lips.
"Round two, brat." Nadrima's eyes gleamed. "I'm increasing my strength."
Hell is about to get more hellish.
She charged. Ashan threw his remaining fireball charms. Five more blazed toward her. She ran through them. Untouched.
[Earth Wall]. The wall rose. She punched through it. One strike. Rubble.
"Running again?"
Huff. Huff.
Ashan leaned against a tall tree, chest heaving. The gap between Bodnir and Arohan... I knew it was vast. But this? The Krakhan Matriarch was Arohan. She nearly killed me. Nadrima is the same realm. And she's toying with me.
[Earth Armament]. Another spike formed. "Brat~ Where are you?" The cold hiss. Close. Too close. "Oh, found you." She crushed the tree he leaned against. Trunk splintering, falling.
Crazy bitch! He threw the spike. She caught it. Effortlessly. "Are you stupid? Your mantra is—" The spike blazed. A fireball charm—inscribed on the spike itself—detonated in her face.
BOOM.
Chance! Ashan's eyes blazed—[Foresee] screaming, showing him a sliver of opportunity. His prized blade appeared in his hand. Rare Tier. Peak grade. His. [Shedding Stance]. Body flowing like water. Blade striking like venom. He moved. But Nadrima was faster. Always faster. A roundhouse kick caught him mid-strike—sent him tumbling. He landed. Smiled.
Blood streamed from his eyes. A red trail down his cheeks. "Why are you smiling, brat?" "Your neck."
Nadrima's hand flew to her throat. A cut. Feeble. Already healed. But there. A single drop of blood on her fingertip.
HOW?
Her eyes darkened. Prana exploded from her—dark greenish-brown wreathing her arms, her stance, her intent. Murder. Pure. Absolute.
Ashan backstepped—cold terror flooding his veins. This is it. This is death.
"Nadrima. Stop." Acarya Errick stood between them. Appearing from nowhere. Voice absolute. "You violate the rules."
Nadrima's arms lowered. Slowly. Reluctantly. "Tch." She glared at Ashan. "Your good fortune, brat."
Errick's ancient eyes settled on Ashan. "You passed."
Ashan's lips moved. No sound came. Now... I can advance...
The world tilted. He fell.