Virat, Nilambari, and Agnaya sat together in a small hut. Between them stood a table set with three glasses of water. As Nilambari reached out to take a sip, a layer of frost instantly bloomed across the glass, chilled by her very touch. When Agnaya touched her glass, the water began to boil violently. She drank the scalding liquid with a satisfied smile. "Ah, wonderful," she remarked. "This water is so refreshing."
Virat finished his own drink in silence. The two women had not met in a long time, and their conversation flowed without pause, leaving no room for him to speak.
"I need to ask you both something," Virat said, but his voice was lost in their chatter.
A moment later, he repeated himself—this time louder, his voice tinged with a restless edge. Agnaya and Nilambari finally turned to look at him. Agnaya blinked, as if noticing him for the first time. "Who is this?" she asked. "He's been sitting here with us this whole time."
Nilambari leaned in and whispered something into Agnaya's ear. Agnaya's eyes widened in shock. "Are you serious? Is he truly that special?"
Virat stood up, frustrated. "What are you two whispering about? Tell me."
Agnaya rose and stepped close to him—so close he could feel her presence. She only reached his chest, forced to look up to meet his eyes. "You are... Vishal (vast/grand)," she murmured.
"No, my name is Virat," he corrected.
"What's the difference? It is the same thing," she shrugged.
"It is not the same thing," Virat insisted.
As they spoke, Agnaya's gaze dropped to the dagger strapped to Virat's waist. She sensed a surge of uncapped power radiating from the blade.
"Incredible," she muttered mid-sentence.
"What?" both Virat and Nilambari asked in unison.
"Nothing," Agnaya replied quickly, though her mind was racing. I have to see what that weapon truly is, she thought. She leaned over and whispered another secret to Nilambari while Virat watched them, suspicious.
Evening was beginning to fall. The three of them left the road and headed toward an open field. The women continued their endless chatter while Virat followed behind, exhausted and bored by their talk.
"Where are we going?" Virat called out.
"Just keep walking. We're almost there," they replied.
A short distance away, in the middle of a clearing, a Wrestling Match (Malla-Yuddha) was underway. One man was being brutally beaten. His opponent was a titan a warrior even larger than Virat, his body a map of bulging muscles. Two great horns protruded from his head, though one was snapped off at the base. His eyes glowed red with a mixture of rage and adrenaline.
Clad only in a simple white loincloth, the giant pinned his opponent into the dust with terrifying ease.
"He is a warrior from the distant land of Swetashar Bagh," Nilambari explained, her voice low. "That is where the most powerful warriors of our kind reside."
After slamming his opponent into the dirt with bone-crushing force, the giant warrior paced the ring like a caged beast, hungry for his next victim. "Is there no one else?" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the clearing. "Does anyone have the courage to face me?"
Suddenly, an announcement cut through the roar of the crowd: "A warrior from a distant land, a man marked by a great curse, yet possessing immense power, shall step forward to challenge you!"
The voice boomed across the arena: "His name is Virat!"
Virat's heart skipped a beat. He looked around in shock, only to see Nilambari watching him with a smug expression. She was the one who had entered his name.
"You call yourself a warrior, don't you?" Nilambari taunted, her voice sharp with sarcasm. "Or are you afraid? Perhaps you aren't a warrior after all."
The sting of her words hit its mark. Virat's jaw tightened. "I came here looking for a gateway, and now I'm fighting in a pit," he muttered to himself. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
As he stepped into the ring, the referee blocked his path, pointing at the blade at his waist. "No weapons. This is a test of raw strength. You must fight with your bare hands."
Virat looked up at the massive warrior. Close up, the giant looked even more terrifying—a mountain of muscle and rage. With no other choice, Virat took a deep, steadying breath. He unbuckled his belt and placed his powerful dagger on the ground outside the ring, feeling strangely vulnerable without it.
Before that massive Titan stood Virat. The countdown began: 3... 2... 1... Go!
With a speed that defied his size, the monstrous warrior lunged, his fist crackling with electricity. Virat gasped, his mind racing. How can something that huge move that fast? Before he could even process the thought, the blow connected. The force sent Virat hurtling across the arena, slamming into the wall with a bone-shattering thud.
Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth. Just one strike, and Virat was already eating dirt. As blood trickled down his forehead, he lay there, broken and half-dead.
The entire arena watched the brutal assault, breathless with fear. In the stands, a spectator leaned over to his companion. "You know," he whispered, "that thing is one of the elite warriors of the Mortod race."
The man beside him didn't take his eyes off the pit. "I've heard rumors that they're even more formidable than the Swetketus."
"Is that a so?" the first man replied with a dark, mocking chuckle.
"Then I almost feel bad for the little warrior."
He's completely outmatched.
The referee paused for a moment.
The crowd erupted, whispering that there was no way this man could get back up. The referee began the count:
"One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight!"
But at the count of nine, Virat began to steady himself. His body was trembling violently, as if he were carrying the weight of a mountain on his shoulders. The monster from the Mortod tribe stood stunned; he had been winning so effortlessly until now.
He looked at Virat—straight into eyes that had turned a haunting crimson from the flowing blood. Virat stared back, fixed on the hulking beast, his mind echoing a single thought:
I will not lose.
Each strike from the Mortod giant was powerful enough to shatter solid rock, and his relentless blows had left Virat bloodied and battered. Virat's own punches seemed useless; though they landed squarely on the monstrous warrior, they failed to leave even a single scratch.
The Mortod lunged at Virat with terrifying speed, but at the very last second, Virat wrenched himself out of harm's way. It was only his lightning-fast reflexes that saved him from a fatal blow. Watching from the sidelines, Agneya and Nilambari looked on with bated breath. Despite his injuries, Virat's eyes remained sharp—filled with an unbreakable sense of dedication and focus.
He glanced toward his dagger, realizing that if he wanted to survive, he would have to do something else—but the rules of the match strictly forbade the use of weapons.
Blood and sweat mingled together, dripping down from his forehead.
Just then, he remembered his father's words: "Remember, capability and sheer strength are of great help in winning a battle. But there is one more thing—if you possess it, you will have no equal."
Virat had asked, "What are you talking about?"
To which his father, with a gentle smile, had replied, "Willpower. There is nothing in this world greater than willpower. If you can master this, no one will ever be able to defeat you. Victory will be yours alone."
Virat snapped out of his thoughts. He saw the giant Mortod lunging toward him like an angry bull, intent on killing him.
He let the Mortod come at him. Standing completely unmoving, he allowed the beast to charge. Everyone watched in shock, wondering if he actually had a death wish. But just as the giant closed the distance, Virat dropped down onto his hands. Using his momentum, he launched a powerful two-footed strike right at the Mortod.
Caught by his own charging speed, the Mortod lost his balance. He was sent flying out of the ring, crashing heavily into the wall with a deafening thud. Seeing the Mortod go down like that left the entire crowd in absolute awe and disbelief. How did this just happen?
"Wow, I can't believe he used a move like that in such a situation," Nilambari said.
"The boy has brains," Agnaya remarked, a fleeting smile appearing on her face.
The Malla-Yuddha was over; the Mortod fallen outside the ring was proof of that. But the rage-blinded Mortod refused to listen to anyone. "This is no longer a Malla-Yuddha!" he bellowed. "This is a blood match, and I want his head!" he declared, pointing at Virat.
The referee tried to reason with the Mortod, explaining the rules of the match—that stepping out of the ring meant defeat. But he refused to concede and lunged at Virat in a fury. Nilambari started to rise to stop him, but Agnaya held her back, saying, "Don't worry. Something extraordinary is about to happen."
The Mortod slammed a devastating punch into the ground, shattering the earth into pieces. He then swiftly reached out to grab Virat by the neck, but Virat somersaulted through the air, landing directly behind him.
He smiled, slowly picking up his dagger from the edge of the ring. "Until now, the rules of Malla-Yuddha were in place, which is why I hadn't broken them either. But since you have, I can now use my dagger," he said.
The Mortod growled, "Don't think of yourself as invincible just because you hold a tiny dagger. Do not forget, this body of mine is harder than stone; cutting off my head is impossible."
Virat smiled and replied, "We shall see about that."
Gripping the dagger's blade with his right hand, Virat pulled the weapon through his palm with his left. Warm blood began to spill. Within moments, a purple light began to radiate from the blood. That light enveloped Virat's body like an aura. His eyes glowed with the light, and the wounds on his body healed completely. Everyone was left utterly astounded witnessing this impossible sight. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd—just what kind of power was this?
"What kind of sorcery is this?" the Mortod demanded, shielding his eyes from the blinding light with his hand.
"This light is of my victory, and your defeat."
Virat surged toward the Mortod like a gust of wind. In less time than it takes to blink, he closed the distance. Within a single moment, he had dashed from one end of the ring to the other. Before the Mortod even realized what had happened, Virat had carved two diagonal slashes across his chest. The Mortod crashed to the ground, the impact shaking the ring as if a mountain had collapsed. Just one strike, and the legendary Mortod was brought down.
Everyone watched in absolute disbelief. For a moment, a dead silence engulfed the entire arena. Then, the very man who had doubted Virat the most was the first to clap. Slowly, the rest of the spectators joined in, and soon the entire stadium was echoing with roaring applause and chants of Virat's name.
Agnaya stared at him, saying to herself, "He is the one the sacred texts speak of."
The referee held Virat's hand high in the air in victory. But just then, completely drained of his power, Virat lost consciousness and collapsed.